A Golden Opportunity

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

Of course, I don’t believe a word of what this lunatic cosplayer—who's sitting now across from me at the other end of my dining table devouring the fried chicken I’d offered her with barbaric gusto—is saying. But the watch in my hand—that is real. If nothing else, it stands as her proof that she knows something about my father’s whereabouts. And if that were true, then it is a very convincing piece of evidence. It isn’t even about its appearance; there is nothing particularly unique about the watch itself. There are 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 know 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 is, 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 launch into another round of tedious questioning, only for it to crumble against Vanily’s stubborn insistence. She refuses to change her testimony. According to her, I am 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 stretches 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 pierce into mine, burning with a fervent determination that seems to cut through to my very core.

For a moment, my disbelief falters. It is as if I’m drawn into her delusion, and for the briefest instant, I wonder if her story could possibly be true. I quickly dismiss the thought. Ridiculous. And yet, my hand drifts within inches of hers, my body moved by some strange impulse. Is it persuasion… or simply her natural charm?

Once more, Vanily clasps her palms together, and another object manifests between them. A simple trick of a stage magician, surely. Still, her sleight of hand is good enough that I can’t catch how she does it. This time, what appears in her grasp is something rectangular.

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

Anticipating her move, I extend my hand and receive the object she is offering.

It is a yellowed envelope sealed with white wax. The seal bears a peculiar engraving—a feather, though I can’t tell what bird it belongs to. Written across the front are the words: “For Gugu.”

“Gugu.” That is 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 ask.

Vanily remains silent.

I press my thumb into the wax and break the seal. Inside is a folded sheet of plain paper. I carefully open it, and upon seeing the handwriting, my breath catches in my throat. The letters are all too familiar. It is… my father’s hand.

The message reads:

“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 is solemn, not a hint of sarcasm or irony within.

I look back at Vanily, who sits silently, staring at me, waiting for me to speak. Instead, I choose silence. I study her face, hoping to catch some flaw in her performance, some break in her “otherworldly warrior” façade. Nothing. Her serious expression holds firm. She is good. Too good. Still, I know that with the right sudden move, I could break her character.

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

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

But regardless of her plans, bombarding her with endless questions won’t work. Supposedly, she is desperate for me to follow her to her world. That desperation means all I need are three… no, two precise questions. Questions that will pin her down.

I scan her from head to toe—her outfit, her features. I check the letter again, hunting for any cracks or contradictions I can use against her. But everything is so… vague.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch movement. I turn my head toward the window that overlooks my garden. A silhouette darts out of sight the moment I look.

“…I see.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

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

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

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

It is 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 is a cruel joke all the same.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the first time I’ve been through something like this. A couple of years back, Ayume and I 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’ve been visited by so-called mediums who insist they can hear my father’s voice from beyond. So yes—I am all too familiar with situations like this. And I’m not about to let anyone play with my emotions again.

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

Clap. Clap. Clap.

I break the tension with slow, sarcastic applause.

Vanily looks 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 shoots toward where I point. “There’s no one there—”

“I saw them, damn it!” I slam my hands on the table and stand 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 go 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 stride toward the window.

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

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

“Hey! You, whoever you are!” My voice comes out firmer, more authoritative than usual, but it fits 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 grabs my arm and tugs hard—it’s Vanily, of course.

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

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

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

I freeze. The silhouette reappears in the window, and this time I get a good look. It isn’t human. Its lanky frame is covered in bristling spikes that quiver in the wind—fur, maybe. Two pointed shapes jut from its head, and between them glow a pair of yellow-green orbs, flickering like fireflies. Eyes. Its massive hand presses against the glass, covered in coarse gray hair. Its fingers are as long as flutes, each tipped with nails curved like hooks. With one claw—the index—it drags across the glass with a screech.

Bzzz… Bzzz…

The sound is shrill and grating, like a chainsaw tearing through wood. And though it could be taken for a growl, the way its eyes narrow, the tilt of its head, the almost playful rhythm of its claw… it feels more like laughter.

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

Vanily yanks me to the floor, shielding me with her body from the shower of shards. I peek over her shoulder and finally see the creature in full.

It is ape-like, its grotesquely long limbs forcing it to hunch so its head won’t scrape the ceiling. Its arms drag across the floor, coated in filthy gray fur tangled with leaves and twigs. Its face looks 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 are pitch black, devoid of the faintest glimmer of soul. Horrifying as it is, the face still carries a disturbing trace of something human.

Over its body it wears 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 is meant more for intimidation than defense.

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

“Warhammer Hero,” it speaks, 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 gape wide, revealing jagged, twisted fangs that jut outward like pens extending from their casings.

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

“Ridiculous Undir,” the creature sneers. “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 shakes the walls.

The Corrupt lunges before Vanily can fully rise. But she thrusts out her hand, which begins to radiate a golden light.

“Shield!”

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

The Corrupt crashes against the barrier and is blasted back by a surge of golden energy. It writhes in pain, shrieking as it staggers away.

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

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

What emerges is a colossal sword—its immense blade black as the void of space. A weapon so absurdly massive it looks fit only for a giant. And yet Vanily holds it as though it is nothing more than a toy.

The Corrupt laughs at her threat. Vanily answers with a battle cry that makes the dome shatter in an instant.

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

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

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

The beast cackles as Vanily presses her weight into the swing, trying to force it back. But the Corrupt overpowers her, driving her back as its claws screech down the blade, spitting sparks. Their weapons tear apart, and they lock eyes with feral resolve.

Vanily retreats, wary of her disadvantage at such close range. She braces herself to strike again—but her enemy moves faster. With a single swipe, its unnaturally long arm slashes her left arm. Blood bursts forth, pain forcing her grip loose. Her knuckles give way, and the enormous sword crashes to the floor, leaving her defenseless.

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

The monster spins and swings its arm in a low arc. Vanily crouches, but it is too late. Its knuckles smash into her ribs with bone-shattering force, hurling her across the room into the kitchen cabinets.

Wasting no time, the Corrupt charges at her.

The wounded warrior writhes on the floor as the beast closes in. Desperate, she hurls rubble at its face. Nothing. It doesn’t even flinch. She switches to throwing drawers, one after another, until luck finally smiles on her—she finds the knife drawer.

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

Vanily seizes the chance. But before she can reach her fallen weapon, the Corrupt blocks her, its massive hand seizing the back of her neck.

The beast roars with laughter as it wrenches the blade from its own eye. Its left mouth licks the blood that streams down its face, savoring it. Then, with both mouths cackling, it smashes Vanily against the ceiling, then the walls, again and again, as if she is nothing more than a ragdoll.

Debris rains down around me. Blood sprays from her battered body. Her screams of agony claw into my ears—too awful to bear.

“No… no… This can’t be happening…”

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

A chill ripples up my spine, followed by a sudden explosion inside my head. My mind clears in an instant. My body moves on its own. My stomach tickles, my chest burns. My blood boils like acid in my veins. What is this? Anxiety? Panic? No… it is something else. Something new.

An emotion I have never felt before surges through me. It drives me to my feet. It makes me reach for Vanily’s fallen sword. The weapon is impossibly heavy, its weight far beyond my strength. With both trembling arms, I barely manage to lift it—only by the hilt. Even so, I begin dragging it forward, step by step, toward the Corrupt.

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

The monster only laughs.

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

No. What now drives me is something far more primal, yet shamefully selfish.

It is 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 drools with it.

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

I can’t ignore it. This is my chance.

The chance to step into something fantastic.

The chance to prove I can achieve the impossible.

The chance… to be a hero.