Player 0.4 [You have died.] [Reset in progress.]

"Welcome to the Agency of Order and Game Development," came a monotone voice from the other side of the glass partition. The clerk uttered the words as if she had recited them countless times. "Please state your name, occupation, and purpose."

"Andrew Hwang. Player. I'm here to submit a complaint regarding a game," Andrew said.

Visually, the clerk reminded Andrew of a half-melted cake left too long in the sun—or maybe a vintage cartoon character his grandmother once showed him, the kind where faces sagged like candle wax. Gravity had hit her skin with all the force it could muster. And the bright makeup did nothing to improve it.

"Here's the form and pen. Make sure to fill it out in full and bring it back."

She slid through the opening, a wooden clipboard holding a pale green form, along with a pen decorated with a fake sunflower the size of his palm glued to the end.

Andrew picked it up, blinked at the absurd flower, and then at the thickness of the form. Flipping through it, he confirmed it was twenty pages long.

"Please step aside so I can assist the next visitor," the clerk droned.

"Ah, sorry." Andrew quickly shuffled away and glanced behind him.

However, no one was waiting for him to finish. This section of the agency was empty. The air smelled faintly of bad coffee and bleach, and a fuzzy soundtrack of what could only be described as elevator music was emitted through old-school loudspeakers.

Weird. Whatever. I'll go over and just ask her if I have any questions.

He walked over to the first row, the sunflower bobbing back and forth with each step like it was mocking him. He sat down, and the chair creaked under his weight, one leg shorter than the others.

He started filling in the blanks.

Name (how to refer to you): Andrew

User name: ForksNPlates

Birth name (full name): Andrew Hwang

Years as a Player: 3,760

Original birth realm (ID code): …

Ah, I can never remember it.

He never actually bothered attempting to memorize it either. Andrew pulled up a notebook screen to locate the jotted-down realm code and input the characters into the provided space.

Games played: 430

Games cleared: 27

Andrew's clear rate wasn't all that impressive. And in all honesty, he didn't really clear games beyond the required minimum quota set by his realm's Celestial.

He selected Games not by how beautiful the world was, the difficulty level, or the novelty of its magic.

His criteria was simple: food.

Ever since he was transformed into a Player, his body no longer required food to sustain himself. However, his palette did. As a die-hard foodie before his transformation into a Player, he took it quite hard.

He even developed a flavored gum line back in his home realm to mimic flavors and get a sense of the forgotten taste of food. However, it was a pathetic imitation of the real thing.

Games were the only places that he could experience the joy of food once again.

It didn't matter to him how challenging a Game was. Only how good the food tasted.

He even played through Adovoria's Fall a dozen times. He didn't even try to clear it. Andrew abandoned the nation he was summoned to protect and instead roamed the continent in search of one thing only: food. Pastries, roasts, stews, and even salads. He'd gorge himself until a reset pulled him out again.

Realm ID complaint against: …

Andrew sighed and pulled up a screen with the Game. The realm's ID code in the upper right-hand corner: TXKR2378QQ

Game complaint against: Adovoria's Fall

However, after taking a short break to check out another Game's cuisine, he found Adovoria's Fall to be closed to him. But someone else had managed to get inside. And that Player had somehow revived the long-destroyed Ashford Bakery, a place that, until now, Andrew only knew from the wistful stories of NPCs who remembered its golden crusts and melt-in-your-mouth buttery pastries. The descriptions alone made Andrew salivate. Player 0.4 was kind enough to place some of these goods into the Game Store, and having tasted a tart, Andrew became obsessed. He relentlessly refreshed the Game Store, but the Player only offered useless stone blocks and couldn't be messaged privately, preventing Andrew from acquiring more of what he desired.

Please explain in at least 150 words the issue (maximum 900 words):

Andrew pressed the sunflower pen to the page and poured it all out: the unfair lockout, the blatant favoritism by the Game System, the stolen opportunity to taste those pastries again. He underlined that his complaint was urgent. With BlueLizard having also reportedly been able to re-enter that impossible Game (more unacceptable favoritism by that System!), it really was only a matter of time before the second-highest-ranking Player would clear it. And with that, Andrew would lose any chance to get a taste of the famous Ashford Bakery's goods ever again.

He turned the page, and a series of additional questions appeared.

