A Golden Opportunity

An unexpected visit had turned into the strangest roleplay session I had ever been dragged into—and with it, an equally unexpected revelation. For in the palm of my hand lay a watch, one I recognized as the very same my father wore on his wrist the night he disappeared. I couldn’t be entirely sure. After ten years, my memory could easily be betraying me. Maybe it was simply a watch that looked similar. But if this woman was trying to trick me, then what was her purpose?

Of course, I didn’t believe a word of what this lunatic cosplayer across the table was saying. She sat there at the other end of my dining room, devouring the fried chicken I’d offered her with barbaric gusto. But the watch in my hand—that was real. If nothing else, it stood as her proof that she knew something about my father’s whereabouts. And if that were true, then it was a very convincing piece of evidence. It wasn’t even about its appearance; there was nothing particularly unique about the watch itself. There were probably hundreds like it out there, and I might’ve even seen other men wearing the same model before. Yet only a handful of people knew how important this watch was to my father. Why? Because that watch was more than an accessory—it was part of him. He never took it off. He wore it inside and outside the house, even to bed, and since it was waterproof, he kept it on while bathing as well.

The only secret my father never allowed either me or Ayume to know was the reason behind his strange attachment to it. And though we never understood it, Ayume and I grew so used to it that we stopped questioning why he always wore it. That’s also why she neglected to mention it to the police when he went missing—something I only learned a year later when she drunkenly confessed it to me. At the time I was angry, but eventually I brushed it off as irrelevant. Looks like I was wrong. The truth was, no one could possibly know about the watch, nor how important it was to my father, unless someone close to him—or family—had shared that detail.

Once again, I launched into another round of tedious questioning, only for it to crumble against Vanily’s stubborn insistence. She refused to change her testimony. According to her, I was none other than the so-called Warhammer Hero—a chosen one of the stars, destined to save the kingdom of Spilleplade from being destroyed by the forces of corruption.

“…And that is why you must come with me at once. The link connecting our worlds will vanish within hours.” Vanily stretched out her hand toward me. “Please, trust me. I only wish to protect you. The forces of corruption won’t stop until you’re gone. You’re in grave danger—and I’m your only hope.” Her eyes pierced into mine, burning with a fervent determination that seemed to cut through to my very core.

For a moment, my disbelief faltered. It was as if I’d been drawn into her delusion, and for the briefest instant, I wondered if her story could possibly be true. I quickly dismissed the thought. Ridiculous. And yet, my hand had drifted within inches of hers, my body moved by some strange impulse. Was it persuasion… or simply her natural charm?

Once more, Vanily clasped her palms together, and another object manifested between them. A simple trick of a stage magician, surely. Still, her sleight of hand was good enough that I couldn’t catch how she did it. This time, what appeared in her grasp was something rectangular.

“If my words aren’t enough to convince you… perhaps his will.”

Anticipating her move, I extended my hand and received the object she was offering.

It was a yellowed envelope sealed with white wax. The seal bore a peculiar engraving—a feather, though I couldn’t tell what bird it belonged to. Written across the front were the words: “For Gugu.”

“Gugu.” That was the childish nickname my father used for me when I was little, up until I begged him to stop back in elementary school. Once again, a detail that would be near impossible for anyone else to know.

“What is this?” I asked.

Vanily remained silent.

I pressed my thumb into the wax and broke the seal. Inside was a folded sheet of plain paper. I carefully opened it, and upon seeing the handwriting, my breath caught in my throat. The letters were all too familiar. It was… my father’s hand.

The message read:

“My precious Gugu, ten years have passed since I was taken from this world, summoned to fulfill a vital role in Spilleplade. Not a single day has gone by without me longing to see you again. But though the link to Earth has reopened, duty binds me here, and so I’ve entrusted Vanily—the strongest, most loyal woman I know—to bring you safely to me. A war rages here that threatens to swallow my kingdom in ruin, and I need you to take on the role fate now places upon your shoulders. I need you to inherit my mantle as the Warhammer Hero. I know it will be hard to believe the words of a stranger, even if she carries my beloved watch as proof. Relinquishing it was painful, but necessary. Yet I trust that you will not only recognize my handwriting, but also feel the weight of my heart in every word. I know your head must be flooded with doubts, but in time, they will all be answered. For now, you must stay safe. My enemies already know a new Warhammer Hero has been chosen—my son. They will not rest until they find and destroy you. Place your trust in Vanily. She will protect you with her life. I know we’ll meet again soon, Gugu. Good luck.”

I read the letter over and over. Its tone was solemn, not a hint of sarcasm or irony within.

I looked back at Vanily, who sat silently, staring at me, waiting for me to speak. Instead, I chose silence. I studied her face, hoping to catch some flaw in her performance, some break in her “otherworldly princess” façade. Nothing. Her serious expression held firm. She was good. Too good. Still, I knew that with the right sudden move, I could break her character.

