Most people have probably played a game like this: it looks grand and epic in its world-building, but in reality, you're forced through a series of little events, with no real choices to make.
The gameplay seems varied, but it's just the same old stuff repackaged.
It lacks innovation and feels like a factory-made, canned experience—clichéd, predictable, and repetitive.
And right now, You Míng feels like he's stuck in a Yu-Gi-Oh! "isekai RPG" canned adventure.
No, "adventure" isn't even the right word—this thing even has a proper name:
Duel of Another Dimension: Crimson Unending Legend.
See? Even the series title and subtitle are spelled out.
Sigh.
He glances up at the system-labeled "Career Script" and can't help but sigh again.
He's not trying to bash anything. A canned game can still be fun—if you enjoy it on the first run, it's a good game, even if there isn't much replay value.
But this "game" he's playing is far from good—it's full of anti-player traps from the start:
A bald guide who spouts riddles instead of human speech. No prep time, no choices—instantly led to the "main city." No free time, no sightseeing—immediately triggers the next event.
Then…
The "main city" gets wrecked.
You Míng can see the ruined cityscape through the floor-to-ceiling window: collapsed houses, broken factories, burned trees, charred gardens. The once-lively New Domino City is now still functioning—but only barely.
He sighs. "But oh well. Big events make big accomplishments, right?"
He tries convincing himself, but it's hard to keep a straight face.
This whole situation is just so… ridiculous.
"Mr. You Míng, this is the conference room."
Returning to the present, he stands in front of a vast metallic door. Under artificial fluorescent lights, the KC emblem of Kaiba Corporation glimmers coldly. Beneath the logo stands a red-haired woman, wearing a bright smile—and tiny fangs that brighten up the city's ruins behind her.
"The Duelists should all be here now."
"Thanks for guiding me here."
"No problem, no problem—that's what I'm here for."
She gestures, smiling politely.
"I'm not much of a fighter like you Duelists, so I mostly take care of logistics and errands."
Though her voice held a hint of regret, she sounded comfortable in the role.
She gives a serious nod, conveying hope through her expression.
"Duelists, everything's in your hands now."
"…Understood."
He notices the hopeful look in her red eyes and his lips twitch.
This is exactly why he feels so unsettled. He's supposed to respond to the hope—but right now? He can't feel it.
Maybe because taking cards seriously feels so absurd... or because everything is rushed?
"Sir?"
The woman looks worried. "Are you okay?"
She means well—but Yù Míng isn't used to this kind of compassion.
"Cough I'm fine. Just a bit tired."
"You didn't get enough rest?"
"Eh, I'm okay…"
He raises his voice to shut down the conversation.
"I've gotten what I need—thanks for leading me here, but I've got other tasks. I'll be going now."
"Oh—goodbye, guide."
Once she disappears around the corner, You Míng exhales deeply.
This whole situation is absurd: one moment people are treating him like a nobody, the next they're fawning over him—expectation in their eyes, an invite to a "strategic meeting." Did he accidentally press "skip" on his life?
He chuckles and pulls out his duel wrist-dial.
He inputs a code. The camera near the door begins to scan him.
"Identity confirmed: Duelist You Míng."
Beep. The door slowly opens.
"Welcome to the strategy meeting."
Inside, the room is bright and open, with white walls and a hanging crystal chandelier spotlighting a round table… surrounded by Duelists.
"Uh…"
He glances around—and fights a twitch in his face.
There's a shirtless fisherman with a metal harpoon, a robot commander holding a thin sword, a hunched old demon in rags, a giant mech like a Gundam, a crimson oni, a humanoid tengu, a squat penguin, zombies, skeletons… and tucked in a corner, a nine-tailed fox curled into a fuzzy ball. Seriously, not even anthropomorphic!
"Human, did you just think something rude?" The fox's cool voice cuts through his thoughts.
Great. They can read minds.
The fox's nine tails twitched, body wrapped tight again. You Míng forces a polite smile.
"Hi."
"Hmph," it slips, then settles again.
You Míng turns to the only sane-looking guy in the room:
Keith Howard.
Of all people—yes, this stereotypical American cowboy is the most normal-looking here.
He's sprawled in his chair with feet on the table.
"Yo, kid. How's life treating you?"
"We literally met an hour ago."
"No matter—time means nothing to us."
In this deathly realm, that seems fine… but from Keith's mouth, it sounds hilarious.
"Don't be tough, right?" he mutters.
"Cut it out, you punk…"
"So where should I sit?
"If you're wondering—just sit wherever."
"Uh…but how do I know which seat is free…?"
"You'll be fine."
A familiar childish voice calls from the other side.
Seto Kaiba's son, Noah, strides over with hands clasped behind his back.
"The seats aren't even assigned yet. Just pick one."
He says it, but You Míng remains hesitant. He casts an awkward-but-polite smile at the table layout.
Yeah… sure, kid.