Andrew was buried like a burrito in his temperature-adjustable bed, the mattress so soft it could probably qualify as a small cloud. The ceiling above him displayed constellations lazily drifting through space—soothing, cosmic, and entirely ineffective at motivating him. Around the room, wrappers of cosmic snacks, half-eaten starlux pastries, and at least three empty cans of "Nebula Fizz" littered the floor. A holographic pizza box floated near the desk, occasionally spinning when bumped by a rogue energy draft.
He had questions about seeing western foods in this game. Eve had actually explained to him. Missions and other combat like activities in the game are well planned by the creators of the game. When it comes to food and other leisure-like activities, the creators made sure every character feels at home in the game by adding some traditions or norms in their various worlds. These traditions include foods and clothing at most.
The room was a chaos of comfort and carelessness. A sock hung off the sleek, levitating nightstand. A holographic interface flickered lazily in the corner, trying to auto-organize his schedule but giving up halfway. A training manual hovered unread above his head, endlessly looping its intro animation.
Eve stood by the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, metallic wings twitching in annoyance. Her expression was that of a long-suffering customer service rep who had seen too much.
"You've been here for the past few days, Master Andrew," she said in a tone that bordered on a polite threat. "Zero training. Zero combat prep. Zero effort. Even the fridge is starting to judge you."
From under a blanket, a muffled voice groaned, "Aah... tomorrow."
Eve's eye twitched. "That's what you've been saying for the past few days. Shall I tattoo it to your forehead for efficiency?"
Andrew poked his head out from the comfort of pillow mountain, hair tousled like a storm had passed through it. "If you're so concerned, why not help me clear the stage? You're my AI maid, after all."
Eve exhaled sharply through her nose. "First, stop calling me that. Second, it's against the rules of the game to help you. I'm a support construct, not a cheat code."
"Rules? That's funny, because I haven't seen a single actual rulebook since I landed in this fever dream of a game. Only vague nonsense and weird interfaces quoting motivational posters."
Andrew sat upright, dragging a blanket with him like a cape, staring into the middle distance. "Rules differ, don't they?"
"Indeed," Eve said. "My rules differ from yours."
"Because you're a Valkyrie?"
"No... and yes. It's more complicated than that."
She began pacing, wings flickering with soft pulses. "DreamSurge divides participants into three rule categories. Irregulars, like yourself,who don't belong here...follow the 'no-rule rules.' You're basically a walking contradiction, trespasser in a layman's language.
Regulars, meaning native Dreamers or approved contestants, follow structured yet absurdly difficult regulations. Then there are Constructs like me, non-combat assistants with operational protocols."
Andrew blinked. "So I'm playing a ruleless nightmare RPG where everyone else has an instruction manual except me, and you're bound by fine print that would make a lawyer weep."
"Correct."
"Great. No wonder I keep having those dreams where a toaster judges me."
He tossed off the blanket and stood up with the grace of a hungover giraffe. Stretching dramatically, he yawned. "Well, I guess I should at least go for a morning stroll in my dream palace."
Eve hovered beside him, watching as he wandered toward the door. "Please remember, no matter how long you walk, you'll end up back at the house. Spatial looping protocols are in place."
Andrew waved her off. "Right, right. The ol' treadmill of dreams."
He paced down a corridor filled with floating candles and judgmental portraits..one of which kept raising a brow every time he passed it. His feet eventually led him to the training area, where a large holographic screen pulsed gently in the air.
Eve followed, tapping her wrist. "Since you're finally mobile, shall I show you your training stats?"
Andrew scratched his head. "Uhh, sure. Hit me."
The screen flickered to life, then projected a very dramatic display..trumpets sounded, a loading bar shimmered, and the words [TRAINING PROGRESS] exploded in glittering light.
Then...
[Combat Level: 1]
[Physical Training: 0%]
[Mage Training: 0%]
[Dream Resilience: 0%]
[Weapon Proficiency: 0%]
[Cosmic Synchronization: 0%]
Eve cleared her throat. "You've... made no progress. None. Zip."
Andrew stared at the screen.
"I thought walking to the fridge counted as physical activity..."
"The system disagrees."
He pointed at [Cosmic Synchronization]. "That one sounds made up."
"It's not. You need it to resist astral unraveling."
"Oh good. I was hoping to unravel astrally."
He slumped back into a floating couch, buried his face in his hands, and muttered...
"Aah... fuck!"
Eve sat beside him, eyes glowing faintly as she accessed his neural stress readout. "You're going to have to start eventually. This Abode is only secure until your first real mission initiates. After that... no amount of fluffy beds or galaxy-flavored soda will save you."
Andrew peeked through his fingers. "That sounds like a sales pitch for dying."
"I'm only partially programmed for motivation. The rest is mild existential panic."
"Why do I get the feeling the game wants me to fail?"
Eve looked away. "Because... it might."
Andrew raised a brow. "That was ominous. You're not even denying it."
"Would you prefer a lie? I have a few preprogrammed for comfort. For example, 'You're doing amazing, sweetie.'"
He laughed. "Okay, that one's terrifying coming from you."
The screen flickered again.
[Beginner Training Module Ready — Initiate? Y/N]
Andrew groaned. "Can't I just skip to the part where I'm overpowered and mysterious?"
"That route requires severe trauma, a tragic backstory, and a betrayal arc. This ain't the shows you humans what on that living screen of yours"
"You mean a television?"
"Whatever."
"Ugh. Fine. One step at a time."
He stood up, cracking his knuckles, walking toward the console.
"So... training starts with what? Punching dream trees? Meditation? Running from slightly faster snails?"
Eve's eyes glowed as she tapped the screen. "Something like that. The simulator will create your first challenge based on your fears, potential, and subconscious guilt on previous encounter."
Andrew froze. "Guilt?!"
"Did you set it this way?"
"I follow the non-combat rules, the training are set to prepare you for the next challenge"
The screen pulsed.
[Challenge Calibrating... Psychological Scan In Progress...]
He felt a cold breeze brush through the room. The floor vibrated beneath his feet.
"Wait... what's that sound?" he asked.
The light dimmed.
Eve's voice dropped to a whisper. "Training... is about to begin."
Andrew took a step back. "I changed my mind. I'm not ready. I haven't even finished my soda!"
Too late.
The screen flared red.
[Welcome, Dreamer. Your Trial Awaits.]