Revenant Of the Misfortune

"Ughhh… finally. I really need my icy choco drink right now. I'm damn thirsty."

I slumped into my chair, drenched in sweat and tears, after finally beating the tutorial of a recently released game called Truth Tells No Lie. The game's premise? Use any means necessary to uncover the truth—mind games, psychological torture, and, let's just say, a plethora of morally questionable interrogation tactics. The AI-controlled characters in the game don't make it easy, either. They're designed to resist, mislead, and fight back. It's brutally difficult and ridiculously complex, which makes it all the more satisfying and frustrating to play.

To give you an idea of just how much I struggled, I glanced at the stopwatch on the left side of my cluttered gaming table. Its screen blinked with the numbers 17:00:00—a whopping 17 hours of continuous playtime. That's right. Seventeen hours. Non-stop. The truth is, I'm an unemployed guy with way too much free time on my hands.

I call the one responsible for all my current misery, Dean.

Beep beep… beep beep… beep bee-

"Hello? Who is this?"

A voice, sounding like a 17-year-old, answered. It was none other than Dean, the teenager.

"Dude, did you seriously not save my number? We literally talked about this yesterday."

Dean's tone shifted from formal to a much more annoying one after realizing it was me he was currently talking to.

"Ahh~ Allen, how's it going, my bro? Did you finish what I so gracefully tasked you with~?"

The arrogance in his voice was so unbearable I had to double-check if he was still younger than me. Then I reminded myself of the sad fact: he always pays me to play games before him so he doesn't waste his time deciding. I replied weakly, knowing I needed to put him before my pride as an adult.

"Yes, yes, I did. Frankly, you're the worst for always making me play puzzle games. Please, PLEASE give me more FPS games instead. You know that's my thing."

"Oh, no. Honestly, I made you play this game not just because I don't have the time or because I don't know how to play. I could just watch a 10-minute YouTube video and be good to go. I just wanted you to suffer. Hahaha! Payback for dog-walking me in our last 1v1. Also, what took you so long to finish? Knowing you, it always takes longer, but not this long."

The sudden question made my heart beat faster, and I felt a chill crawl down my back. If I told him it took me 17 hours just to finish the tutorial… God knows how much he'd mock me.

Inhale… I braced myself before answering.

"…It took me 17 hours to finish the tutorial. That's why I'm only calling now."

"…"

"…"

"..."

The silence was unusually loud today.

"Ah, I'm sorry. What did you say again? My dog sat on my plate. He's so cute I stared at him for a while."

"…You never have a dog—"

"HAHAHAHA NAH, SAY THAT SH— AGAIN, BRO! HOW THE HELL DID YOU MANAGE TO BE SLOWER THAN A YOUTUBER WHO WAS ALIVE WHEN WALKING LIZARDS EXISTED???"

"…"

"AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"…"

I slammed my head on the table multiple times. I knew it. I knew exactly how he'd react.

"HAHAHA… Ha… sorry, sorry. Must've been tough for you, right? You're only into FPS games. You've got that reaction speed and fast thinking, but outside of that, you really lack the ability to think outside the box, huh?"

Dean's mocking tone was unbearable, but as usual, I held it in.

"…By the way, Allen, you haven't slept all night, right? Get some sleep. I don't want my best friend getting sick just for a few bucks. Alright, alright, I'll pay you—I'll pay you! Just don't drain my whole bank accou—"

I canceled the call and closed my eyes, humming a few of the songs I'd listened to while finishing the tutorial. Grabbing my choco drink, I took a sip, letting the cold liquid soothe my dry lips.

I let out a deep sigh of relief, finally allowing myself a moment to bask in my "victory." But just as I leaned back into my chair, trying to let the exhaustion melt away, a notification popped up on the game's main screen.

Congratulations on completing the tutorial!

Your time to finish was… 17 hours!

Frankly, that's pretty disappointing! However… you did achieve the best possible outcome among others! So… Congrats!

POP!

A loud, startling burst shattered the moment of peace, nearly giving me a heart attack. The sound was so sudden and jarring that it felt like someone had fired a gun right next to my ear. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, beating so hard it felt like it was trying to escape my ribcage.

