Gamer Rage

Miyuu was beyond annoyed. No, scratch that—she was furious. Grinding her teeth so hard they might file themselves down to dust, she imagined at least a dozen ways to make the student council regret this entire ordeal.

When the quest instructions said Help Chibi Miyuu solve puzzles, what they really meant was: Stand around uselessly while the tiny nightmare with twitchy cat ears fumbles her way through everything. She wasn’t allowed to solve any puzzles herself or even hint at the answers. Any attempt to do so ended in her untimely (and incredibly humiliating) death, followed by a checkpoint restart.

Sure, the death itself wasn’t excruciating—it was more like a sharp jolt followed by the soul-crushing realization that she had to start all over again. But the sheer tedium of it was maddening.

And then there was Chibi Miyuu. Oh, sweet, obnoxious Chibi Miyuu. The pint-sized version of herself was not only useless but also prone to throwing tantrums so dramatic they caused literal earthquakes. Every time the brat stomped her tiny feet, the labyrinth walls crumbled, triggering yet another respawn.

This wasn’t a Reflective Mission. It was a sadistic endurance test.

She respawned at the entrance for what felt like the hundredth time. The glowing blue gate stood mockingly before her as if it knew she was moments away from losing it entirely. Chibi Miyuu stood beside her, arms crossed, cat ears twitching with irritation, tail flicking like a metronome of doom.

Miyuu inhaled deeply, trying to centre herself. Patience, she thought. You’ve got this. It’s just a VR mission. You’re not going to murder a digital child that is, technically, you.

“Alright, Chibi-me,” she said through gritted teeth, her jaw aching from hours of clenched frustration. “Let’s try this again. Third time’s the charm—or maybe the fiftieth.”

Chibi Miyuu sulked over to the first puzzle—a grid of engraved tiles glowing faintly in the dim crystal light. The objective was painfully obvious: step on the symbols in the correct order to unlock the door.

Miyuu’s eyes scanned the symbols quickly. The solution practically screamed at her, but she wasn’t allowed to act on it. Her patience cracked under the weight of her growing irritation.

“Okay, kid, just step on the one with the circle first. It’s—”

Before she could finish, the ground erupted in a forest of sharp metal spikes. Miyuu barely had time to mutter “Oh, come on” before her vision blurred, and she was yanked back to the checkpoint.

When she respawned, she was back at the gate, teeth grinding as she processed her latest failure. Meanwhile, Chibi Miyuu appeared beside her, pouting like she’d been the victim in all of this.

Miyuu groaned loudly, throwing her hands up. “Of course! My bad for thinking logic was allowed in this nightmare.”

Chibi Miyuu shot her a look, her tiny hands on her hips. “You’re the one who keeps dying.”

“I wonder why,” Miyuu muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples.

It was official: this mission wasn’t here to make her reflect. It was here to break her.

They started over, again, watching Chibi Miyuu hop from tile to tile with the delicate precision of someone defusing a bomb blindfolded. Each step was painfully cautious, like the floor might erupt into lava at any moment—which, in this ridiculous simulation, wouldn’t surprise Miyuu in the slightest.

So far, so good. Miyuu held her breath, her entire existence suspended between fragile hope and inevitable dread as her pint-sized doppelgänger approached the final tile.

Please, for the love of all things digital, please go right, she begged silently, clenching her fists as though sheer force of will could guide the tiny terror to success.

And then, with all the coordination of a penguin on roller skates, Chibi Miyuu wobbled, flailed, and stepped squarely on the wrong tile.

Miyuu felt her last thread of sanity snap like a frayed wire.

“Are you kidding me?” she exploded, throwing her arms in the air. “You had one job! ONE! How hard is it to step in a straight line? Seriously, are you defective? Did they program you with, like, negative IQ points?”

Chibi Miyuu flinched, her eyes beginning to glisten as she stared at the floor. Her lips wobbled, but she held back, sniffling quietly at first, trying to keep it together. But Miyuu, now fully unhinged, was too far gone to notice—or care.

“Do you even have a brain in that oversized toddler head of yours, or is it all fluff and bad decisions? Who wrote your code? A drunken hamster? Because honestly—”

Chibi Miyuu’s sniffles turned into soft hiccups, her tiny hands balling into fists at her sides. Her shoulders started to shake, the small sobs growing louder and harder to suppress. Miyuu didn’t even pause.

“—if I have to see the checkpoint one more time because of your incompetence, I swear—”

The ground suddenly trembled, a low rumble rolling through the labyrinth. Miyuu froze mid-sentence, to look at her younger self.