But I was starting to realize just how impossible it would be to make her reveal the truth behind this act of hers. Which meant I needed a new strategy. If I could expose her deception without leaving room for doubt…

Back in high school, I’d been in the theater club, and if there was one thing I’d learned, it was that no amateur actor—no matter their talent or practice—could keep their character intact once the “stage” around them began to collapse. I didn’t know how many scenarios she might’ve prepared for, but the first one was obvious: me rejecting her fantasy and trying to kick her out of my house.

But no matter my intentions, bombarding her with endless questions wouldn’t work. Supposedly, she was desperate for me to follow her to her world. That desperation meant all I needed were three… no, two precise questions. Questions that would pin her down.

I scanned her from head to toe—her outfit, her features. I checked the letter again, hunting for any cracks or contradictions I could use against her. But everything was so… vague.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I turned my head toward the window that overlooked my garden. A silhouette darted out of sight the moment I looked.

“…I see.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

“…Nothing. I’m just surprised you didn’t think of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

A prank. That’s what it all boiled down to. A performance, and her partner recording us from outside.

It was emotional manipulation mixed with an elaborate work of fiction. A practical joke, too cruel and yet too obvious. I mean, seriously—who in their right mind would believe this? Still, it was a cruel joke all the same.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time I’d been through something like this. A couple of years back, Ayume and I had received calls from fake kidnappers claiming they had my father, demanding ransom money. The police quickly exposed them as opportunistic scammers preying on our grief. And more than once, we’d been visited by so-called mediums who insisted they could hear my father’s voice from beyond. So yes—I was all too familiar with situations like this. And I wasn’t about to let anyone play with my emotions again.

I’d shatter this little play of theirs and make these idiots disappear from my sight.

Clap. Clap. Clap.
I broke the tension with slow, sarcastic applause.

Vanily looked understandably confused.

“You… you really do have a future in acting. For a moment, you almost convinced me.”

“I… no…”

“Save it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Your little friend ruined it.”

“Friend?”

“The one with the camera at the window.”

“What?!” Vanily’s gaze shot toward where I pointed. “There’s no one there—”

“I saw them, damn it!” I slammed my hands on the table and stood up. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, and I don’t care. But I refuse to be humiliated online. So you’d better hand over that video or I’ll report you for harassment.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! But if you really did see someone peeking through the window, then it could only mean one thing… an enemy.” Her eyes went wide. “Impossible…! I thought we destroyed them all. But if a Corrupt managed to escape, it would only take a few hours for it to multiply. The house could already be surrounded!”

“Enough.” Determined to expose this farce, I strode toward the window.

“Stop, my lord!” she shouted, reaching out as she rose to her feet. “It could be dangerous!”

I pressed my face close to the glass, trying to spot the so-called spy. Nothing.

“Hey! You, whoever you are!” My voice came out firmer, more authoritative than usual, but it fit the situation. “The joke’s over! Show yourself and face the consequences of your actions! Hand over the footage and get out of here before I call the police!”

Someone grabbed my arm and tugged hard—it was Vanily, of course.

“You’re exposing yourself to a possible enemy attack!”

“Let go of me!” I snapped, struggling to pull free, but her strength was far greater than mine.

Then I heard it—the scrape of something sharp against glass.

I froze. The silhouette reappeared in the window, and this time I got a good look. It wasn’t human. Its lanky frame was covered in bristling spikes that quivered in the wind—fur, maybe. Two pointed shapes jutted from its head, and between them glowed a pair of yellow-green orbs, flickering like fireflies. Eyes. Its massive hand pressed against the glass, covered in coarse gray hair. Its fingers were as long as flutes, each tipped with nails curved like hooks. With one claw—the index—it dragged across the glass with a screech.

Bzzz… Bzzz…

The sound was shrill and grating, like a chainsaw tearing through wood. And though it could have been taken for a growl, the way its eyes narrowed, the tilt of its head, the almost playful rhythm of its claw… it felt more like laughter.

The dark silhouette hurled itself at the window, shattering the glass as it burst into my house.

Vanily yanked me to the floor, shielding me with her body from the shower of shards. I peeked over her shoulder and finally saw the creature in full.

It was ape-like, its grotesquely long limbs forcing it to hunch so its head wouldn’t scrape the ceiling. Its arms dragged across the floor, coated in filthy gray fur tangled with leaves and twigs. Its face looked almost split into two halves: a nose with three nostrils, a split mouth—or rather, two smaller mouths—and eyes set as far apart as a zebra’s. Both eyes were pitch black, devoid of the faintest glimmer of soul. Horrifying as it was, the face still carried a disturbing trace of something human.

Over its body it wore armor fashioned from massive black bones, like those of some giant lizard. Beneath that, only a crude loincloth. No real protection, as if the bone armor was meant more for intimidation than defense.

My skeptical mind struggled to process what I was seeing. A nightmare beast had forced its way into my home. And worst of all… it was staring straight at me.

“Warhammer Hero,” it spoke, alternating between its two mouths every few words, voice dripping with mockery. “What an honor… how laughable. This feeble man, with a will even weaker than his body, is supposed to threaten Alminor’s rise? I was going to wait for my comrades, but I doubt I’ll need them… I’ll kill you here.” Its jaws gaped wide, revealing jagged, twisted fangs that jutted outward like pens extending from their casings.

