World’s Strongest Became the Game’s Weakest Villain

The officer had said some weird things about my mother and whatnot, but I didn't care. I didn't know anything about her anyway. Information was relevant while I lacked the strength to even be threatened, let alone be a threat.

One might think that this attitude of apathy came from the fact that I was living as both Yujin and Eugene, but that wasn't the case. I didn't consider myself either. I was just me. The me at this very moment is me. People change frequently, and I considered my 'self' to be like a rock at the ocean shore. One that changes every moment as the winds and the waves hit it until it is not anything anymore.

I was me, that's all that mattered.

The curtain opened, and the play began.

It was a beautifully simple story that fit the place well and used the guidelines I had set well.

It started with a disowned son of a noble who was unfairly kicked out of his family. He was pushed out all the way to a village suffering from poverty and ignorance. He quickly got closer to the children and the adults of the place despite his attitude of not wanting to see them at all, and eventually formed a bond.

The son developed the village together with the others, taking lead of the development with revolutionary tactics he had learned as a noble, he understood the spirit of caring for others and helping others in need while making a strong bond of friendship.

As time passed and the son grew, the village was much better and he was at the center of it all.

Then came the climax.

A bandit troupe had set its sight on the village.

The son felt loss as his friends were taken by the bandits and his town was threatened by them. He raised his sword and fought, fought and fought until he was bleeding from everywhere.

After an intensely dramatic battle, the son managed to defeat the bandits threatening the place, but lost his life as a result.

The villagers felt the loss, and so did the noble's family.

As the play ended with the people realizing his heroism, the curtains folded.

It was a simple yet beautiful play. A tragedy of great order.

One I liked greatly.

The man next to me sniffled while the nobles ahead gave a standing ovation.

The play was well received. By others, and most importantly, by me.

This was the essence of a story, of art.

Pain. Loss.

Tension.

Any good story in the modern world held tension. There were threats, stakes, things to lose.

As I clapped at the stage.

I felt again that I was now in the world of the game that Albert had told me.

A game, written in the modern world.

So, in the end, what was...

... what was the tension of this story?

What was the threat here?

A chill ran down my spine.

Fuck.