Chibi Miyuu’s wide, teary eyes had gone dark, black voids swallowing all trace of innocence. Her trembling sobs morphed into low, guttural growls, and her tiny form began to distort—stretching into something far less adorable.

“Oh no,” Miyuu muttered, backing up instinctively. “Oh, hell no.”

The transformation escalated. Chibi Miyuu’s small, round face twisted, her mouth stretching into an impossibly wide, gaping maw lined with serrated teeth that seemed to multiply endlessly. Her cat ears sharpened into jagged, bone-like horns, and her tiny hands warped into monstrous claws.

“Miyuu,” the creature rasped, its voice layered with a bone-chilling echo. “You don’t like me? I just wanted to make you proud.”

“Great,” Miyuu muttered, scrambling backward as shadowy tendrils erupted from the creature’s back, writhing and snapping like angry snakes.

The tendrils lashed out, snaring her ankles before she could react. With a startled yelp, Miyuu hit the ground hard, clawing at the floor as the shadowy monster dragged her closer.

“Okay, okay, I take it back! You’re adorable, the best Chibi ever, please let me go!” she babbled, panic surging as the creature’s gaping maw loomed above her. The stench of decay wafted out, turning her stomach.

“Miyuu,” the thing whispered again. Then, with terrifying speed, it struck.

The last thing she saw was the endless abyss of teeth closing in. The last thing she heard was its demonic laugh, low and chilling, before everything went dark.

And then—

“Oh dear,” chirped Frowl’s voice, entirely too chipper for the moment. “That looked particularly unpleasant. Shall we try again?”

Miyuu gasped, air flooding back into her lungs like she’d been drowning. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and for a second, all she could do was stare blankly at the ceiling, dazed and rattled.

“What the fu—” she started, then cut herself off with a groan, dragging a hand down her face. She hauled herself to her feet, her movements sluggish as she dusted off imaginary debris.

"Okay, this time," she muttered, shooting a wary glance at the now-innocent-looking Chibi Miyuu, “I’ll just… watch in silence. No micromanaging. No shouting. Totally zen.”

Yeah, right.

Straightening, she squared her shoulders as she tried to brace herself for another round of whatever fresh hell this was.

Chibi Miyuu toddled forward; her tiny hands balled up like she was preparing for a toddler MMA match. She stared at the tiles again, her brows furrowed in concentration. For a brief moment, she glanced timidly back at Miyuu, her little cat ears twitching in uncertainty.

Miyuu inhaled deeply, forcing her tone into something resembling encouragement.

“Hey, uh… you’re doing great,” she managed, the words awkward and stilted. Her face twisted like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “Just… take your time, okay?”

Chibi Miyuu perked up a bit at the encouragement, her hesitant nod accompanied by the tiniest flick of her tail. She hopped to the next tile with kitten-like caution, her movements careful but deliberate.

Miyuu, meanwhile, clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles popped. Her instinct to fix things warred with her newfound determination to let Chibi Miyuu figure it out herself. You’ve got this. Just be patient. Gentle. Encouraging.

“See the symbols on the tiles?” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Try matching the next one. It’s like… a game.”

Chibi Miyuu’s ears twitched again as she tilted her head, studying the tiles more closely. She took another cautious step to the correct one, and Miyuu’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

"Nice work,” Miyuu said, the compliment leaving her mouth like it physically pained her.

Chibi Miyuu’s face lit up, her steps growing a little bolder as she moved to the next tile.

“Just… keep going like that,” Miyuu said, waving a hand in what she hoped was an encouraging gesture. Inside, her patience was rapidly disintegrating, her fingers itching to just pick her up and throw her across the puzzle.

But, slowly, painfully, Chibi Miyuu made her way closer to the end, each successful step ratcheting up Miyuu’s pulse.

Finally, they reached the last tile. Chibi Miyuu hesitated, her wide, tear-streaked eyes flicking to Miyuu for reassurance. “Is… this one right?”

Miyuu inhaled sharply, willing herself to stay composed. “You’re almost there,” she said, her voice soft and steady in a way that surprised even her. “Just trust yourself. You’ve got this.”

Chibi Miyuu gave a determined nod, her ears twitching as she stepped onto the final tile. For a second, everything was still. Then, the room filled with a soft hum, and the door ahead creaked open, revealing the path forward.

The relief hit Miyuu like a tidal wave. She let out a long, shaky exhale, her shoulders slumping. “Thank the satellites,” she muttered.

Chibi Miyuu, oblivious to the emotional rollercoaster she’d just put her older self through, grinned ear to ear, her little cat tail swishing like a victorious flag.

Miyuu stared at her for a moment, torn between strangling the kid and high-fiving her. Finally, she settled for muttering, “Great. One down. Only a million more death traps to go.”