I Refuse to Follow the Script

Josephine closed the door to her apartment and leaned against it. Her shoulders dropped. “Another day, another overtime…” She exhaled the words like they had been sitting in her lungs since noon. Her heels came off next. The first landed neatly beside the shoe rack. The second rolled onto its side. Josephine stared at it. She stared for three seconds longer. “…Tomorrow.” She left it there. After twelve hours at the office, picking up one stupid shoe was apparently beyond her capabilities. She carried her dinner into the kitchen and placed the convenience-store meal on the counter. Her handbag followed, tossed onto the chair with considerably less care. The apartment was quiet. Warm. Familiar. Josephine glanced around. Nothing had changed since she left that morning. The small living room. The books stacked beside the sofa. The blanket permanently occupying one corner. Her gaming setup sitting in the far end of the room, monitors dark and waiting. She checked the clock. 11:21 p.m. “…I should sleep.” She nodded to herself. A reasonable decision. A responsible decision. A decision that lasted approximately three seconds. Josephine picked up her dinner. “Shower first.” That, at least, was manageable. Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom wearing an oversized shirt and comfortable shorts, her damp hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. She reheated her dinner, grabbed a bottle of tea, and collapsed onto the sofa. Her phone was already in her hand. Her usual comedy series was waiting. The moment the opening theme played, Josephine felt something inside her finally loosen. No deadlines. No emails. No meetings. No coworker appearing beside her desk at five-thirty with the dreaded words— “Sorry, can you help me with something?” She took a bite of pasta. On-screen, one of the characters made an absolutely terrible decision. Josephine snorted. “You idiot.” The character made another terrible decision. She laughed. For the next twenty minutes, Josephine allowed herself to do absolutely nothing. And it was wonderful. By the time the episode ended, her dinner was gone. She placed the empty container on the coffee table. Then her eyes drifted toward the other side of the room. Her gaming setup. Two monitors. Mechanical keyboard. Headset hanging neatly from its stand. A controller resting beside the mouse. And a little whiteboard covered in handwriting. Josephine squinted at it. She could barely read half of what she'd written from where she was sitting. She stood. Walked closer. And immediately regretted it. ========================== [ MOONLIT REVERIE ] [ ROUTES ] Prince — ✓ Royal Mage — ✓ Knight — ✓ Priest — ✓ Assassin — ✓ Merchant — ✓ Archivist — ✓ CG: 87/87 ✓ ENDING: 21/21 ✓ HIDDEN EVENTS: 14/15 OVERALL COMPLETION: 98% ========================== Josephine's eyes narrowed. There it was. That number. Again. 98%. She had been staring at that number for three weeks. Three. Weeks. Her eye twitched. “You have got to be kidding me.” She dropped into her chair. The computer came alive. Moonlit Reverie appeared on the screen. The familiar title music filled the room. Josephine leaned forward. She had played this game for almost eight months. She knew its routes. Its dialogue. Its affection requirements. Its hidden flags. Its character schedules. She knew which choices increased Lucien's affection by two points instead of one. She knew which seemingly insignificant conversation with Elias unlocked a hidden scene three chapters later. She knew Kieran's route had a missable event that required completing a completely unrelated side quest before midnight. She knew which NPCs disappeared during the festival. She knew which dialogue options were traps. She knew almost everything. Almost. Josephine clicked open her achievement list. There was only one entry left. A greyed-out icon. No description. No hint. No unlock condition. Nothing. She stared at it. “Who designed this?” Silence. “Seriously.” Still nothing. Josephine leaned back in her chair. “This isn't even a difficult achievement.” She pointed accusingly at the screen. “This is just stupid.” The game, unsurprisingly, did not defend itself. Josephine cracked her knuckles. “Fine.” Her eyes sharpened. “Let's do this properly.” She opened her browser. One monitor displayed the game. The second was filled with notes, old forum posts, fan wikis, archived discussions, and a spreadsheet Josephine had been maintaining for the past two months. She was not going to sleep. Not tonight. Not until she found that last hidden event. Because 98% was not 100%. And Josephine did not leave things unfinished. -------------------------------------------------- Two hours later, she froze. Her mouse stopped moving. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen. “…What?” She slowly scrolled back up. The information was still there. A forum post from three years ago. Buried beneath hundreds of replies. The title was simple. [MOONLIT REVERIE — Does anyone know who this character is?] Josephine clicked it. The original poster had attached a screenshot. The image was blurry. Dark. Almost completely obscured by the game's interface. But Josephine recognized the background immediately. The Royal Archives. She zoomed in. There was a figure standing between the shelves. A girl. Long hair. A dress Josephine had never seen in the game. No character portrait. No name. No dialogue box. Nothing. Josephine frowned. “That NPC doesn't exist.” She checked the wiki. Nothing. The official character list. Nothing. The route guides. Nothing. The complete CG gallery. Nothing. Josephine leaned closer to the screen. The figure in the screenshot seemed to be looking directly toward the player. Her expression was impossible to make out. But there was something about her eyes— Josephine's cursor hovered over the image. She clicked. The screen flickered. Once. Josephine froze. The music stopped. Her entire computer went silent. “…What?” The screen went black. Then a single line of white text appeared. [ ERROR 404 ] Josephine stared. A second line appeared beneath it. [ UNREGISTERED CHARACTER DETECTED. ] Her smile slowly disappeared. “…That's not funny.” Another line appeared. [ RESONANCE EVENT: ACTIVE ] Josephine's hand stopped above the mouse. She didn't click anything. She didn't breathe. The final line appeared. [ PLAYER RESPONSE REQUIRED. ] The screen went completely black. And then— Josephine's apartment lights went out.