A holographic clock displayed 18:32, hovering just above the wall. The living room was clean, neat, and a little fancier than most. Much of the technology on display was slightly outdated, but here and there were small differences—like the holographic clock or the television, no thicker than a sheet of glass at just four millimeters.
"Hello everyone, and welcome to Evening with Eiji ," a man called out from within the paper-thin screen. "We have a famous chef with us tonight—the man responsible for some of the best restaurants across Japan. I am pleased to introduce Isamu Watanabe."
"Thank you, Eiji. I really appreciate the opportunity to announce one of my new restaurants."
"A new restaurant, you say?"
"Yes. It's called The Little Flower Pot."
"Interesting name. It certainly sticks to your tradition of floral names, but may I ask—why 'Flower Pot'?"
"Easy. You see, it's a new restaurant inside the game called Three Realms Online. At first I was skeptical, but my boys talked me into it, and I haven't been disappointed since. The name stems from the endless opportunity I have within this world—the potential to grow into something I've yet to produce."
"A restaurant inside Three Realms Online! It has been quite a topic for some time now, even among us older folks. But a restaurant inside a video game!"
The television turned off.
A middle-aged woman clasped her cheek.
"Even Chef Watanabe fell victim," she said with a nervous smile. "Well… as long as it doesn't interfere with Miyuki's schoolwork."She got up and walked over to the stairs. "Miyuki? Have you finished your schoolwork?"
Up in her room, Miyuki finished a stroke of her pen. She dropped it with slight a sigh and glanced at the clock, with a frown.
18:34.
"Just finishing up!" she yelled back.
Miyuki leaned back in her chair, rolled her shoulders, and allowed herself a small exhale. Schoolwork: done. The rest of the evening: hers.
She changed into her favorite pajamas—soft, faded, and far too warm for the season, but she didn't care. She padded to the bathroom, brushed her teeth with mechanical precision, and went through the usual tedious rituals before bed. Splash of water. Night cream her mother insisted on. Hair tied back.
But the most important ritual was yet to come.
She glanced at the clock again.
18:53.
Her heart gave a small, familiar flutter.
Back in her room, she retrieved a small tin of disinfectant wipes from her desk drawer. She pulled one out, folded it neatly, and began wiping down the large cube-shaped hardware that sat on its own dedicated shelf—the dive rig. White casing, sleek edges, and a persistent magnetic pull she'd never been able to explain to anyone who didn't already understand.
She kept it immaculate. The white option she'd chosen looked clean and futuristic when she'd saved up for it, but it showed everything—every smudge, every speck of dust. So she cleaned it after every session. Before every session. A ritual within a ritual.
If it stays clean, it stays fast, she told herself. It wasn't technically true. But it felt true.
Satisfied, she capped the wipes and moved to the center of her room. She stretched—slowly, deliberately—rolling her neck, touching her toes, loosening the muscles that would soon go still while her mind ran through fields and dungeons and cities that didn't exist.
A soft knock came from the door, already slightly ajar.
Her mother's silhouette appeared in the gap.
"Miyuki? Almost ready?"
"Yeah, Mom. Just stretching."
Her mother stepped inside, leaning against the doorframe. She glanced at the dive rig, then at the clock, then back at her daughter with that familiar expression—half concern, half resignation. Every parent in Japan wore it around 6:55 PM.
"You'll log off at seven in the morning?"
"Seven sharp. You know I always do."
"I know." Her mother smiled softly. "It's just… that chef on the news. Even adults are getting lost in there. I don't want you staying up too late inside the game."
Miyuki bit back the obvious response—"there is no, 'up too late.' The dive is sleep. Everyone does it." Instead, she just nodded.
"I'll be fine. I have school anyway. I can't afford to miss the morning log-off."
Her mother seemed satisfied with that. She pushed off the doorframe and glanced at her own watch—just out of an old habit.
"Anyways, your father is running late, but since you won't be awake, I'll tell him what you mentioned."
"Thanks, Mom. I really need a new computer for schoolwork."Miyuki added as she walked over to her bed.
Her mother hesitated, then forced a worried grin. "Just please be careful using that thing."
Miyuki smiled and looked back. "Don't worry. I'll be okay."
Her mom finally closed the door.
But she didn't walk away immediately. She stood in the hallway for a long moment, her hand still resting on the frame.
"Ever since that game came out," she thought, "she's been a completely different person."
A pause caught her. "Maybe since that boy's funeral?"
Another pause, heavier than the first.
"Well… she had mentioned he was a friend she had just met."
The mother exhaled quietly, then turned and headed downstairs—leaving Miyuki alone with her dive rig.
It was time to be Natalia.
Natalia closed her eyes and breathed the familiar air.
Although it was all artificial, it carried so much richness. The small hint of evening food being cooked in the distance. The humidity drifting from a nearby fountain. The freshness—clean, crisp, almost impossible.
There was nothing quite like it. It sometimes even made her question if she'd ever smelled such vividness anywhere else. Call it city life in Japan, but it didn't compare. The air quality here was perfection.
Almost too perfect.
She opened her eyes.