From a scale of 1–10 (10 being high), how upsetting has this issue been for you?

He circled 10. Obviously.

From a scale of 1–10 (10 being high), how much distress has this issue caused for you?

Andrew frowned.

Aren't those the same thing?

He circled 10 anyway.

From a scale of 1–10 (10 being high), how likely are you to recommend this Game to a friend or fellow Player, assuming your complaint is resolved?

"Ridiculous question," he muttered, and circled 10.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

From a scale of 1–10 (10 being high), how much of this distress would you categorize as existential in nature?

Andrew stared at the page, then scribbled: Do you people even read these? before circling 9.

Have you died recently?

☐ Yes ☐ No ☐ Prefer not to answer

He checked Yes, muttering, "Obviously. What Player hasn't?"

Please describe in at least 300 words the circumstances of your most recent death. Attach diagrams if necessary.

"Three hundred words?" Andrew muttered, scrawling: No diagram provided. Will elaborate if pastry is involved.

What is your most common Player occupation?

☐ Swordmaster ☐ Mage ☐ Alchemist ☐ Martial artist ☐ Overpowered priest ☐ Other (please specify)

Andrew wrote Other: hungry.

On a scale of 1–10, how satisfied are you with your most recent tutorial experience?

Tutorial experience? The last one I've done was at least a thousand years ago. How should I remember?

He circled 5.

If you were reincarnated into another realm Game tomorrow, which role would you prefer?

Forgotten third son of a noble house

Apprentice blacksmith with hidden bloodline

Demon queen in disguise

Normal villager (warning: survival rate low)

Andrew checked None and scribbled: Restaurant owner.

What is with these questions?

Please indicate your current stat distribution. (If above average, attach proof.)

Andrew didn't bother with the specifics and wrote: Average everything. Above average patience. Running low.

Have you ever formed contractual relationships with any of the following within the Game that the complaint is regarding?

☐ Talking animals

☐ Mysterious System voice

☐ Ancient Celestial entity

☐ Weapon that whispers at night

There was oddly no option for 'None of the Above', so Andrew scribbled in a new box and checked it off.

The pages went on and on. At the very end, stamped in bold capitalized red letters, a warning blared:

THIS FORM WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED UNLESS ALL SECTIONS ARE COMPLETED IN FULL.

Andrew groaned. He trudged through the form, filling in the required word counts for what, in his opinion, were nonsensical and irrelevant questions.

By the time he scrawled in the final word, the giant digital clock on the wall—an ugly blocky thing that reminded him of retro alarm clocks back from his realm—read three hours later.

The final question stared at him in bold letters:

Final question (optional):

From a scale of 1–10 (10 being high), how do you find the taste of the coffee in the waiting room? Your opinion is greatly appreciated.

Andrew blinked.

Coffee? Ah, right, this is technically a realm as well. So food can be consumed here.

He turned his head. Sure enough, in the far back sat a burnt-looking glass pot on a warmer, surrounded by a stack of flimsy brown paper cups. Just as he spotted it, another individual was pouring himself a cup. He took a sip and immediately recoiled with an expression of pure disgust. The man didn't even swallow the liquid, instead choosing to pour all the coffee back out of his mouth and into the paper cup, which he promptly dumped into a nearby trash can.

Well, that answers that.

Andrew circled 1. He didn't need to suffer personally to confirm what was obvious.

With the form finally complete, he signed the bottom line, swearing that "all information was provided truthfully and to the best of my knowledge," then carried the clipboard and ridiculous sunflower pen back to the counter.

"I'm done," he said flatly.

"Thank you. Let me review." The clerk's monotone voice didn't shift, but to his surprise, she immediately flipped to the very last page.

"Hmmm." She clicked her tongue.

Her yellowed eyes peered at him over her half-moon glasses.

"A one, huh?" Her voice carried a hint of emotion. And it was most certainly not amusement. "You hadn't even tasted it."

Andrew froze. He hadn't thought she'd been watching.

"Hmmm. This won't do." She rotated the clipboard and tapped her long nail against his signature at the bottom. "The question about the coffee was optional. And yet you chose to answer dishonestly. That calls into question the validity of the entire submission."

"It was just the coffee," Andrew protested quickly. "I saw another guy taste it—he spat it out! I based my answer on that."

