Zane climbed the staircase slowly, each step creaking under his feet.
He reached the top floor and glanced around. Most of the doors looked the same—tall, elegant, and carved with strange markings. One room, though, caught his eye. It had a large circular window with an incredible view of the horizon. The mountains in the distance stood like sleeping giants, and the sky burned orange as the sun began to dip.
"This is the one," he said, grinning. He walked over, gripped the handle, and tried to push the door open.
It didn't move.
He frowned and tried again, this time pushing harder.
Still nothing.
It felt like trying to open the gates of heaven. Maybe only the "chosen one" could walk in. Or maybe there was a secret test to prove he was worthy. Or maybe… the door just hated him.
Zane gritted his teeth and shoved with both hands. "Ugh… Move, stupid door!"
The door didn't budge an inch.
He stood there in silence for a moment, breathing heavily, then turned away with a frustrated sigh.
After another minute of struggling—and nearly pulling something in his back—he stepped away with an annoyed grunt. "Stupid magical houses and their dumb fancy doors."
Far away, high above the clouds, the Master-Diaking Zodiache—the one who could see everything happening on the planet—was doubled over in laughter.
The scene of Zane struggling with a door played in front of him like a live comedy.
"Hahaha! He couldn't even open a door!" Zodiache wheezed. "Zane Walker, huh?" Zodiache snorted. "I'll never forget that name. Mark my words."
He wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "I've run my analysis. Turns out…Earth has the weakest lifeforms of all recorded civilizations." The lady who had served him tea earlier said, walking closer.
"I'm well aware, I mean, just look at him" Daiking replied, arms folded.
Back at the mansion, Zane was still wandering through the vast, echoing halls. He rubbed his temples in annoyance.
"Onilia… Onilia!" he called, but got no answer.
The silence stretched on.
He kept walking until he noticed a door that was slightly open.
Curious, and desperate for help, he rushed over and entered without hesitation.
"Finally," he muttered, hurrying over. "Onilia, please, I need your hel—"
He froze mid-sentence.
His brain shut down.
In front of him, standing in the middle of the room, was Onilia.
Naked.
Steam swirled around her as she stood by what looked like a glass shower pod. Her skin was a soft, radiant blue that shimmered faintly like moonlight on water. Her body was toned and smooth, flawless as if sculpted by gods. But it was her hair that truly stunned him—long, flowing, and alive. It didn't have a fixed color. Instead, it reflected the room around her, shifting like a liquid mirror—silver, blue, gold, and white, all blending and twisting like waves.
Zane's face went pale. Then red. Then pale again.
His eyes widened. "Eh—b-breasts?!"
Then, reality struck like lightning.
"I DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING—I SWEAR! I..."
[System Notice]
Player Zane Walker has died.
A few moments later, Zane's eyes fluttered open.
His head ached, and for a second, he wasn't sure if he was dead or just suffering the aftershock of embarrassment. But then he saw her—Onilia—standing over him, wrapped in nothing but a soft white towel. Her hair still shimmered with shifting colors, dripping gently from the shower. Steam trailed behind her like mist following a goddess.
She didn't look happy.
"Tell me, Zane," she said slowly, her tone icy yet calm. "What exactly made you want risk your life like that? Did you really want to peek that badly? Enough to die for it?"
She crossed her arms—towel or not—and stared him down with the gaze of an executioner. "Give me a good explanation, or I'll make sure even the Master can't bring you back this time."
Zane sat up straight, hands raised like a criminal caught in the act.
"I—uh—wait, no, I swear it wasn't what it looked like!" he stammered. "I was just… I was trying to open the door!"
"Door?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes!" he said quickly. "They're all locked—come on, I'll show you!"
Desperate to prove his innocence, Zane scrambled to his feet and grabbed her by the wrist—carefully, as if touching glass—then rushed up the stairs with her in tow.
They reached the hallway again. He pointed dramatically at the door that had defeated him earlier.
"That one! That stupid thing!" he huffed. "I swear, it wouldn't even move a little!"
Onilia gave him a suspicious look, like she still wasn't fully buying his story. Then, with the casual confidence of someone opening her kitchen pantry, she stepped forward and gently pushed the door.
