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I sighed, the stale scent of antiseptic lingering in the air as I scrolled endlessly through novel after novel, searching for something—anything—to distract me from this agonizing routine. Nothing stood out. It was all so dull.
Lying in an uncomfortable hospital bed 24/7 wasn't just boring—it was maddening. No, not maddening. I hated it. Every second, every breath, every moment spent in this room waiting for death to take me... it gnawed at my soul.
I tried to calm myself, inhaling deeply. But my lungs betrayed me, spasming into a violent cough.
"Ah… ah…"
Eventually, the fit subsided, and I resumed my fruitless search. After a while, I stumbled upon a novel titled Chosen to Win—a name so cliché it hurt. The protagonist was your typical overpowered hero, complete with a harem, godlike abilities, and plot armor thicker than steel. It was formulaic, predictable.
And yet, what pulled me in wasn't the characters. It was the world—the realm of Virelia.
Yes, it had all the fantasy tropes: magic, gods, demons, a demon king, and a chosen hero meant to save the world. But somehow, despite all that, the world itself felt alive. Breathing. Real.
The novel had over 1,000 chapters, and readers seemed to love it. Even with all the clichés, no one really complained. So I kept reading.
I immersed myself in Leon, the main character. He had everything I didn't. He wasn't bound to a hospital bed. He wasn't waiting to die. He lived.
I devoured all 1,200 chapters in a week.
And when it ended, all that was left was emptiness.
Time passed. I deteriorated.
Breathing became a struggle. Machines kept me alive. Tubes fed me. Wires monitored me. But death was coming—slowly, surely.
In the silence, I began to reflect.
My name is Ray Sith. And this... is the story of my end.
---
I was born an only child.
My mother-Rose-died giving birth to me.
My father—Mike—never forgave me. And honestly, I never blamed him. I took away the woman he loved.
He cared for me. Fed me. Gave me shelter. But everything he did felt robotic—mechanical. Like he was completing a task, not raising a son. It was never out of love. Only obligation.
Friends? I had a few. But time is cruel. People drift apart. I was left alone.
So, I drowned myself in games, manga, novels, movies, and TV shows. They became my world. I became a quiet, introverted boy, locked away in fantasy.
Then I made a mistake.
At 14, I started smoking.
It helped—at first. Took my mind off the pain. Off the question that haunted me: Why doesn't my father love me?
I kept smoking.
By 16, I gave up on trying to earn his love. I finished school, turned 18, and moved out.
The house had been filled with silent tension. He didn't ask me to stay. He didn't ask me to leave. So I left.
I got a job as a cashier in a small store. It paid just enough to survive—tiny apartment, some food, a little money for games and novels.
Every day, I hoped he'd call. Just once.
One message would've made me weep with joy.
But he never did.
I turned 19—and my body failed me. Lung cancer. Terminal.
Breathing became a war.
And so, I was shackled to this hospital bed.
The heart monitor next to me beeped slowly, in rhythm with my faltering breaths. As it began to slow, panic filled the room.
Doctors. Nurses. Chaos.
But it was too late.
The last thing I did was glance to my side, hoping… praying… that my father would be there for my final moment.
He wasn't.
Then—silence.
The monitor went flat.
And I died.
---
Third Person POV
Ray Sith was buried three days later.
His father, Mike, attended the funeral—even if he didn't want to. He had no choice. His son was being buried next to the love of his life.
He stared at her tombstone:
Rose Sith (1976–2006) — Beloved Wife and Mother
And next to it, the freshly carved name of his son:
Ray Sith (2006–2025) — Loving Son and Friend
Mike collapsed to his knees.
Tears streamed down his face.
He had missed his son's final moments.
He had failed him.
People tried to lift him. Comfort him. But he wept, begging a ghost for forgiveness.
And the world moved on.
---
Ray's POV
I woke up in darkness.
Endless. Suffocating. Infinite.
I wandered through it, walking for what felt like weeks—or years. Time didn't exist here. There was no light. No sound. Just… nothing.
I eventually came to one conclusion:
This was Hell.
I had never been religious, but maybe this was punishment—for not believing. For giving up.
I lost all sense of time the moment I arrived.
Years could have passed. Centuries.
And then
I gave up.
But Something Happened.....
A light appeared.
It was vast—blinding in its intensity. For a moment, I thought I had gone mad. After so long in the void, in that endless suffocating darkness, the light was too much. My eyes, so used to the gloom, couldn't handle it. I squeezed them shut instinctively, trying to shield myself from its brilliance.
And then… I felt it.
Softness beneath me. A bed? No… not just any surface. It was warm. Comfortable. Real.
After what felt like an eternity walking through nothing, the sudden sensation of lying down—on something real—was overwhelming.
Was this a dream?
Had I finally gone insane?
Or… had something changed?