Arthur adjusted the blanket over his legs and shifted onto his side. His mattress creaked quietly, familiar. He blinked slowly. His eyes burned a little. His brain felt like warm soup.
His hand reached out on autopilot, tapping the screen “next”.
Another chapter. Just one more. Then sleep.
The lie again.
He glanced at the bedside clock.
1:38 a.m.
He winced. Not because he had something important tomorrow—he didn’t—but just because that number always felt like failure. Again.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. A breath that didn’t fix anything.
With a dull sense of habit, he pulled a hand under the blanket. He wasn’t even horny, just... bored? Fuzzy? Something between sleep and staying alive. Just a quick one to wake up a bit. Reset the brain. It barely even felt good anymore.
Two minutes later, he wiped himself off with a tissue from the drawer—already half-empty—and tossed it in the little trash can by the bed. He didn’t miss.
He almost never missed.
Back to the novel. It wasn’t even a good one. Just another isekai power fantasy. This time, the MC had just rescued a girl from slavers. She was beautiful, scarred, grateful. The kind of girl who’d only ever look at someone like Arthur if he had magic and a sword and a tragic past.
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“Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling. “No one’s ever fought for me before.”
Arthur paused. Read the line again. Let it echo a little in his mind. The MC didn’t say anything back — just stood tall and cool and quiet, while she clung to his arm.
His eyes stung a little. He told himself it was from the screen.
Arthur wasn't special. No powers. No sword. No princess.
Just another day in the same life he kept losing to. A new tab of porn. A new web novel. A new tomorrow that felt like yesterday but worse.
He didn’t even hate his life. Not really. He hated the fact that it was his life. That he was the one ruining it. Slowly. Silently. Willingly.
He scrolled. Scrolled. Stopped.
He stared at the screen. Blank.
He tried reading the next paragraph. Couldn't.
Not because it was bad.
Because he was tired. Not sleepy. Just… tired.
Tired of this bed. This routine. This scrolling. This quiet, empty life that wasn’t bad enough to scream about, but just sad enough to rot in.
He turned the phone screen off and stared at the ceiling.
He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to be awake either.
Instead, he whispered to no one:
“Why can’t I just wake up somewhere else?”
No one answered. Of course.
The room was quiet. It always was.
There was no message from anyone.
No one waiting.
No one wondering if he was okay.
He reached for his phone again. Not to read. Just to see the screen light up. Just to feel something respond to his touch.
A notification popped up—some Discord server he never talked in. Just memes and other guys pretending their lives didn’t feel like glass.
He used to want a girlfriend. Someone to talk to. Now he’d settle for someone who looked him in the eyes and didn’t seem bored.
He opened his front camera by accident.
God.
He looked like a goblin. Greasy hair, dead stare, mouth half-open like a sleepwalker. He closed the app.
He hated how normal this was. How… expected.
He used to think there’d be a point. Some turning moment. An accident. A mentor. Someone to save him.
But no one was coming.
No magic book. No hidden bloodline. No system install.
Just another night of silence and a body he barely lived in.
Author's Note:
Thanks for reading. This is the first time I’ve ever written something like this, and honestly, I don’t know where it’s going—maybe nowhere. I just had fun writing this first chapter, and if you have any thoughts or feedback, I’d really appreciate it.