"The taste… in your opinion." Her nail tapped again, right on the phrasing.

Before he could argue further, she slid the packet into a metal box on her desk. A low whir began, followed by the grinding rip of blades. Andrew's eyes widened in horror as the shredded remains of three hours' work spilled into a bin.

"Wh-why!" Andrew gasped out.

However, no reaction from him brought out any sympathy from her.

"Here's a new form," she said, already clipping a fresh twenty-page packet to the same battered wooden board. "Please complete it accurately and in good faith."

Andrew glanced up at the digital clock. The seconds blinked by without pity.

I suppose the second time will be faster.

Clutching the sunflower pen like a cursed weapon, he trudged back to his seat and began again.

Two hours later, he was done.

"Thank you. Let me review," the clerk said in her same monotone voice.

She clicked her tongue when she finished reading the first page.

"I'm afraid this is the wrong form. Claims made regarding your experience outside a Game must be submitted with the B-652 form."

Whirrrr.

The packet was shredded again.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Andrew balked.

"The form is mint-green," the clerk stated, as if that should have been obvious.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Andrew asked. "You gave me that other form."

"You didn't properly explain what you needed. The majority of complaints regarding Games are based on issues encountered within. And that is the pale green form."

She attached the new mint-green form and slid the wooden clipboard over to Andrew.

To his dismay, this new form was thirty pages long.

Think of the pastries. And tarts.

Andrew pumped himself up and sat back down in his chair to complete the new form.

After two more attempts, he finally managed to get it right.

"Here's your ticket number," the clerk said. "When your number is called, go over to the teller at A23."

Andrew accepted the paper and smiled, seeing the number two. Beside the digital clock was a countdown, showing the following number in line: one.

He glanced around the sitting room and noted that the only other person was the man he had seen earlier tasting the coffee.

He must be number one.

"Hey, looks like it's just the two of us. How long have you been waiting?" Andrew took a seat beside the middle-aged man whose black shiny hair was parted perfectly at the center.

Andrew confirmed he was next in line based on the small paper in the man's hand.

The man seemed a little square, with his white shirt that was obviously pressed and tucked into his beige pants, but Andrew suspected they could relate to the ridiculousness of this place. There was very little else to do, except perhaps drink the godawful coffee, which Andrew had personally confirmed was a ranking of "1" at best.

"Two hundred and thirty-four years, two days, three hours, and twenty-two minutes," the man replied in a monotone voice.

Andrew blinked, then laughed.

He must have been joking. The deadpan delivery was flawless—a perfect imitation of the clerk.

"There must have been a long line ahead of you," Andrew joked back.

However, the man shook his head. "No, there was just one person."

Andrew felt the blood drain from his face. The coffee pot hissed faintly in the distance as a new batch was brewed by a staff member.

He realized with growing horror that he might never leave this place.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"So it's essentially a bureaucratic hellhole?" I asked, as I adjusted the warped view on the other side of the freestanding door in the middle of the clearing.

~Essentially. Apophis hissed back in reply. It's the worst of what happens when the laws of Order rule every possible decision.

The frame shivered as I twisted my hands, manipulating the other side to switch between landscapes at random. It reminded me of the doorknob portal I used in Round 8 with Jasper's luck-induced help and Chase's lucky ring.

However, unlike that doorway, this one wasn't limited to my own realm. There were only a handful of cases where the scenery seemed like something might have existed on this planet, and even in those cases, I couldn't be quite sure.

The view flickered through. A desert of blue glass. A cathedral filled with an infestation of corn. Then, an enormous eyeball, larger than the size of the door itself, unblinking and glistening, stared straight at me.

I paused, taking in the beautiful details of the blue, green, and grey of the iris.

Just what sort of creature was it?

The eye stared back, and suddenly the pupil shrank in size and began to glow red.

I quickly flipped the view to another location before it could do whatever it was intended to do.

~On the bright side, they are painfully slow, even when an issue reaches their desks, Apophis hissed. Most Players don't even bother trying. Only two beings know how to weave through the mire and actually get something approved.

"Oh?" I asked, still focused on the door's shifting visions. "Who?"

~The Celestial they call the Goddess of Luck, Apophis replied, his tongue flicking in disdain. And a Player who once belonged to the Agency of Order and Game Development itself… a man named Kevin.