He sank onto the sofa, letting his weight drop into it. The cushions gave, and his muscles loosened all at once. For the first time in hours, he let his guard fall, even if just a little.

But peace was a fragile illusion.

The faint glow from his smartwatch caught his eye. Blinking in the dark, he leaned forward, raising his wrist. The digital interface lit up.

10:47 PM.

And beneath the time—notifications. Too many of them.

Michael frowned.

He tapped the screen.

---

The first thread belonged to Victor.

The timestamps jumped out immediately and it was arround the time when he was at the Auction.

[Victor: Boss, call me when you're out from the Auction.] (9:17 PM)

[Victor: Urgent.] (9:18 PM)

Michael's brows knitted. "Urgent?"

His heartbeat kicked up a notch. For a fleeting second, his mind went to the assassins from earlier. Did they…? No. Victor wasn't tied to that. More likely, it was about the stock portfolio. Still if the word urgent carried too much weight to dismiss.

He swallowed and scrolled further.

The next thread froze him in place.

Maria.

[Maria: Have you eaten?] (9:26 PM)

[Maria: If not we can eat together at the cafeteria.] (9:28 PM)

[Maria: Which club have you joined?] (9:32 PM)

[Maria: Why are you not replying?] (9:35 PM)

[Maria: Are you ignoring me?] (9:38 PM)

[Maria: ???] (9:39 PM)

His eyes lingered on the string of messages, his pulse uneven.

This wasn't the Maria he remembered from the game's script. That Maria is the villainess her personality was aloof, sharp, and icy. She didn't send worried texts. She didn't ask about meals. She didn't… sound like someone trying, awkwardly, to reach out.

And yet here it was. Proof on his wrist.

Michael leaned back into the sofa, running a hand over his face. A bitter laugh slipped out. "What the hell are you doing, Maria…?"

But behind the dry tone was something else his heart felt a warmth sensation he didn't want to admit it ,but—.

She's changing. And if she keeps changing like this, then maybe I can actually… keep her from becoming that villainess.

The Demon Queen

The thought tightened his chest. A strange mix of fear and responsibility in his shoulder.

He shook his head and scrolled again.

Leon's messages appeared next.

[Leon: Tomorrow at Hunting Club office.] (8:45 PM)

[Leon: Meeting for club members.] (8:57 PM)

[Leon: I'll be sending you the chat group of Hunting Club.] (8:57 PM)

[Leon: 📌 Group hunting.....Chat] (8:58 PM)

Michael exhaled slowly. This , at least, was expected. Leon was always direct. The club would probably need coordination soon for upcoming hunts, expeditions, resource gathering. It was fine to leave that aside for now.

But as he sat there, the three threads replayed themselves in his mind.

Victor: Urgent.

Maria: a flood of unanswered questions.

Leon: the calm steadiness of tomorrow's responsibilities.

All different. All pulling him in separate directions.

He let the smartwatch fall to his lap, staring at the ceiling.

"...I can't keep juggling this forever."

The words slipped out in a whisper.

He picked up the watch again, thumb hovering over Victor's thread. If "urgent" really was urgent, then he had to deal with that first. The rest could wait but though part of him hated leaving Maria hanging like that.

Still, he tapped Victor's call icon.

The line didn't even ring twice before a frantic voice exploded through the speaker.

"Boss! Finally! Where the hell were you?!"

Michael winced, pulling the watch slightly away from his ear.

"Calm down, Victor. I was at Auction"

"Auction , ahh Sorry for distributing but?! Do you know what happened? The stock! The stock you told me to buy—it crashed! Down a hundred and fifty percent! Ten million—ten million Ren—just gone!"

"And it is still going Down by 0.002%"

Michael sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.

"...That's what this is about?"

Victor's voice cracked, hysteria bleeding through. "What do you mean 'that's what this is about?!' We're ruined! If this keeps going, we'll be bankrupt again!"

Michael closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. For all his brilliance, Victor could still be dramatic. And yet butMichael couldn't really blame him. To anyone else, losing that much money in a single night was enough to induce a heart attack.

"Victor," he said evenly, "listen to me. We won't be bankrupt. Not from this."

"How can you say that so calmly?!"

"Because," Michael said, voice sharpening, "I know what comes next."

There was silence on the other end.

Michael reached for his tablet, transferring a fresh sum. Another ten million. With deliberate slowness, he spoke.

"I'm sending you more. Reinvest in the same stock of Vonthin Research Company. Put everything into it. And also add twenty percent leverage."

Victor choked. "Leverage?! Boss, that's debt! If this tanks again, we're not just finished—we're obliterated!"

"Then we rise obliterated," Michael replied flatly. "But it won't. Not this one. Just trust me."

The silence stretched again, filled only with Victor's ragged breathing.

Finally, Victor whispered, almost desperate: "Boss… if you're wrong—"

"I'm not."

Michael cut the line before his own conviction could waver.

---

For a long moment, he just sat there in the dim room, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound. His chest rose and fell, steady but heavy.

