He passed through the entrance hall,

  pushed open the thick oak doors,

  and stepped outside.

  Morning light—fresh from waking—

  poured across the courtyard.

  Crys squinted against the glare.

  The sunlight was warm, golden.

  His chest felt none of it.

  Time was probably still moving

  in the real world.

  Would his Guide take over his body

  and go to school in his place?

  Crys imagined it.

  Someone who looked at people

  with an expression that said everyone else was an idiot

  wouldn’t survive out there.

  Starting fights.

  Coming back bruised.

  Wrecking what little passed

  for real human relationships.

  Worst of all—

  worrying Neria,

  the only one at school

  who ever checked on him.

  Losing the trust of his game friends.

  That—

  he couldn’t allow.

  He clenched his fist,

  as if bracing himself,

  and walked on.

  ?

  The path from door to gate

  was paved in reddish stone.

  Neatly trimmed grass spread out on both sides.

  Halfway across the front yard,

  Crys stopped

  and looked back.

  So it really was a castle.

  Sturdy, yet soft in color—

  graceful in a way that matched

  what he’d felt inside.

  An old English castle—just as he’d thought.

  Near the gate before the bridge,

  he caught voices

  beneath the sound of water.

  Instinctively, he pressed himself against the wall.

  The stone was smoother than it looked.

  He leaned in,

  then peeked out.

  On the far side of the stone bridge,

  teens were talking.

  Dimon was among them.

  They seemed undecided—

  where to go next.

  Crys felt irritation rise.

  How long were they planning to stay?

  Even if he ignored them,

  just crossing the bridge

  would probably be enough

  to set them off.

  Waiting longer?

  Or circling around,

  hoping for another bridge?

  —Just go somewhere.

  The thought sharpened.

  As if on cue,

  one boy started walking.

  Then another.

  The rest followed.

  Better still—

  Dimon and his group moved

  in the same direction.

  Crys waited,

  holding himself tight,

  until the last figure vanished.

  Then—

  shoulders still hunched—

  he headed for the bridge.

  ?

  Beyond it,

  the world opened into something pastoral,

  like a picture book.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Ahead, grasslands rippled

  like a quiet sea.

  To the left,

  a river curved around the old castle,

  joining near the bridge

  and flowing in the same direction

  they had gone.

  Far beyond that—

  a small lake.

  A clear rainbow arched above it.

  At its base,

  tiny shapes clustered—

  houses, maybe.

  The village Rone had mentioned.

  Where the Rofehim of Adom Yekitsa lived.

  To the right,

  a path followed the river upstream,

  where green deepened

  into what looked like a forest.

  There was no real choice.

  Crys took the left path.

  Passing the great oak

  that marked the split between road and village—

  he stopped.

  Dead still.

  ?

  Across the lake,

  on the mountain opposite—

  a castle rose.

  Luminous.

  Milky white.

  As if light itself

  had taken form.

  Gold traced the edges of windows and spires.

  The walls caught the sun

  and scattered color like ripples—

  rainbow upon rainbow.

  The castle shone

  as though it were its own source of light,

  illuminating mountain,

  cloud,

  sky.

  Crys stood frozen.

  Not just by its beauty—

  but by something else.

  He turned,

  searching for a better view.

  Spotting a low hill in the grassland,

  he ran.

  ?

  The hill rose like a diving board—

  gentle at first,

  then narrowing sharply near the top.

  The grass was slick.

  He nearly slipped more than once.

  Hands hit the ground.

  Palms stained green.

  He didn’t care.

  When the slope steepened,

  he stopped running

  and began climbing—

  placing his weight forward,

  step by step.

  His heart pounded.

  He needed to know.

  Now.

  Lungs burned.

  Breath tore at his chest.

  He didn’t slow.

  At last,

  he reached the flat summit.

  One final step—

  And he stopped, breath caught.

  Eyes wide open.

  Below him—

  the grassland spread out.

  Beyond the lake—

  the radiant white castle stood tall.

  Its spires reached so high

  that even from here

  their tops vanished from sight.

  And above that—

  Islands.

  Countless islands,

  floating in spirals around the castle.

  The lake was sky.

  The clouds were land.

  Each island glowed beneath its own dome of color.

  Each city below, different.

  Around the white castle,

  the islands blazed—

  vivid, unreal.

  Crys could only stand there.

  Something inside him trembled.

  Tears gathered

  before he realized it.

  “TO…”

  It was identical.

  The key visual of

  True World Origins.

  The floating islands.

  The impossible detail.

  Fantasy fused with reality.

  He’d seen this—

  countless times.

  The difference was this:

  Here,

  he could feel it.

  Wind carried earth and grass.

  The grasslands whispered

  where BGM should be.

  It felt like

  stepping inside the game.

  He looked down again at Adom Shekitsa.

  The old castle to the left.

  The river tracing the path he’d taken.

  The hill beneath his feet.

  The rainbow far to the right.

  Even the distance

  between village and castle—

  It matched

  the First Island.

  Exactly.

  Footsteps in the grass

  snapped him back.

  He turned.

  The boy from the great hall—

  the one who’d meddled—

  stood there.

  Sphene-bright eyes glittered.

  “Wow.

  It’s TO.

  Exactly.”

  Crys wanted to savor this alone.

