The system’s most cursed player

The office light buzzed like a dying insect. Kazuki Saito’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, his wrists aching from twelve straight hours of inputting data that no one would ever check. The cursor blinked on the screen, relentless and impatient. Another report. Another deadline. Another night where the sun had set without him noticing. His coffee had gone cold three hours ago. He drank it anyway. The bitterness clung to his tongue, a familiar companion. Just one more hour, he told himself. Then I’ll go home. But home was a studio apartment with a flickering bulb and a fridge that smelled faintly of spoiled milk. No one waited for him there. No messages lit up his phone. His mother hadn’t called in months not since she’d remarried and moved to Okinawa with her new husband. His father? A blurred memory in a suit, always leaving before dawn. And Ai… Kazuki's thumb hovered over his phone screen. He knew he shouldn't look. Knew it would only make the ache in his chest worse. But like picking at a scab, he unlocked it anyway. Her last message still sat there, unread for the hundredth time. “Kazuki, we need to talk. It’s not working. I’m sorry." Followed by, three days later: “Also, I’m seeing Yamada-san now. Don’t make it awkward at the office." Yamada. His section manager. The guy who’d patted him on the back last week and said, “You’re really pulling your weight, Saito. Keep it up." Kazuki’s throat tightened. He should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming. A notification popped up. Another email. Subject line: URGENT: Revisions Needed by 9 AM. His vision blurred. The words swam on the screen. I can’t do this anymore, he whispered to himself. Rain drizzled outside as Kazuki trudged toward the station, shoulders hunched against the cold. The neon lights of Tokyo reflected in the puddles, distorted and mocking. Then he saw her. Ai stood beneath a café, her laughter ringing out as she leaned into Yamada's side. She looked radiant, her cheeks flushed with warmth, her fingers curled around a steaming cup. Yamada smirked as she whispered something in his ear, his arm draped possessively around her waist. Kazuki froze. His stomach twisted into knots. He should’ve turned away. Should’ve kept walking. But his feet moved on their own, carrying him closer. Ai's smile vanished the moment she spotted him. Her eyes raked over him, his wrinkled suit, his hollow cheeks, the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, his hollow cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes and her lip curled. “Oh. You.” Yamada didn't even bother looking at him. Just took another sip of his coffee, his expression bored. Kazuki’s hands clenched at his sides. “Ai, can we ” “God, Kazuki.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t make this thing into a scene, It’s pathetic.” The words hit him like a physical blow. “You really thought we had a future?” She laughed the sound sharp and cruel. “Look at you. You’re nothing. No ambition, no money, no life. Yamada-san actually has a future.” Yamada smirked, his grip tightening around Ai’s waist. Kazuki’s face burned with shame. His chest ached. He wanted to yell. To demand answers. But the words died in his throat. Because she wasn’t wrong. Ai turned away, dismissing him with a flick of her hair. “Just go home, Kazuki. Play your little games. That’s all you’re good for anyway.” His apartment was dark when he finally stumbled inside. The silence pressed in on him. Kazuki didn’t bother turning on the lights. He collapsed onto his bed, the thin mattress offering him no comfort. His hands shook as he grabbed his controller, his fingers fumbling over the buttons. The screen flickered to life and booted up the familiar title on the screen Eternalis: Crown of the Fallen glowing in the dark. Maybe, just this once, he could win. The game loaded. His character Leonhardt von Grendel, the doomed noble with silver hair and cold eyes stood on screen, his pixilated form waiting for commands. This time, he thought, his grip tightening on the controller. I’ll keep him alive. But fate had other plans. An ambush. A betrayal. A sword through Leonhardt’s chest. GAME OVER. Kazuki’s hands trembled and his vision swam. “Damn it!” He hurled the controller across the room. It hit the wall with a crack, shattering the plastic. His chest burned and head pounded. Not again. Not again Then Darkness. A voice, crisp and artificial, sliced through the void. “Welcome, Player. You are now Leonhardt von Grendel. Survival Rate: 0.3%. Good luck.” Kazuki’s eyes flew open. Soft silk fabric brushed against his skin. The scent of lavender and polished wood replaced the stale office air of his apartment. He was lying in a bed far too large to be his own, beneath a canopy of embroidered velvet. What the hell? He sat up too quickly making his head spin. His body felt… different… Lighter…. Stronger but also wrong. A full length mirror stood across the room. Kazuki stumbled toward it. The face staring back wasn’t his. Pale, sharp features. Silver hair that fell just past his shoulders. Eyes like frozen steel. Leonhardt von Grendel. The character who died in every ending. No. No, no, no— A sharp knock echoed through the room. The sound came again three hard knocks against the door, each one sharp and clear like the ticking of a clock counting down to something terrible. Kazuki froze. The knocking was too loud, too perfect, not like the soft, muffled sounds he was used to in his cheap apartment where the walls were thin and everything echoed. This door was thick and heavy, the kind that wouldn’t shake no matter how hard someone pounded on it. A voice came from the other side, smooth and polite but with no warmth in it. "Young Master?" The words were respectful, but there was something underneath them, something urgent. "Your father has asked for you. The men from the Imperial Court are here. They are waiting in the Sunspire Hall." Kazuki’s chest tightened. Imperial Court. Delegation. The words sent flashes through his mind not his own memories, but Leonhardt’s. Broken pieces of things that hadn’t happened yet. Men in rich robes smiling with poison in their eyes. A knife sliding between ribs during a toast. Blood spreading across white silk like a flower blooming too fast. First death flag. The Welcoming Banquet. His hands flew to his chest, fingers pressing against fabric, searching for a wound that wasn’t there. Not yet. The servant outside hesitated, then spoke again, quieter this time. "Young Master… the Duke was very clear about this." A cold drop of sweat rolled down Kazuki’s back. That pause, the way the servant said very clear it wasn’t just a reminder. It was a warning. "I’ll—" His voice cracked. He swallowed, trying to sound like Leonhardt should. "I’ll be there soon." "Of course, my lord." Footsteps moved away, their sound fading down what had to be a long, grand hallway. Silence filled the room again, thick and heavy. Kazuki grabbed the bedpost, his fingers digging into the carved wood until it hurt. The pain was real. This wasn’t a dream. He was really here, trapped in the body of a man who was supposed to die, and the first step toward that death was waiting for him just outside this door.