And there it was. The plaza in Farris—the main summoning hub where players materialized into the world. All around her, others were logging in, bodies flickering into existence beside her, in front of her, in soft pulses of light.
She smiled.
Then quickly hid it.
It was her guilty pleasure, one she was too shy to share.
She moved through the crowd of summoning players and made her way toward the nearest street. Most of the NPCs glanced once, then looked away. An event they had grown familiar with. Another day. Another wave of outlanders appearing from thin air.
She eased through the crowd with a practiced pace. Here and there, she bumped into a player who didn't follow her predicted path, but she kept walking, paying no mind.
She didn't want to be late.
Then she suddenly stopped.
She also didn't want to be first.
She turned her head and saw it. A restaurant called The Little Flower Pot.
It was night back in the real world, but eating in-game didn't actually count as a real meal. No calories. No guilt. She smiled and walked toward the entrance.
"I'll grab a small bite to eat before I actually head there," she thought with a small, private smile. "Wouldn't want to be first to the meet-up."
Just as she reached for the door, it opened.
A warm smile greeted her from the hostess inside.
But so did a voice from somewhere to her right.
"Natalia?"
Before Natalia could greet the hostess back, she turned her head to the right.
And froze.
There was Karina.
Face full of food.
Not just eating. Demolishing. Her cheeks were painted in a glossy, amber-brown sauce—the kind that clearly belonged to something that had once been on her plate. But the plate in front of her sat empty. Completely, almost aggressively empty.
So did the stack of four others beside it.
Karina stood frozen mid-bite, her eyes wide with the particular horror of being caught in the act. Sauce dripped from her chin. A single grain of rice clung to her eyebrow.
Before Natalia could process any of this, the man sitting across from Karina—Figmond—thumped his chest with a closed fist. Hard. Once. Twice. He was trying to force down whatever avalanche of food he'd just shoveled into his mouth. His face was also painted in sauce. A small, rebellious noodle dangled from the corner of his lips like a pale, limp flag of surrender.
Neither of them swallowed.
Neither of them blinked.
Karina just stared at Natalia like a child caught raiding the pantry at midnight.
"I a—um," Natalia stammered, her brain scrambling to catch the right words. They weren't coming. Her mouth hung slightly open. She looked at the empty plates. Then at their sauce-covered faces. Then back at the plates.
"Has it really been two hours?" Karina blurted out in disbelief, still not swallowing.
The hostess, who had been standing beside Natalia with a warm greeting still frozen on her lips, slowly turned her head toward the scene. Her smile remained—but it had shifted. What was once warm and welcoming was now a tight, nervous curve, the kind worn by someone witnessing a natural disaster and trying very hard not to run.
She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod to herself, as if silently revising her earlier opinion of the window table's clientele.
Behind Karina, a busboy paused mid-step, a stack of clean plates balanced in his arms. He looked at the tower of empty dishes. Then at Karina. Then at Figmond, who was still trying to swallow while maintaining eye contact with Natalia.
The busboy turned around and walked the other way.
Natalia finally found her voice.
"What," she said, very slowly, then broke into a small, disbelieving chuckle, "happened here?"
Karina swallowed.
Audibly.
Figmond's noodle finally gave up its valiant struggle and fell onto his shirt with a soft, wet splat.
Natalia glanced between the two of them—the sauce, the empty plates, the thousand-yard stares—and made a decision. She stepped past the hostess (who was still wearing that frozen, nervous smile) and walked toward their table.
"Mind if I—" she started.
Figmond got up and waddled away, then Natalia leaned in and pulled out the chair across from Karina.
Figmond had migrated to the far corner of the table, leaning back with the careful posture of a man who had declared war on his own digestive system and was currently losing. His hands rested on his stomach. His eyes were slightly glazed. He looked like he was trying very hard not to burst.
Natalia decided not to ask.
She simply settled into the seat across from Karina—the one Figmond had abandoned—and picked up a menu.
"Japanese restaurant!" she exclaimed, scanning it with genuine delight. "Wow, look—they even have my mom's favorite..." She trailed off, something flickering across her face. Then, quietly: "If only..."
She shook it off and smiled at the waiter, who had been standing nearby with the patient terror of someone unsure whether to offer more food or a stretcher.
"Anyways. I'll take the rice omelet."
She placed the menu down and looked across the table at Karina, then at the slumped figure in the corner.
"So," she said, tilting her head. "Is this your friend?"
Karina sighed in relief—less about the question and more about the fact that Natalia had chosen to sit down.
"Oh. Natalia, right." Her voice came out sluggish, weighed down by the avalanche of food currently negotiating for space in her stomach. It was like she had to remind herself Natalia was there. She gestured vaguely with one sauce-stained hand. "Yes. This is Figmond. Figmond, this is Natalia."
Figmond lifted one hand in a weak wave. His eyes met Natalia's for half a second before he thought better of any sudden movements and slowly, carefully, lowered his hand back to his stomach.
"Nice to meet you," he managed, his voice slightly strained.
Natalia looked at Karina's sauce-painted cheeks. Then at Figmond's noodle-stained shirt. Then at the tower of five empty plates.
She smiled.
"So," she said brightly.