  He swallowed the urge to click his tongue

  and move past—

  But the words stopped him.

  The boy smiled,

  elegant, calm.

  “You feel better?”

  “Don’t expect a thank-you.”

  “That’s fine.

  I did it because I wanted to.”

  Even brushed off,

  the boy didn’t seem bothered.

  Crys sighed openly.

  He wasn’t good with people like this—

  the kind who closed distance

  without permission.

  “So.

  You know TO too, right?”

  Crys narrowed his eyes.

  Knowing the title

  didn’t mean playing.

  It was famous enough.

  He nodded, noncommittal.

  The boy’s smile widened.

  “I’m glad.

  This place—the terrain, the floating islands—it’s obviously TO.

  But no one says anything.”

  “Maybe they don’t want people knowing what they’re into.”

  The boy blinked.

  “…Huh.

  Is that how it works?”

  He tilted his head, thoughtful.

  “If I can see

  the world Theo Thomas might have seen,

  hiding it feels like a waste.”

  “…What do you mean?”

  The boy smiled—

  like he knew Crys already understood.

  He gestured around them.

  “This isn’t just similar.

  It’s the same.

  I can’t prove it was Theo Thomas,

  but someone from the TO dev team

  definitely found inspiration here.”

  Crys shrugged.

  “Or—

  this is a dream.

  You’re part of it.

  I play TO every day,

  so of course it feels familiar.

  The field feels familiar

  because my brain already knows it.

  You bringing up Theo Thomas?

  I admire him.

  You’re basically an NPC,

  saying exactly what my dream needs you to say.

  How’s that?”

  The boy’s eyes lit up.

  He laughed softly.

  That surprised Crys.

  He’d expected reassurance.

  Or dismissal.

  Not interest.

  “Why’re you laughing?”

  “Sorry.”

  He was still smiling.

  “You talk exactly like my friend.”

  “NPC friend?

  So—silent, or repeating one line.”

  The boy beamed.

  Then—

  He hugged Crys.

  Tight.

  “Confirmed.

  Good to finally meet you, Ad.”

  “Wait—what?!

  How do you know my player name?!”

  Crys shoved him back,

  stepping away, guarded.

  “Seriously—

  you still don’t get it?”

  The boy raked a hand through his black hair.

  The polite mask cracked—

  revealing mischief beneath.

  “Man, Ad.

  Hurts that you didn’t notice

  your buddy talking this much.”

  Crys stared.

  Of all his TO friends—

  only one was his buddy.

  Years together.

  Games, school, family.

  The one he’d always wanted to meet.

  “…No way.

  TT?”

  The boy nodded, grinning.

  Crys covered his mouth.

  Joy.

  Shock.

  Air caught in his chest.

  TT—

  was here.

  Right in front of him.

  Crys touched his forehead,

  his cheeks—

  as if checking his outline.

  Still there.

  Real.

  “No way.

  That’s impossible.”

  Crys looked TT over, head to toe—the familiar uniform.

  Then he shook his head hard.

  “No. That’s still not possible.

  This is a dream, right?

  I’ve never met you in real life.

  It makes no sense for you

  to show up in my dream.”

  “That suspicion—so very you, Ad.”

  Seeing Crys clutch his head and groan,

  TT laughed,

  unable to hold it in.

  “Then here’s something

  you didn’t know.

  In TO, you’re the only friend I have.

  You’re the only person in the world

  who calls me TT.

  So yeah—

  to you, this might feel like a dream.

  But from my side,

  the one calling me TT

  can only be Ad.

  I hadn’t told you that yet, right?”

  “I didn’t know…!”

  Crys grabbed the back of his neck—

  the way he always did when flustered—

  and looked away.

  “It has to be a dream.

  You’re not like me.

  You could get along with anyone.”

  “Well.

  I can get along, sure.”

  TT tilted his head,

  thinking.

  “But even then—

  don’t you want to stick with the ones you actually like, at least in a game?”

  Crys felt his face burn.

  His voice came out small.

  “It’s definitely a dream…

  This is way too convenient for me.”

  “Convenient how?”

  Is he teasing me?

  Crys thought—

  then corrected himself.

  TT was good with words,

  good at easing tense moments,

  but he wasn’t cruel.

  So Crys answered,

  muttering,

  half-hoping TT wouldn’t hear.

  “The part about me being your only friend.

  And… the ‘actually like’ part.”

  “You like me too, don’t you?”

  TT looked genuinely surprised,

  as if asking,

  Don’t you?

  Crys couldn’t bear it.

  He dropped his gaze.

  His ears were burning—

  he knew it.

  Of course he liked TT.

  As a friend.

  As a buddy.

  Even if they’d only met in-game,

  the bond felt deeper

  than friendship,

  than affection,

  closer than family.

  And—

  there was another kind of feeling—one he didn’t know how to name.

  It wasn’t the same

  as TT’s easy, casual affection—

  the kind he could say to anyone.

  TT’s words kept looping in his head,

  heat rising.

  Crys forced his attention away.

  As if to cool his cheeks,

  he looked past the grassland

  to the milky-white castle shining beyond.

  It looked almost the same as on-screen—

  and yet far more imposing,

  more magnificent,

  too vast to feel human-made.

  Like he was still dreaming,

  Crys murmured,

  “TT…

  are you really here?

  Is any of this real?”