He knew what he was doing wasn't luck. It wasn't random. It was memory. In the original game, Vonthin Research had been a nobody company was until the Sky City arc. Then they unveiled the cheap teleportation gate.

Unlike the current gates, which required rare A to S-grade mana stones and cost fortunes for even short distances, Vonthin's design ran on low-grade stones—D to B rank. Affordable. Practical. Also upgraded the range of teleportation? Two hundred to five hundred kilometers.

It changed everything. Trade. Travel. Mercenary work. For commoners, it was liberation. For merchants, a gold mine. For nobles, another power to control.

And for investors? A once-in-a-generation explosion.

It's inevitable, Michael told himself. This stock isn't a gamble. It's a certainty.

But even as he thought it, he couldn't help pressing a hand to his forehead. The day's weight was finally catching up.

Maria's texts still lingered in the back of his mind.

"...Dammit," he muttered. "What am I even supposed to say to her?"

He didn't have an answer.

The silence of the room pressed against him again. Normally, he liked silence. It gave him space to think, to calculate. But tonight, it was suffocating.

His eyes wandered to the unopened drawer of his desk. He didn't need to look to know what sat inside the sealed in dark cloth, faintly humming even through layers of fabric.

The sword. Darken.

And in his pocket, resting like a weight heavier than steel, was the Sealing Gem he had bought at the auction. To everyone else, it was just a mana stone with a strange, unappealing tint. Worthless. Forgettable.

But to him is someone who remembered the game and it was the key to Survival and Power up.

Michael sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed.

"...Stocks. Elections. Maria. Assassins. Clubs." His voice was hoarse as he listed them off. "And now this."

He stared at his hands. At the faint callouses forming from training. At the slight tremor that came when he flexed them.

"No matter how much I plan," he whispered, "the story keeps pushing me faster."

His throat tightened. He wasn't panicking but he couldn't afford to panic. But the creeping realization that events were accelerating beyond the "script" he knew was like ice water running down his spine.

In the game, the sword Darken wasn't meant to awaken until later. Much later.

So why is the world rushing me here?

The thought lingered. But so did another one.

Maybe it wasn't rushing him. Maybe it was him, Michael—dragging the story forward by interfering.

He rubbed his temples. "Doesn't matter. I can't afford to hesitate."

His gaze hardened. He rose from the sofa, went to the drawer, and pulled it open.

Inside, wrapped in dark fabric, the sword lay waiting. Even untouched, its presence was heavy, oppressive. The kind of pressure that seeped into bone.

Michael placed it carefully on the desk, then reached into his pocket. The Sealing Gem gleamed faintly gold as he pulled it free, the light reflecting in his tired eyes.

He unwrapped Darken slowly, the cloth falling away like layers of skin being shed. The blade, black as midnight and etched with faint runes, rested silently across the desk.

For a long moment, he simply stared at it.

This wasn't a weapon anyone sane would call beautiful. Its edges weren't polished silver. Its hilt wasn't adorned with jewels. Instead, it radiated a primal, hungry aura as if the steel itself was alive and waiting.

His hand hovered above it.

"I know what you are," Michael murmured. "And I know what you'll become."

The Sealing Gem pulsed in his other palm.

He remembered the mechanics from the game: a hidden material, disguised as junk, used to break the chains locking Darken's true form. Without it, the sword would remain dormant until a specific late-game dungeon arc.

But here, now, he had the chance to awaken it early.

He pressed the gem against the runes carved into the sword's base.

For a moment—nothing. Just silence.

Then—

Bzzzzzt—

Light flared, searing gold, so bright it burned his vision white. Michael hissed, shielding his eyes with one arm.

The gem cracked, splitting down the center with a sharp sound like shattering glass. Its fragments dissolved into motes of light, seeping into the runes along Darken's blade.

The runes ignited. One by one. Like a line of fire spreading across black steel.

The air thickened, heavy with power. Michael staggered back a step, chest tight as though the oxygen had been stolen from the room.

A voice—not quite sound, but something deeper brushed against the edges of his mind.

—YOU DARE AWAKEN ME ?

Michael's breath hitched. His knuckles whitened around the edge of the desk.

The presence was ancient, suffocating, and laced with a hunger that made his instincts scream at him to run.

He forced himself to stay still. To stand his ground.

"Yes," he said aloud, voice firm despite the pressure bearing down on him.

For a beat, silence.

Then there was laughter. Low. Dark. Echoing not in the room, but inside his skull.

—HAH... INTERESTING. Very well. I will test you, little mortal. If you fail, you will be devoured. If you succeed... you may wield me.

Michael grit his teeth. He'd expected this. The Awakening Trial.

But it wasn't supposed to come yet.

He had no choice now.

The runes blazed brighter, and the room dissolved around him, the walls, desk, sofa, all swallowed by darkness.

When the black receded, he stood not in his dorm, but in a vast void of shadows. At its center, Darken floated, glowing faintly with gold and crimson light, as though waiting.

The voice boomed again.

—PROVE YOURSELF, OR PERISH.

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