บท 2: Grades & Games
Leon descended the stairs quietly, each step light yet burdened by an exhaustion that clung like fog. His disheveled hair shadowed eyes that were both dull and unnervingly sharp—one a piercing blue, the other a deep green.
The contrast was striking—a genetic quirk reflecting his mother's green and his father's blue, split in a way that gave his gaze an unsettling duality, as if two worlds struggled to coexist within him.
His frame was thin, almost frail, and his skin pale from too many days spent indoors. He wasn't particularly tall, his slight build making him seem even smaller, as though he were gradually being worn away by the weight he carried. Reaching the last step, Leon made his way to the empty chair at the table, his shoulders slightly slumped.
"Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he slid into his seat. His eyes fixed on the table, tracing the wood grain as if searching for something hidden within it, avoiding the concerned glances he knew were waiting for him.
"You know, it's not good for your health to spend so much time in that game," Eevi said softly, the worry in her tone leaking through despite her attempt to keep it gentle.
Leon rubbed his forehead, the tension in his brow never fully releasing. "The time feels different in there," he muttered, almost more to himself than to her. "Finally, my character reached Tier-3, which alters the perception of time while I'm playing. It's hard to explain… you wouldn't really get it unless you tried it." His tone held a faint note of defensiveness, laced with exhaustion.
Eevi sighed, her concern deepening as she caught the distant look in his eyes. He was sitting with them, yet felt miles away, more shadow than flesh, a far cry from the vibrant boy she used to know.
"I'm not putting on that strange helmet, Leon," she responded, her voice firmer. "Who knows what kind of tech it's using—or what it might be doing to your brain."
She regretted ever allowing it. If it weren't for his quiet desperation to escape the suffocating reality he lived in, she would've never agreed.
But Leon didn't argue. He'd already braced himself for her disapproval, had steeled himself for the questions she was about to ask. Before she could, he pulled his phone from his pocket with a sluggish motion, his hand moving as if still adjusting to the real world. Without a word, he handed it to her, his expression unreadable.
Eevi blinked in surprise as she glanced at the screen. It was a grade report from his online classes—nearly perfect scores stared back at her.
She swallowed the questions on the tip of her tongue, her gaze flicking back to him. Leon remained silent, eyes downcast, waiting for whatever judgment she'd pass. His fingers twitched restlessly on the table, as if longing to retreat back into the virtual world that held more comfort than his own home.
In Finland's education system, where grading was typically on a scale from 4 to 10, Leon's report was equivalent to nearly straight 10s, a stark contrast to the B-level scores (equivalent to 7s or 8s) he used to scrape by with.
She stared at the screen, suspicion curling in the back of her mind. The sudden improvement seemed almost too good to be true, and for a moment, she wondered if this was one of his old pranks, a faint echo of the mischievous boy he once was.
The thought sent a pang of bittersweet longing through her chest. She remembered the days when Leon was all energy and laughter, his joy filling every corner of the house.
But those days felt like another lifetime. The boy who used to race through life with boundless enthusiasm had gradually become a shadow—withdrawn, quiet, and increasingly distant.
It hadn't happened overnight. The change began with the diagnosis that shattered their normalcy—a rare condition that left him hypersensitive to sunlight, forcing him to live in darkness while the world outside carried on without him.
Losing the freedom to step out into the sun cost him more than his health; it stole friendships, social skills, and the simple joy of belonging. One by one, his friends drifted away, leaving him alone with nothing but online games and endless webnovels to fill the void.
As the loneliness grew, so did his awkwardness in conversations. He retreated deeper into himself as the loneliness grew, a self-reinforcing cycle that left him a stranger even in his own home.
But it wasn't just Leon who had changed. Her husband, too, had grown distant since the accident five years ago. The light in Noel's eyes, the warmth in his voice, had dimmed, replaced by a quiet resignation that he tried to hide but couldn't fully shake.
The lively man who used to fill the house with laughter and energy had grown more distant. Once full of purpose, Noel spent his days cooped up at home, haunted by the sense that he'd become a liability to his family. The pride he once took in being their pillar had eroded over time.
He still tried to contribute, but the confidence he once wore like armor had cracked, leaving behind a man burdened by what he'd lost. That silent frustration deepened the distance between him and those he loved, building an invisible wall that even Eevi struggled to breach, growing thicker with each passing year.
Lost in thought, Eevi barely noticed the sting of tears until Noel's voice cut through the haze, addressing their son.
"What's so special about it, anyway?" he asked, leaning forward with a trace of curiosity as he looked at Leon. His tone was casual, but beneath it lay a tentative attempt to bridge the growing gap between them. He wanted to catch a glimpse of the son who felt further away every day, to understand the world Leon seemed more drawn to than the one before him. "Is it really that different from other games?"
Leon's eyes flicked up, surprised that Noel would compare ALTER REALITY to a regular VR game. He took a deep breath, his voice carrying a rare edge of excitement. "ALTER REALITY is way more than just a game. It's so immersive it feels more real than life itself. The Neurodrift helmet uses new S.E.E.D. technology that makes everything hyper-realistic. And it's only 99 dollars—there are already over 200 million players worldwide, and it's only been out for 20 days!"
Noel raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. "How can a game be that advanced? It sounds like something out of science fiction."
"That's because it's developed by F.U.T.U.R.E. Conglomerate," Leon explained, pride flickering in his subdued expression.
Noel nodded, already familiar with the name. "Yeah, they're not just another tech company—they're practically taking over the world. Everything from healthcare to AI—they're behind all the latest breakthroughs. Even now in 2022, their tech feels decades ahead."
Leon leaned in, a rare spark brightening his eyes. "They're into everything—clean energy, biotech—you name it. But ALTER REALITY is the game that's got everyone obsessed."
Noel's skepticism lingered. "If the game's as amazing as you say, it shouldn't be sold for such a low price. Something that advanced should cost a small fortune. There's gotta be a catch."
Leon's expression tightened slightly, anticipating the doubt. He met his father's gaze with a steady voice, though a trace of frustration bled through.
"There's no catch—it's really that good," Leon said. "F.U.T.U.R.E Conglomerate isn't in it for game sales. They're using it as a platform, a virtual marketplace for their other products. The game pulls people in, and once they're hooked, they're buying into everything the company is offering. It's more than a game—it's like they're creating a whole new economy inside it."
There was a pause as Noel considered his son's words. He could see the rare spark in Leon's eyes, that faint flicker of passion and conviction that had been missing for so long. Despite his doubts, something about the way Leon spoke made him wonder if maybe there was more to this than he initially thought.
Noel nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint, thoughtful smile. "Maybe it's time I see what all the fuss is about," he said, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity that surprised even himself.
Eevi watched them, her expression softening as she glimpsed a rare moment of connection between father and son. It was fleeting, but it was there—a spark she hadn't seen in years. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Leon—and you too, Noel," she said gently, her voice laced with concern. "Don't get too caught up and forget about your health. Both of you."
"I will, Mom," Leon assured her, though his gaze was already distant, lost in thoughts of returning to the game.
Noel offered a small nod, appreciating her concern but unable to ignore the pull of curiosity that had been sparked within him. The house settled into its usual rhythm as they turned back to breakfast.
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