Unholy Player Chapter 2: New MMORPG

August 10th, Year 215 of the Requiem Calendar.

University Campus, Shelter City 9

—

"I told you to stay the hell away from her, didn't I?"

The warning had barely been uttered before a fist slammed into the other boy's stomach. Doubling over from the force of the blow, the boy gasped, only for a second strike to crack against his face, sending him tumbling onto the rigid, freezing floor.

Stationery and notebooks scattered in every direction, sliding across the tiles. Their clatter was punctuated by the quiet laughter of the surrounding students.

Appearing unbothered, as if such violence was a daily routine, the boy simply began to collect his fallen things from the ground.

Cole stood over him, his rage unabated. "What, you think this is a joke?" he barked, popping his knuckles. "You deaf or just stupid?"

Seizing a handful of the boy's untidy black hair, he jerked his head back to meet his gaze. Without a moment's pause, he plunged his fist into the boy's face again. Droplets of crimson splattered onto the tiles.

The boy went still. A faint tremor ran through his shoulders. His dull, dark brown eyes shifted toward the blood—then... nothing. He took a measured breath, treating the assault as nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Wiping his lip with the back of his hand, he barely looked up. "I thought you 'genetic salads' were supposed to be stronger," he whispered, his tone flat and indifferent—bordering on bored—as he returned to gathering his belongings.

"What the hell did you just say?" Cole snapped, caught off guard.

"I said," the boy repeated, still focused on his books, "even my pure-blood little sister hits harder than you, moron."

"You little—" Cole’s voice cracked, trembling with indignation.

There was no pleading, no sign of terror—only cold, sharp mockery.

His blows hadn't broken the boy's spirit. His intimidation had failed. And now, this social outcast dared to belittle him?

He had never been addressed this way before—certainly not by a dirt-blood nobody. Humiliation churned in his gut, stoking the flames of his bruised ego.

Gritting his teeth while his hands shook with malice, he raised his boot, intending to crush the boy's head and end the confrontation.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension.

"Hey, Cole. That's enough," one of his companions intervened, stepping forward with a worried expression. "He's had it."

"Yeah man, chill," another added, shifting his weight uneasily. "Sure, he's a freak—but he's also Victor's close friend. Keep pushing, and we're the ones who'll end up in deep shit."

Cole froze, his foot suspended in the air. His jaw tightened, eyes burning with suppressed anger. However, the caution took hold. With a sharp grunt, he lowered his foot to the floor and stepped back, casting one final look of contempt at the freak.

"Let's go," he growled, turning on his heel.

The rest of the group followed, a few casting lingering, anxious glances behind them as they departed. Just like that, the corridor cleared, leaving behind only the silence and the mess of loose paper.

The boy remained motionless for a second. Then, with slow movements, he retrieved the last of his items and stood up.

"Guess no one taught them to never mess with the quiet guy at school," he chuckled—only to flinch as a sharp pain lanced through his lip. Touching his mouth, he felt the wetness of blood.

For a moment, he contemplated the red stain on his fingers. There was something strangely calming about the shade.

He wiped his mouth, tasting the metallic hint of iron as he sighed. "Doesn't hit the same anymore," he muttered. "Might be time to pick up a new hobby."

Without another word, he walked away as though the entire ordeal had never occurred.

He had only moved a short distance when a loud, familiar shout reached him.

"Hey, Adyr!"

Turning around, he saw the source—a student so thin he looked like he was one missed meal away from being skin and bones. The boy was jogging toward him, his movement light and carefree, with a broad, foolish smile on his face.

"Yo, Victor. Thought you'd already gone home," Adyr remarked, a faint, artificial smirk appearing on his injured lips.

"Nah, class ended a while ago," the friend replied, looking him over casually. When he noticed the wound, his grin widened. "Damn, man. Got your ass kicked again? That's what you get for messing with the queen of the school, huh?" He clapped Adyr on the shoulder, laughing.

Adyr shrugged, remaining composed. "Told you, it's not like that. I'm just helping her with piano lessons," he answered, maintaining a mask of disinterest. He behaved as if the gossip didn't affect him, but internally, he knew his own game—he thrived on the attention, particularly the kind that came from the bullies.

He wasn't a masochist who relished being beaten, but the pain served as a tool, a method to suppress his cravings. Since being reincarnated on this parallel Earth 18 years ago, he had vowed not to take any lives. However, that oath left a hollow ache inside him that required constant management.

Overcoming an addiction was never a simple task.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Victor said, dismissively waving his hand. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a secretive whisper. "Maybe next time, teach her something with wind instruments. Who knows? Maybe she's better at... blowing?" He laughed, clearly amused by his own joke.

Adyr didn't bother looking at him as he sighed, his tone dripping with irritation. "One day, that sense of humor of yours is going to get you killed, Victor."

Victor hesitated for a heartbeat before scoffing. "Hey, come on, what kind of joke is that? Don't start pulling death flags on me, man. I've got plenty of years left." He maintained his stride alongside Adyr as they walked together.

"Anyway," Victor went on, his voice becoming slightly more earnest, "I came looking for you for a reason. The game releases tonight. You didn't forget, did you?"

It was the first virtual reality game to be produced since the World War.

It had begun as a mere rumor, circulating through local web forums and news outlets a decade prior.

Initially, most people ignored it—why would a civilization still reeling from an apocalypse spend its resources on a game? But as the years passed, the whispers intensified.

The turning point arrived several years ago when the 12 city managers validated the rumors, announcing their direct participation in the project. From that point on, the game ceased to be a mere rumor—it became a global phenomenon that everyone was eager to experience.

"Yeah, I know," Adyr said, his voice devoid of emotion as he kept walking, his lack of interest obvious. "Not interested."

Victor stopped in his tracks, completely stunned. "Wha—? What the hell did you just say?" he blurted out, scrambling to catch up. The concept of playing without his best friend hadn't even occurred to him. Especially not this game—a project that was poised to be more significant than anything that had come before.

Victor wavered for a second, doubt crossing his features. Then, as if reaching a decision, he gripped Adyr's arm, forcing him to stop. His usual jovial mask slipped, replaced by a much more somber expression.

"There's something else you need to know," he whispered, lowering his voice further. He paused, carefully choosing his words before leaning in.

"My father told me... the game is utilizing the most recent genetic mutation research."

Adyr looked at Victor, a flicker of interest finally appearing in his eyes.

Genetic mutation had been the most significant topic of the last century.

It wasn't merely a cure for most human sicknesses—ranging from minor ailments to fatal diseases like cancer—it also provided a path to greatly lengthening a person's life and granting physical power that far exceeded the boundaries of normal humans.

However, like all significant gifts, there was a catch: only the wealthy, the powerful, and their kin had access to it. The only other exception was elite military personnel—those specifically chosen and sworn to defend the city against external perils.

'Is this some kind of joke?' Adyr wondered, his brow knitting together. 'They're just making something like this available to the public? It's too good to be true...' He was about to ask Victor if he was serious—if his father's information was actually reliable—when the reason he had befriended Victor came back to him.

His father.

Henry Bates...

The Minister of Defense for Shelter City 9. The most influential man in the city, second only to the City Manager himself, holding total authority over the mutant military force known as the Superhuman Task Force.

Any information coming from that man would not be a mere casual comment.