“You forget I’m still here, you filthy Corrupt!” Vanily barked defiantly, pushing herself up from the floor.

“Ridiculous Undir,” the creature sneered. “Your mouth speaks bravely, but your will falters before me. You are no true warrior—no more than this man whose faith you so foolishly uphold. Neither of you is worth killing. But I will… because it is my mission.”

Its roar shook the walls.

The Corrupt lunged before Vanily could fully rise. But she thrust out her hand, which began to radiate a golden light.

“Shield!”

Golden rays burst from her fingers, merging into a sphere that compressed into the size of a marble—then exploded outward, forming a crystalline dome around us.

The Corrupt crashed against the barrier and was blasted back by a surge of golden energy. It writhed in pain, shrieking as it staggered away.

“Damn Undir!” the creature snarled, gnashing its teeth. “Your kind isn’t supposed to wield magic!”

“I am an Undir exiled and raised in the Dark Lands!” Vanily declared, now standing proudly with her arms crossed. She brought her hands together, then slowly pulled them apart. Sparks of light danced between her palms, coalescing into shape. “I do not share my people’s beliefs!”

What emerged was a colossal sword—its immense blade black as the void of space. A weapon so absurdly massive it looked fit only for a giant. And yet Vanily held it as though it were nothing more than a toy.

The Corrupt laughed at her threat. Vanily answered with a battle cry that made the dome shatter in an instant.

She and the Corrupt launched themselves at one another, charging headlong into combat.

Time itself seemed to slow. My mind reeled at the scene before me. Monsters. Magic. It was all real. Everything Vanily had said… was real. The Corrupt. The danger looming over us. Her mission. Spilleplade… and my father. My father was there, waiting for me. And me…? I was supposed to be a hero?

My doubts and rambling thoughts dissolved like sugar into coffee, vanishing the moment sparks exploded before my eyes—the clash of Vanily’s sword against the Corrupt’s claws.

The beast cackled as Vanily pressed her weight into the swing, trying to force it back. But the Corrupt overpowered her, driving her back as its claws screeched down the blade, spitting sparks. Their weapons tore apart, and they locked eyes with feral resolve.

Vanily retreated, wary of her disadvantage at such close range. She braced herself to strike again—but her enemy moved faster. With a single swipe, its unnaturally long arm slashed her left arm. Blood burst forth, pain forcing her grip loose. Her knuckles gave way, and the enormous sword crashed to the floor, leaving her defenseless.

The Corrupt lunged in for the kill. But Vanily, though wounded and bleeding, had not lost her focus. She rolled forward, diving between its legs to escape, buying herself precious distance—though now even farther from her weapon.

The monster spun and swung its arm in a low arc. Vanily crouched, but it was too late. Its knuckles smashed into her ribs with bone-shattering force, hurling her across the room into the kitchen cabinets.

Wasting no time, the Corrupt charged at her.

The wounded warrior writhed on the floor as the beast closed in. Desperate, she hurled rubble at its face. Nothing. It didn’t even flinch. She switched to throwing drawers, one after another, until luck finally smiled on her—she found the knife drawer.

Snatching up every blade inside, she flung them all at the Corrupt. It batted most of them aside with frightening ease, claws slicing the air. All but one. A single knife slipped through and buried itself in its left eye.

Vanily seized the chance. But before she could reach her fallen weapon, the Corrupt blocked her, its massive hand seizing the back of her neck.

The beast roared with laughter as it wrenched the blade from its own eye. Its left mouth licked the blood that streamed down its face, savoring it. Then, with both mouths cackling, it smashed Vanily against the ceiling, then the walls, again and again, as if she were nothing more than a ragdoll.

Debris rained down around me. Blood sprayed from her battered body. Her screams of agony clawed into my ears—too awful to bear.

“No… no… This can’t be happening…”

She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to have fought these things before. So why… why did the difference in power between them seem so overwhelming?

A chill rippled up my spine, followed by a sudden explosion inside my head. My mind cleared in an instant. My body moved on its own. My stomach tickled, my chest burned. My blood boiled like acid in my veins. What was this? Anxiety? Panic? No… it was something else. Something new.

An emotion I had never felt before surged through me. It drove me to my feet. It made me reach for Vanily’s fallen sword. The weapon was impossibly heavy, its weight far beyond my strength. With both trembling arms, I barely managed to lift it—only by the hilt. Even so, I began dragging it forward, step by step, toward the Corrupt.

“Let her go, damn you!” I roared, my voice tearing from my throat.

The monster only laughed.

But contrary to how it looked, I wasn’t angry. This wasn’t fury, nor even the selfless concern for another person. It wasn’t fear, either—not even the instinct to preserve my own life.

No. What now drove me was something far more primal, yet shamefully selfish.

It was the hunger to reach an ideal. The thirst to meet an expectation. The raw ambition to seize victory—a craving so deep my spirit nearly drooled with it.

And it all began with a single spark. The glint of Vanily’s sword, lying on the floor, flashing against my eyes.

I couldn’t ignore it. This was my chance.

The chance to step into something fantastic.
The chance to prove I could achieve the impossible.

The chance… to be a hero.