New Game
The alarm had been ringing for three minutes.
I wasn’t asleep.
I just didn’t feel like moving.
“Ugh stop” my daily battle cry.
The ceiling with glowing led lights around the corners stared back at me in silence while my phone continued vibrating on the bedside table like it had a personal vendetta.
5:45 AM.
Of course, work.
I sighed.
Unfortunately, adulthood is one of those games without a quit button. So, with the enthusiasm of a dying NPC, I dragged myself out and went through my usual routine.
Brush teeth.
Shower.
Get dressed.
Eat whatever was left in the fridge.
Everything always happens on autopilot.
By the time I finished, I was already standing near the front door with my bag hanging from one shoulder.
Ready?
I stared at the doorknob.
The doorknob stared back.
Neither of us moved.
“...”
“...”
Yeah.
I think I’m going.
A few taps later, a message was sent to my manager: Good morning. I woke up feeling sick today. I won’t be able to come in.
I hit send.
Immediately, guilt punched me, then relief punched guilt.
Relief won, yay!
“Sorry, future me.” I tossed my bag onto the couch and headed toward my bedroom.
If I am going to be a terrible employee today, I might as well commit to it.
My gaming setup occupied an entire corner of my apartment, a custom-built PC, two monitors, a collection of controllers. A shelf filled with games I promised I’d finish someday.
Most of them remained untouched.
A perfect representation of my life.
My gaze landed on the sticker attached beneath my monitor.
MOON.
The lettering glowed softly under the LED lights.
I had spent an embarrassing amount of money commissioning that plate, not because it was special, but just because I liked seeing my name there.
Moon.
The story behind it wasn’t nearly as cool as people imagined.
Whenever someone heard my name, they assumed my parents were romantics.
Poets.
Artists.
Nope, the truth was much dumber.
According to my father, he had been staring out the hospital window while filling out my birth certificate.
He saw the moon, then he wrote “Moon.”
That was it.
No symbolism.
No deep meaning.
No touching family story.
Just a celestial object and a man under pressure.
Sometimes I wonder if he had looked at a passing bird first, maybe he could have ended up naming me Pigeon.
A shiver ran down my spine.
I reached for my handheld console from the shelf, and as I pulled it free, something slipped and landed on the desk with a soft clack.
A CD case.
I froze.
For a moment, I simply stared at it.
The transparent plastic was scratched.
The cover art had faded.
A crack ran along one corner.
The game inside hadn’t worked properly in years.
I slowly picked it up.
“Land of Ethereal: The Adventure”
The mechanics were simple, finish the daily quest, help in every village to unlock the NPCs story. Simple. Or at least it was supposed to be.
The whole game creates a disturbing glitch and bug as the game progresses, the final chapter has always been broken and never unlocked the story behind it.
No matter what I did.
No matter which route I chose.
No matter how many guides I followed.
The ending never loaded.
The screen would freeze.
The audio would cut.
And the game would crash.
Every single time.
I opened the case carefully.
The disc reflected the morning sunlight.
The familiar sight pulled me backward through time.
***
“Moon!”
I looked up from the book while walking.
A girl stood by the doorway next to our classroom.
Sunlight streamed through the hallway windows behind her, making it annoyingly easy to spot her in a crowd.
Not that I needed help finding her. My eyes somehow always did that on their own. At the time, I thought it was because we were friends.
Years later, I realized there had been a slightly more embarrassing reason.
“Did you finish it?” she asked.
I immediately crossed my arms, “No.”
She groaned dramatically and walked over, “You’ve had it for three weeks. Maybe it’s time you give it back to me”
“The ending is broken.”
“Or maybe you’re just bad at games.”
“Ohhh, you won’t lend it to me if you are so good and have finished it.”
“You can’t even get the tutorial”
“That happened once.”
“It happened twice.”
I gasped.
Her laugh burst out immediately.
Back then, I didn’t know why hearing her laugh felt like successfully unlocking an achievement. I only knew I liked being the reason for it.
“Alright, give it back when you’re done,” she said.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
She bumped my shoulder as she passed.
A casual gesture.
The kind friends do all the time.
My brain, however, proceeded to remember that shoulder bump for an embarrassingly long period of time. I thought that was completely normal.
It wasn’t.
Not even a little.
If twelve-year-old me had been forced to answer whether I liked girls, I would’ve laughed and said no. Then immediately spent the rest of the day wondering where she was, whenever she wasn’t around.
Kids are not known for their self-awareness.
I certainly wasn’t.
A year later, she transferred schools.
No dramatic goodbye, one day she was there, the next day she wasn’t. Looking back, it felt a lot like my first breakup.
Which was impressive considering we had never actually dated, and honestly, I was carrying the emotional damage of a relationship that had existed entirely in my own head.
***
I blinked.
The memory faded.
The apartment returned into silence and settled around me.
I looked down at the CD again.
I had spent years trying to finish it.
Forums.
Walkthroughs.
Videos.
Discussion boards.
At one point, I’d even fallen into a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories posted by people with usernames like FinalBossSlayer97 and TrustMeBro.
According to them, the true ending existed. You just had to meet a ridiculous list of requirements to unlock it: Beat the game without choosing the wrong route. Play only during a full moon. Sacrifice your sleep.
The theories got progressively less reliable after midnight.
Nobody had ever found a real solution.
The game had practically become a myth online.
Some people doubted it even existed.
“Nope.”
The case returned to my hands.
I hate unfinished things, though considering the state of my life, that theory don’t hold up very well.
