The time I got transmigrated into a game

Chapter three: The game

Honestly, I didn’t expect to wake up. The impact alone should have killed me. Yet here I was, standing in a room that looked like it had been abandoned for decades. The ceiling crisscrossed with spiderweb cracks, and the carpet reeked like it hadn’t been washed since the day it was laid.

The bare walls looked as if they hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint since the dawn of time, and a bitter, cold wind slapped my face like an invisible hand. My eyes drifted past the stained carpet, past a battered little desk in the corner, and landed on an open window. Snow fluttered outside. Winter? How could it be winter? The Philippines is tropical—was this fake snow? Had I been dropped into some sick prank?

I moved to rush toward the window, but instinct screamed in my gut: Don’t. Make. A. Sound. Fear struck suddenly, sharp and vicious, like a viper lunging with jaws wide. Why was I so terrified?

My footsteps slowed to careful, deliberate steps, sinking softly into the carpet. When I reached the desk, I realized the window above it was nothing more than an empty frame—the glass was completely gone. The curtains were just as bad: ratty, full of holes, faded to a dull pink that suggested they might once have been deep red. I pulled them closed as best I could.

The second I turned around, light bloomed right in front of me, bleeding into existence like ink dropped in water. It scared the hell out of me, and a surprised yelp tore from my throat.

Then a voice spoke—disembodied, coming from everywhere at once. "Get into bed! Hurry! The orderly is awake—if she catches you, you’ll be put in solitary!"

Orderly? Solitary?

Heavy, furious footsteps thudded down the hall, heading straight for my door. Panic completely hijacked my brain. Spurred on by the sheer urgency in that strange voice, I lunged onto the bed and pulled the covers over my head.

BANG!!

The door slammed open, rattling violently on its hinges.

I forced myself to play it dazed, like I’d just been jolted awake by the noise. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up groggily, squinting as if my eyelids were made of lead.

"What’s… what’s going on?" I mumbled, doing my best impression of a confused, sleepy victim.

A woman stood in the doorway, lips peeled back as she gasped for breath. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and blazing with rage.

"You!" she snarled. "Causing trouble again?!"

My heart hammered so hard against my ribs I thought it would break free and leap out the window. Honestly, I almost wanted to follow it. With a face and attitude like hers, no man in his right mind would ever marry her. Maybe that’s why she was so pissed—taking out a lifetime of personal frustration on me.

I forced a long yawn, letting my voice sound thick and annoyed. "Trouble? Miss… I was sleeping."

"Sleeping, my ass!" she spat, taking a heavy step inside. "Then what was all that noise I just heard?!"

"Huh? Noise? It’s windy, ma’am—maybe the window? The latch is broken," I said, yawning again.

She stared at me for what felt like forever, and I thought I was done for—until she turned and marched toward the window. Lucky for me, the latch really was broken. She inspected it with grumbles and a sharp huff, then pulled a zip tie from her pocket and lashed the window shut. Her boots thudded all the way back out, and the door slammed shut one last time before silence settled again.

I sank back onto the ratty mattress, which still held a faint, sharp scent of detergent that made my nose wrinkle. Pulling the thick blanket over my head, I trembled as adrenaline crashed down on me. Where am I? Did my parents finally sell me to the black market? Questions raced through my mind until my head ached.

We definitely weren’t in the Philippines—there’s no snow there. The woman spoke a language I’d heard before, familiar yet odd, and stranger still: I understood it perfectly. And apparently, I could speak it too.

Then the disembodied voice whispered right against my ear. I almost shrieked, but clamped my hands over my mouth just in time. Glowing blue light seeped through the blanket right in front of me. I trembled—not from cold, but from fear.

"Come on out, Player. It’s fine—she won’t bother us now," the voice said, sounding almost cheerful.

"Player?" I asked, bewildered.

I peeked out from under the blanket, and my eyes went wide at the sight of a glowing, translucent screen.

"What the—?" I hissed into the quiet room. "This is exactly like the one Iron Man uses in the movies."

The screen pinged and loaded my profile: my name, height, weight, stats for strength and weakness, plus bars and meters I couldn’t make heads or tails of.

"Hello, Player! Welcome to ----HEIR’S HEARTBEAT: AFFECTION & FATE-," it chimed. "This is an Heir Simulator—your goal is to raise your Love and Affection meters!"

I stared, dumbfounded. A game? I was stuck in a game?!

"Is this some kind of joke?" I whispered. "Where are the hidden cameras? ‘Cause this isn’t funny."

"No joke, Player—it’s true! You died, and this is your trial. Pass, and you can return to your world. Fail, and you’ll remain dead permanently."

"Then I forfeit," I said, brightening a little. "That counts as losing, right?" I didn’t even care if that hag heard me now.

"What?! No! Dying is bad! Living is good! Besides—win, and you go home with a 100 million peso cash prize, no strings attached, taxes fully paid!"

"No! I don’t wanna play some stupid game! Just kill me already!" I wailed, flailing my arms and legs like a fish out of water. The bed groaned under the sudden movement.

"Shhh!!! Do you want to die?!" the voice hissed in my ear. "If she hears you making that racket, you’ll end up in solitary—and you won’t last a day in this weather!" It tried to sound soothing, but I didn’t care. I glared straight at the glowing screen, face hot and brows furrowed. I took a deep breath, ready to scream at the top of my lungs—only to find my voice cut off.

"Okay, okay! Deal!" it yelped. "Play along for five episodes, and I’ll pull every string I have to get you out of here."

It shifted, sounding almost pleading. "C’mon, man—help me out here. I’m short on my quota. Just five episodes, please?"

That gave me pause. I knew all about hitting quotas—had been chasing them myself since I was a kid. I shut my mouth and fixed the screen with a look sharp enough to curdle milk. "What do you mean?"

"Same as your world—we all have targets to meet. The requirement is five episodes, and I know you probably—"

"Probably?" I cut in. "You mean definitely!"

"I know, I know! Just—five episodes, and I’ll get you out exactly when I say. Deal?"

"Hmm. Five episodes, then I’m gone? For good?" I clarified.

"Five episodes! Promise!" it said, a little too eagerly.

I thought about it. Five episodes wasn’t long at all—if I only had to stick around that short, I could just coast through. I let the silence stretch, making it wait, letting it squirm.

"Fine," I growled. "Five episodes."

"Yes! Yes! Five episodes!"