Lin Xing got home well past midnight.

The shared apartment's lights were on, a sliver of light leaking from under his roommate's door. He didn't turn on the living room light, felt his way to his room in the dark, and locked the door behind him.

He put his phone on the desk. Screen facedown. He stared at that darkness for a long time.

The candy was still in his pocket. From the office worker. He pulled it out and looked—mint hard candy, the wrapper catching cold light under the streetlamps. He unwrapped one and put it in his mouth. Sweetness and coolness spread together, but couldn't wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat.

Those few seconds. That darkness. Those blurred fragments.

And that line: Slots remaining: 2.

He washed his face, lay down on the bed. There was a crack in the ceiling—he'd counted it many times, from the corner to the edge of the ceiling light, twenty-three centimeters total. On the seventh count, he reached for the nightstand.

Phone. GoGBA. Save Point.

He knew he would open it again. He'd known from the moment he turned off the screen.

---

A black startup screen. The same white text.

Do you believe saves can change reality?

Lin Xing didn't laugh this time. He chose continue—the save point was recorded, so there was a load option. But he hesitated a second, then tapped new game.

He wanted to see it again. From the start. To see if he could avoid that inexplicable Game Over.

---

Pixel town. Gray houses. Winding dirt road. A tower in the distance.

Stage 1 · Homeward.

The figure stood at the crossroads. Lin Xing took a deep breath and pressed the D-pad.

Walk. Keep walking. Don't stop.

He fixed his eyes on the screen. Last time the figure had stopped suddenly after a dozen seconds—not because he'd let go, but because the game itself stopped. This time he'd test whether keeping the input held would change anything.

The figure moved forward along the dirt road. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.

Lin Xing's thumb never left the D-pad.

Twenty seconds.

The path curved. The first house appeared by the roadside. A wooden door ajar, windows glowing warm yellow pixel light. As the figure passed, the door suddenly opened.

A silhouette stood in the doorway.

Lin Xing's thumb loosened. The figure stopped. His heart skipped a beat.

Not an NPC—a player-style black silhouette, no features, only outlines. Its "head" tilted slightly, as if studying him beyond the screen.

A dialog box appeared. Pixel font, white text.

So you've come too.
Things you save here become real.
Don't lose them.

Three lines. Then the dialog vanished. The silhouette retreated into the house, and the door closed.

Lin Xing froze.

"Things you save become real"—what did that mean? Save files? Or...

The figure still stood there. He pressed the D-pad again and moved forward. The dirt road led to the foot of the tower, the tower door ajar. The moment the figure stepped in, the screen flashed white.

Stage 1 · Homeward —— Clear

Lin Xing stared at those words. Cleared. No Game Over. He'd survived the first stage.

And then?

---

Then he woke up.

Not from sleep. Suddenly, his consciousness yanked out of the screen, as if something had flung him back to reality. Lin Xing shook his head and found himself still sitting on the bed, phone lit, the screen paused on "Stage 1 · Homeward —— Clear."

He checked the time. 12:47 AM.

An hour since he'd opened the game. Yet it felt like only a few minutes.

Lin Xing put down his phone and got up for water. Passing the living room, he glimpsed something on the dining table.

A cup. Plastic. The one he'd brought home tonight—held convenience store coffee, finished it, had been clutching it in his hand, thrown into the platform trash on his way out of the station.

But now it sat on the dining table. Clean. As if someone had washed it.

Lin Xing stepped closer, step by step. Footsteps light, like treading on cotton. He reached out, fingertips touching the cup—cool. A bit of moisture not yet dry.

His roommate's door stayed shut. Light still on. But Lin Xing remembered: when he came in, the table had been empty.

He gripped the cup, knuckles white. Throat tight.

Things you save become real.

Things you save here become real.

He'd cleared the first stage. And in reality—a cup had appeared. A cup that should have been in the trash.

Lin Xing set the cup back on the table, turned, returned to his room. Shut the door. Leaned against it for a long time.

His phone was still on the bed, screen dark. He didn't dare touch it again.

Scattered car sounds from outside. The night was deep. He counted the crack in the ceiling—one, two, three… By twenty-three, he closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd figure out what this game was up to.

And that silhouette—"So you've come too." What did that "too" mean?