The weather was sweltering, and Mu Sichen was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt that left most of his arm exposed. He was young and handsome, a look that usually felt refreshing and full of youthful energy.

However, adding a full-sleeve “yakuza” tattoo to the mix changed the vibe entirely, making him look decidedly like a hardened criminal.

Mu Sichen quickly used his empty backpack to shield his left arm, maneuvering his bicycle with one hand as he sped back to campus. Based on his intel, He Fei didn’t get off work until 6:00 PM, so the dorm should be empty.

Once back in his room, Mu Sichen swapped into a long-sleeved black shirt, fastening the cuffs to the tightest button to ensure not a single trace of ink showed. Only then did he plug in his phone, which had died during his trek.

As soon as it powered on, a message from an unknown number popped up.

[I’m home. Thank you.]

The timestamp was 3:28 PM—within a minute of Mu Sichen’s return to the real world. At that moment, he had been busy checking his backpack, and the phone had died before he could see it.

It had to be Ying Mao!

He immediately dialed the number. It rang for a long time before someone picked up; the voice on the other end sounded frantic and tearful. Mu Sichen’s heart sank.

“Hello,” he began tentatively. “Is this Ying Mao? I’m a friend of his from the… game.”

“I’m Ying Mao’s mother,” an older woman sobbed. “Three days ago, he suddenly fell into a coma. He just passed away a moment ago.”

“I…” Mu Sichen didn’t know what to say. He offered some heavy words of condolence and hung up.

Ultimately, he had never met Ying Mao in person; he had no standing to visit. Unlike the other players who died instantly, Ying Mao had lingered in a coma for three days. Mu Sichen realized this was likely because Ying Mao had entered the game with their batch three days ago. Logically, he should have logged out then. But since he never left the game, his physical body had stayed in a coma to fill that void.

Mu Sichen opened his palm. The “Self-Sticker” that had been there was gone, likely vanished along with Ying Mao’s soul. In the end, he hadn’t been able to save him. The only thing he could do was send him home.

Feeling a heavy wave of sadness and having no one to talk to, he opened the group chat. Chi Lian and Cheng Xubo were already deep in discussion.

Chi Lian: What’s the deal? Time moved forward by half an hour. Did I just vanish for thirty minutes?

Cheng Xubo: I entered from home, and I have security cameras. I’ve clipped the footage from that half-hour. Take a look.

Chi Lian: You just look like you’re staring at your phone. It looks normal enough to an outsider.

Cheng Xubo: But time actually passed! It was half an hour this time—what if it’s a day or two next time? What if it eventually matches the game time exactly?

Chi Lian: We need to figure out the logic. Why was there no change last time, but there is now?

Cheng Xubo: Is it because we stayed in the game for three days? Next time, let’s try to come back as soon as the mission is done.

Mu Sichen read through their messages. He hesitated, but ultimately decided not to mention Ying Mao. These two were full of hope and working so hard to stay positive; he didn’t want to crush their morale. He kept the conversation focused on the time mechanics.

Mu Sichen: Last time, we all logged out at different times, but arrived in reality at the same moment.

Chi Lian: So the duration in-game has nothing to do with time passing here?

Mu Sichen: We can’t be sure without testing. Next time, let’s log out at separate intervals—one day apart each. We’ll record the time as soon as we land to see if they match.

Cheng Xubo: Sounds like a plan. On the bright side, the system gave us a longer break. We have seven days of rest.

Chi Lian: Thank god. But I still have to go to work tomorrow. Saving another world on Sunday, being enslaved by a moron boss on Monday… what kind of purgatory is this?

Mu Sichen didn’t join their rant against corporate life. He had spent a lot of money over the last three days and needed to use this week to grind for cash. He picked up five hours of gaming orders straight, stopping only for a ten-minute dinner.

He played until his head spun, but He Fei still wasn’t back. It wasn’t until 9:30 PM that he finally put his phone down. To his surprise, while he was mentally drained, his eyes weren’t dry or itchy. His right eye felt a bit tired, but his left eye—the one from the Apostle—was crystal clear.

If an eye from a follower is this effective, what can those glasses do?

He pulled the gold-rimmed glasses from his bag, wondering what they would consume in a world without system energy. As he was examining them, the door swung open. He Fei was back.

Mu Sichen shoved the glasses into the bookshelf, hiding them behind a stray novel. System or no, he didn’t want He Fei getting “charmed” by any more weird artifacts.