"Blugh! Ughhh! Ack!" I choked on the water I'd been drinking, coughing and spluttering uncontrollably. In my panic, a small spray of water splattered onto my precious PC screen, and I desperately wiped it away with the sleeve of my shirt.

Once I caught my breath, I glanced over to the source of the commotion. A balloon had appeared on the right side of the game's main screen, only to immediately explode.

"…Huh? What the hell is this?" I muttered, wiping the corner of my mouth. As I leaned in closer to inspect the remnants of the balloon, I noticed something peculiar. Sitting there, as though it had been hidden inside the balloon, was an item: a revolver.

Not just any revolver, though—a Smith & Wesson Model 29. The classic. It had that unmistakable sleek, heavy look that I couldn't help but admire. That's right. Aside from being a gamer, I'm also a gun enthusiast.

If only I could channel this much enthusiasm into something useful, like finding a job or fixing my life.

Curious, I clicked on the revolver, wondering what it might do.

BANG!

An explosive series of gunshots blasted through my headset. The sound was so loud, so sudden, that I instinctively jumped—no, more like I launched myself out of my chair like some kind of acrobat. Before I even realized what was happening, my hands were gripping the ceiling, my legs tangled in the mess of wires beneath my desk.

"Tch. I swear, I'm deleting this stupid game," I grumbled under my breath, struggling to untangle myself from the chaos I'd created. "If it weren't for the fact my friends paid me to finish the tutorial, I'd be done with this nonsense."

Once I managed to climb down (and untangle my legs), I surveyed the damage. My room was a disaster. Gaming cables lay in disarray, my chair was tipped over, and I could feel the ceiling groaning under the strain of my earlier grip. Bits of plaster crumbled onto the floor.

I slumped back into my chair, exhausted and irritated. "Alright. No more clicking on revolvers or anything else that makes loud noises," I muttered, stifling a yawn. My body begged for sleep, but the stubborn part of me refused to quit. After all, I'd already sacrificed an entire night. What was a little more time? "Just a bit longer… I'll keep playing. Who's going to stop me, anyway?"

I turned my attention back to the screen, where a new message had appeared, written in ominous, blood-red text:

The Revolver of Time.

"Have fun, and don't waste any bullets. You'll only earn bullets through deception. Feel free to cry… this might be the last time you're given that luxury."

I stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the message sinking in.

Then, without hesitation, I shut the game down with a single, decisive click.

"Forget it. I already finished the tutorial. I'm done. I'm going to make my friends pay me extra for how damn long it took to beat this thing."

I sat back in my chair, scowling once again.

"Is this what they call a gift for achieving the best outcome? Tch, what a disappointing way to treat your players. I'm definitely leaving a bad review for these developers."

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to sink into the soft, comforting embrace of my gaming chair. The plush fabric wrapped around me like a warm, reassuring hug… until I heard something that shouldn't have been possible: the theme music from the game.

I shot my eyes open, confused and disoriented, and looked around the surroundings.

"…Ugh, since when did the lighting change in here? Did I actually fall asleep, or is the sun playing tricks on me?"

I lifted my right hand and shielded my eyes from the blinding light streaming in from somewhere. It took a moment to adjust, but soon, another strange realization hit me.

I realized the chair I had been sitting on was not my usual gaming chair, but a broken-legged chair made of wood—probably too old to even be considered a chair anymore. As I stood up, I felt the weight of it make me unsteady, as if it might cause me to fall. My head felt light, as though I were on a cloud. Fortunately, I steadied myself, feeling my head clear up just as I almost sank to my knees.

"…Eh?" A grunt escaped my throat as I noticed something odd. My hand was now encased in a black glove. And my voice… it sounded different. It wasn't the usual voice of a 20-year-old male; it was smoother, deeper, more mature, and… pleasant?

"I—uh… surely feeling like a handsome guy…" I said, blushing a little.

As my eyes fully adjusted to the light, I finally took in my surroundings. I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

"H-huh? Am I in a sewer? No way… A… a shit hole???"

Panic surged through me. My breath quickened as I frantically glanced around. I had to be dreaming. This couldn't be real.