It swung open without resistance. Effortless. Smooth.
Zane blinked. His soul left his body for half a second.
Yep. The door hated him.
"I… before… it was… stuck, I swear…" he mumbled, now speaking in a language only he could understand.
Onilia let out a sigh, rubbed her forehead, then simply turned around and walked back down the stairs—still in her towel, still dripping, clearly done with the entire situation.
Zane stood frozen for a moment, unsure whether to be relieved or offended. She hadn't killed him. That was good. But she definitely thought he was an idiot.
He slowly stepped into the room. Guilty and humbled, he didn't even try to close the door. Who knew if it would open again? Best not to take chances with cursed architecture.
The room itself was beautiful—spacious and calm. There was a massive bed with silken sheets, soft lighting from floating crystals, and a clear view of the landscape beyond the mountains. But none of it felt comforting.
Zane let out a long sigh and dropped onto the bed.
It didn't take him long to realize something else.
He couldn't survive on this planet without Onilia.
Even after adapting to the planet's gravity a little, his muscles still hadn't caught up. It was like being trapped in a nightmare gym class. Everything was heavier than it had any right to be. Spoons felt like dumbbells. Chairs refused to move unless he shoved them with both hands and a prayer.
Earlier that day, he had tried climbing the side of a hill. Not even a mountain—just a hill. When he slipped, he didn't fall like a normal person. He plummeted. Straight down. The gravity sucked him toward the ground like it had a personal grudge. He hit the floor with a dramatic thud and rolled for twenty feet before landing in a bush… upside down.
He groaned at the memory.
"This planet wants me dead," he muttered, staring at the ceiling.
Even now, lying in bed felt like trying to rest while wearing a weighted vest. His limbs ached, his pride was shattered, and the door still mocked him from across the room.
Zane lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as his mind drifted somewhere far away.
For the first time in a while, he thought of his family—and like always, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He had later understood why his father hated him so much. It wasn't just neglect or coldness—it was pure, deep-rooted resentment.
His birth had never been planned. His mother had seduced the President, hoping to climb the social ladder. She didn't love him. She didn't even want a child. But when she found out she was pregnant, she saw it as her golden ticket. After all, she now carried the President's child—something the media would explode over if it ever got out.
So the President, desperate to avoid scandal, gave in to her every insane demand. She got what she wanted.
And then, just like that, she vanished.
Just like that, she dumped Zane on his father and disappeared from his life. The President had no choice but to raise him, but all the anger meant for his mother was directed at the one person who had nothing to do with it—Zane.
He didn't ask to be born. He didn't choose any of this.
Yet he paid the price every single day.
His older brother made sure of that too. His older brother-Jason-had poisoned him more times than he could count. Each time, Zane nearly died—but there was never enough proof to blame him. Not that anyone would've cared.
He was a stain in that house. A walking shame.
Still… not all memories were bad.
He remembered one moment, clear as day.
After surviving the first poisoning, Zane had been bedridden for days. His body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together with barbed wire. He spent most of the time reading to distract himself.
One afternoon, just as he was reaching the most intense part of the story—a do-or-die moment for humanity—his bedroom door creaked open.
A tiny voice floated in.
"Big brother, play with me?"
It was Ariel. His little sister, barely able to pronounce her R's properly, stood at the door with wide, hopeful eyes.
Zane looked up from his novel, a bit annoyed.
"Can't you come back later? I finally got to the good part."
He glanced back at the book, eager to find out how humanity would survive the second wave of alien attacks.
But then he heard a soft sniffle.
"Does big brother not like Ariel anymore?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "Big brother doesn't want to play with Ariel anymore?"
Sniff. Sniff.
Zane felt his heart crack. He sighed, shut the book, and tossed it aside without another thought.
"Of course not," he said, smiling at her. "Who cares about some stupid novel anyway? What do you want to play?"
Ariel's face lit up like sunshine.
"I wanna play hya hya!" she said, punching the air like a warrior.
Zane chuckled at the memory. That moment stayed with him. It was one of the few times he'd felt truly needed—not as a burden, but as a brother.
His smile faded as he looked around the spacious alien room.
"I didn't come all the way here just to lie in a fancy bed and relax," he muttered.