I stood up.
My stomach growled.
Right, groceries.
If I am skipping work, I at least have to pretend to be a responsible adult.
I grabbed my wallet.
The CD.
And headed outside.
The morning streets were quieter than usual. Office workers hurried past with coffee cups in hand. Students shuffled toward school, some half-awake and others already laughing with their friends. Everyone seemed to know where they were going, must be nice.
An hour later, I emerged from the grocery store carrying a bag full of instant noodles, snacks, and enough caffeine to concern a medical professional.
As I adjusted the plastic bags against my arm, something caught my eye.
A small electronics repair shop sat tucked between two buildings.
I slowed.
Had that always been there?
The sign above the entrance looked old enough to qualify for historical preservation.
The windows were spotless.
No posters.
No promotional banners.
No flashy advertisements promising same-day repairs.
Just a simple sign.
Curious, I pulled out my phone and searched for the shop’s name.
Nothing.
No reviews.
No social media.
No website.
Weird.
I glanced down at the CD.
Then back at the shop.
“...worth a shot.”
The bell above the door chimed softly as I stepped inside. The scent of old electronics greeted me immediately, something faintly nostalgic. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with outdated consoles and forgotten gadgets.
Behind the counter sat an old man with thin-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
He looked up.
I placed the CD on the counter.
“Hi, can you fix this?”
His gaze dropped to the case and stopped.
For the first time since I entered, his expression changed.
Surprise.
Not polite customer-service surprise.
Real surprise.
“Where did you get this?” he asked quietly.
I blinked.
“A friend gave it to me”
He picked up the case carefully, almost reverently. His thumb brushed against the faded cover art, “I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time.”
“You know it?”
“Land of Ethereal,” he murmured. “The game was never officially released.”
I laughed, “Sounds like a conspiracy theory.”
The man didn’t laugh.
Then silence stretched just long enough for my smile to falter.
“...you’re serious.”
“Very.”
I stared at him.
“So this game is some secret government experiment?”
“No.”
“Illegal black market romance simulator?”
“No.”
“A cursed object?”
The old man adjusted his glasses, “...I didn’t say that.”
I paused.
He cleared his throat.
“I can repair it.”
My suspicion immediately lost the battle against years of unresolved curiosity.
“Really?”
“Come back in an hour.”
An hour.
Not days.
Not weeks.
An hour.
That should have been suspicious. Instead, I was too excited to think about it.
When I returned, the disc rested neatly inside a new protective case. The scratches were gone. The surface reflected the overhead lights without a single imperfection like it is new.
I stared at it, “How much?”
He named a surprisingly reasonable price and I paid before he had the chance to reconsider.
Before leaving, I hesitated by the doorway.
“Do you think it’ll work now?”
The man looked at me.
For a brief moment, something softened in his expression, “I think,” he said, “stories deserve endings.”
I let out an awkward laugh, “yeah, thanks”
***
The afternoon sun had shifted. People continued on with their lives.
Cars passed by.
Someone argued over the phone nearby.
Everything looked exactly the same.
That afternoon, I changed into my printed charmander pajamas, and dumped the groceries onto the kitchen counter.
Instant noodles.
Energy drinks.
Snacks that were definitely not part of a balanced diet.
A cup of instant noodles steamed beside me while I settled onto my gaming chair.
The repaired CD rested carefully on my gaming table.
I looked at it, “I’ll have three matches in valorant and we’ll see if you’re finally willing to cooperate”
Which I took as agreement.
Twenty minutes later, I was blaming my teammates. Thirty minutes later, I was apologizing to my teammates. Forty-five minutes later, I had somehow ended up carrying one match while bottom fragging in another.
An hour passed.
I stared at the post-game results screen.
“...Didn’t I say three matches?”
I checked the clock.
“...Oh.”
In my defense, time works differently when gaming is involved. Scientists should really look into that.
I glanced toward the repaired CD resting beside my monitor.
It sat exactly where I’d left it.
A strange sense of guilt settled in my chest.
I had spent years trying to crack it. Years wondering how the story would end. Then the moment I finally had another chance... I made instant noodles and queued competitively.
Some things never changed.
I leaned back in my chair and let out a breath, “No more excuses.”
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of my computer.
I picked up the CD.
The new protective case felt unfamiliar against my fingers.
My heart beat just a little faster.
Maybe the story was cliché.
Maybe the romance was cheesy.
Maybe the gameplay mechanics had aged terribly.
Maybe I’d been chasing nostalgia all this time.
And yet...
I found myself smiling.
I slid the disc into the console.
The familiar startup sound echoed through the apartment.
I held my breath.
Waiting.
Expecting the screen to freeze, for the music to cut out, for the old disappointment to return.
Nothing happened.
No lag.
No glitches.
No errors.
Instead, the title screen faded into view.
LAND OF ETHEREAL: THE ADVENTURE
The same pixilated elegant lettering.
The same painted backdrop.
The same melody I’d memorized as a child after hearing it over and over again while trying to force the game to work.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until now.
The apartment suddenly felt smaller.
Like the years between then and now had folded into themselves.
I wasn’t twenty-something Moon sitting on a couch in an apartment cluttered with instant noodles and unfinished responsibilities.
For a moment, I was twelve again.
Cross-legged on the floor.
Controller in hand.
Certain that if I just tried one more time, I’d finally reach the ending.
My fingers tightened around the controller.
Hope stirred somewhere deep in my chest.
Maybe this time...
Maybe I’d finally see the ending.
Maybe I’d finally finish something.