"Haha… yes… a dream. I'm dreaming! That's it! This is just a dream…"

I tried to convince myself, but it was hard to lie to myself when I knew I was the one who created the lie. With a slight tremor in my mind, I decided to calm down. I had to focus. That's when I saw it—a shattered mirror, standing precariously against the wall.

The mirror was cracked, but I could still make out several reflections of myself in the shards. I walked closer, my breath caught in my throat.

"Holy… Am I this hot before?"

I examined my reflection, noticing the striking difference. Somehow, my late-stage puberty had carried over into my late 20s, leaving me with an unexpected look. My hair, once jet black, now had a brownish tint, and my eyes had also turned a rich brown. The most surprising part was the wardrobe I found myself in. I was wearing a camel-colored trench coat, the kind you'd see in movies from the 1940s, with a fedora perched on my head like something out of a detective noir film.

"Must've been some kind of strong puberty to change my hair and eye color like that."

I glanced further down at myself, inspecting my body with growing disbelief.

"…Wait a minute. Isn't this the body of William Barrett? What am I doing in the body of the main character?"

As the realization started to settle in, the answer came to me in a flash of clarity.

"I… I got transmigrated?" I said to myself as I felt my heart shudder.

Before I could fully process what was happening, a high-pitched scream pierced through the air. It was unmistakably a female voice. But what caught me off guard was that, somehow, I had screamed right along with her.

"…Ehem." I quickly cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "That was… definitely not a manly scream. I'm pretty sure no one heard that."

I took a moment to collect myself, but the urgency of the situation hit me again. A woman was in danger, and I couldn't just sit around.

"What am I thinking? I need to help her!"

Despite the disorienting mess I found myself in, I knew I couldn't stand idly by while someone was in peril—like a hero searching for the victim in any situation.

I readied myself to run toward the source of the scream, but my body had other plans. My foot caught on something, and before I could stop it, I fell hard into the sewer water—murky, dark, and nearly impossible to see through.

"Bwegh… Ugh… Waghhh!" I sputtered, gagging as I struggled to spit out the foul-tasting water.

I groaned in frustration, furious at my own misfortune. First, I had been laughed at, then jump-scare after jump-scare, choking on water not once, but TWICE. Now, I had tripped into a filthy sewer. What an amazing streak of luck I had today.

I fumbled around, trying to find something to grab onto. My hand closed around something solid: a revolver. The same revolver that had popped out of the balloon in the game.

"…Huh?"

I inspected the weapon, still in a daze. There was a note stuck to the handle, written in hurried, uneven handwriting.

"Beginners Luck." I read aloud, seeing the note's message.

I stared at the words for a moment, the strange reality of it all sinking in. What was happening? What kind of world had I been pulled into?

The tension in the air thickened as my mind tried to grasp the absurdity of the situation. I was no longer just playing a game. I had somehow become a part of it, living and breathing in this strange new world that seemed so foreign and unreal. The sewer was dark, and the faint sounds of distant echoes made it feel even more oppressive. My feet squelched in the muck, and the smell was overpowering. Yet, my focus remained solely on the revolver and the note. Was this really happening? Could I trust my own senses right now?

The water lapped around my ankles, cold and unrelenting, as if the world itself was trying to remind me that I wasn't in control. That I had no choice but to act, to survive. The revolver felt heavier in my hand, its weight symbolizing the responsibility it might carry. But before I could think too deeply about that, I had one pressing question.

"…Beginners Luck? This is one cruel joke."

I said, my tone dripping with disgust and frustration. Then, I finally steeled myself.

"And also the fact that this revolver is useless… the water's gotten into the cylinders. It'll destroy the revolver's performance and efficiency."

I complained, continuing to grunt in irritation. But I gave in, hoping the revolver might still work somehow. I shoved it into my pocket inside the trench coat.

"Agh, whatever! I'll ask questions later. Even if I'm not that capable, I'll try to resolve whatever situation that woman's gotten stuck in. I'll give my all for the best outcome!"

I ran toward the source of the woman's scream. My stamina seemed at least better than my usual shut-in nature.

I kept running, not knowing the full extent of the darkness I was dragging myself into.