He Fei walked in carrying a paper bag. He saw Mu Sichen and huffed, sitting down with an exaggerated pout. “Oh, so the traveler returns?”

“Yeah, I’m back.” Mu Sichen watched him warily.

He Fei pulled a blue octopus plushie out of the bag and shook it at Mu Sichen. “It’s just a doll! I only wanted to borrow yours because it felt cool to the touch, and you were so stingy you wouldn’t let me have it for one night! Fine. I got my own custom-made one!”

The “knock-off” plushie actually looked quite a bit like the little octopus, and its tentacles seemed to be filled with some kind of cooling gel.

“Running away for three days just to avoid sharing a toy… Sichen, your heart is too small.” He Fei shook his head in mock disappointment and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Mu Sichen breathed a sigh of relief. He reached back into the bookshelf to find a box to lock the glasses away, but He Fei suddenly poked his head out of the bathroom.

“Don’t you dare touch my octopus while I’m—wait. Those glasses are nice. Are you nearsighted now?”

Mu Sichen: “…”

This guy is my literal nemesis.

He wrapped the glasses in a tissue. “Yes, I got a prescription. And I’m stingy, so you can’t see them.”

“Well, I can’t wear someone else’s prescription anyway,” He Fei said, surprisingly normal. “But you should wear them! They look stylish. Let me see, and I might let you hold my plushie for a bit.”

“No thanks. I’m tired. Going to bed.”

Mu Sichen climbed into his bunk. To his relief, He Fei didn’t seem obsessed with the glasses. He hummed a song, kissed his new plushie goodnight, and went to sleep. Mu Sichen found the “kissing” part a bit unsettling—the knock-off was so similar to the real thing that it felt like He Fei was desecrating a tiny piece of an Outer God.

Exhausted, Mu Sichen fell into a deep sleep, keeping his long-sleeved shirt on despite the heat.

He dreamed he was standing in a massive hall shrouded in mist. A tall figure sat on a high throne.

“Qin Zhou?” Mu Sichen asked tentatively.

The figure stirred. “Mu Sichen… take back your power.”

“My power?” Mu Sichen was baffled. “I’m the one borrowing power from you. You’re the one who followed me home and turned my roommate into a lunatic. Wait… this dream feels too real. Did you pull me here?”

“Take back the totem you left on me,” the figure repeated.

“Totem?” Mu Sichen remembered the ‘Self’ totem he’d imprinted on the little octopus. “You’re nearly a ‘Heavens-Covering’ grade being. You can’t just wipe out a tiny bit of my influence?”

The figure behind the mist seemed to frown. With a wave of a hand, Mu Sichen felt himself plummeting.

He bolted upright in bed, heart hammering. The dream was vivid. He rubbed his left arm and reached for his phone to use as a light.

The room was strangely dim, but a faint blue light was coming from the floor. It was He Fei’s custom plushie—it was glow-in-the-dark. He Fei was a notorious thrasher in his sleep, and the plushie had been kicked off the top bunk.

Mu Sichen climbed down and crouched by the knock-off. Its eyes were glowing with a ghostly blue light. He poked its forehead; it felt nothing like the real deal. He played with it for a moment, then felt silly and put it on He Fei’s bedside table before heading back to his own bed.

But as he turned, he felt something snag his ankle.

He looked down. Nothing. The plushie was ten inches away.

Imagination?

He started to climb up again when he felt something brush against his calf. It definitely wasn’t a hallucination. He whipped out his phone’s flashlight. Nothing but the floor.

He went back to sleep, waking up at 6:00 AM. When he opened his eyes, the knock-off octopus was sitting on his pillow, staring at him with its printed eyes.

Mu Sichen froze. He knew for a fact he’d put that thing on He Fei’s bed.

A ridiculous thought struck him. He unbuttoned his left cuff and rolled up his sleeve.

The tentacle tattoo was gone.

He looked at the knock-off plushie. One of its blue tentacles was currently hooked around his wrist.

Mu Sichen: “…”

Just then, a roar erupted from the other bed: “Mu Sichen! It’s one thing to be stingy with your toys, but sneaking down to cuddle with my custom plushie while I’m asleep? That’s low!”

Mu Sichen: “…”

If I tell him this doll grew legs and crawled into my bed, is he going to believe me?

Author’s Note:

He Fei: I seem to have become the biggest victim on Mu Sichen’s path to true love.

Mu Sichen: It’s all a misunderstanding. Seriously.