Malphegor
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Grimm: Ch. 1
🕑 Added 2024-12-03 02:28:16 +0000 UTC---Grimm's POV---
I had just finished showering. With only a towel wrapped around my waist, I had lightly dried my hair before stepping out of the bathroom.
Another day of instant noodles and job hunting ahead, I thought as I grabbed my phone from the counter.
As I checked my notifications, the familiar sound of a new message caught my attention.
"Um... Grimm, I like you."
The message popped up in my chatbox from Roy, a close friend I'd been gaming with for a long time.
Sitting on my bed, I stared at my phone screen, trying to process what I'd just read.
Another message appeared.
"Do you like me, Grimm?"
Seeing these two messages, my pupils shrank, and my heart began to race uncontrollably. Not this. Please not this.
Come on, dude, don't do this. I've always seen you as a brother. How are we supposed to stay friends after this?
Maybe I should just pretend I didn't understand. It's probably just a joke or something.
Yeah, that's it. Just play it cool.
"Of course, buddy." I typed the reply, secretly relieved. As a straight guy, I was doing my best to maintain our friendship.
"..."
"Bro, that's not what I meant... I mean, would you like to date me?"
My brain froze.
All those times he took hits for me in game... was that more than just gameplay?
I suddenly recalled how Roy often called me "brother" when we played games together.
The way he'd rush back from dinner just to play another round with me. How he'd always position his tank character in front of my ADC, taking hits meant for me.
Nobody treats you so well without a reason, I realized.
---
Back then, after breaking up with my girlfriend, having someone to keep me company had been a comfort. He always had my back in games. Over time, we became close friends. Though we had met online, it made life a bit less lonely.
Being an orphan, raised in a welfare institution, I had to cover most of my expenses myself after high school. Frugality had been ingrained in me from a young age.
While others enjoyed graduation trips, I was working construction. In college, I worked in the cafeteria to save on food costs and took up odd jobs during breaks. Life was hard, but I managed.
Just last month, after dating for three years, my girlfriend left me.
"We're just too different now. You understand, right?" she had said, not quite meeting my eyes.
"I can work harder. I can change..." I had pleaded, knowing even then it was futile.
"It's not about that. I've found someone who..." She hadn't finished the sentence. She hadn't needed to.
I understood. No matter how hard I worked, I couldn't offer a better life in the short term. What could I do to make her stay?
Maybe I wasn't meant to make anyone stay.
She had once been my lifeline during my most helpless days in high school.
Perhaps influenced by her family's preference for boys or our shared sense of misfortune, we had secretly started dating during senior year, helping each other through tough times.
I couldn't blame her.
Instead, I blamed myself for my lack of ability. Alone in my tiny rented room, I had cried under my blanket for an entire night, only falling asleep at dawn after drinking heavily.
Then I met Roy in the game. At first, I thought it was just a casual encounter.
---
I fell into deep thought and didn't reply for a long time.
"Bro?"
"You remind me of a friend," I typed.
The mood on the other end seemed to drop.
"I understand. I won't bother you anymore."
Seeing this message, I felt conflicted. I didn't want to lose this friendship, but I was damn straight. I didn't know what to do without hurting him.
Staring at the chat window, I felt a mix of emotions. I wanted to say something to ease the situation, but before I could, Roy's avatar dimmed.
Checking the chat log again, I saw: You are not friends with this user.
The sound of thunder and rain filled the air.
Perhaps influenced by my mood, I felt an urge to look at the storm raging outside. Pulling back the curtains, I saw lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the streets like daylight.
Thunder followed, rumbling loudly over the city.
You are not friends with this user.
I stared at the message, feeling a sense of loss. The guy who used to call me "brother" was gone.
"Play one more game with me, Roy." I sent a friend request.
The request was accepted.
"Log in," I typed.
"Okay."
I picked a role I wasn't good at—jungler. Roy chose his usual mid laner role. Perhaps it was the emotions running high, but I, usually bad at jungling, carried the game with an 11–0 score, saving Roy several times.
"Why did you add me back?"
"I want to keep playing with you. Is that okay?"
Roy didn't reply.
"No matter what, I just want you to be happy."
I was torn, unsure of my own feelings.
"It's okay. I should've expected this."
"I thought you were joking."
"..."
"I never joke about these things."
I was at a loss for words. Panicking, I thought of my ex-girlfriend, perhaps as a way to shift the topic.
"You're a bit like my ex-girlfriend."
A clueless and awkward remark. It marked the end of our conversation.
Before I could say more, Roy had removed me again.
"Sigh."
It was too late to fix things; my clumsy behavior had already caused irreparable damage.
What an idiot I was. Unable to sleep, I turned on my old laptop—a relic from my freshman days working odd jobs.
I launched the game I used to play the most at that time, then idly fiddled with a decorative dragon egg on my desk.
As I waited for the game to load, I absentmindedly opened a web page to reread Berserk.
"The remake's out, huh," I murmured, clicking into it.
The game finally loaded.
I entered my save file but was met with an unusually slow loading screen.
The moment I touched the dragon egg, dizziness hit me like I was falling into an endless dark. Then came this feeling of safety, like being wrapped in warmth, and I drifted off to sleep.
[Please select your gender:
Handsome Male
Beautiful Female]
Half-conscious, I thought it was just another game. After some deliberation, I chose "Handsome Male."
Next came the character creation screen. Slightly obsessive, I crafted a face I deemed handsome, gave it a tanned complexion, and clicked next.
[Choose your background.]
[Your father was:
A captain of a noble trading ship.
A knight of an order.
A retired noble adventurer.
The exiled leader of a clan.
A mysterious figure with an unknown past.]
I chose "A mysterious figure."
As the choice finalized, a heavy dizziness struck again. Dragged into the depths, I felt as though I were submerged in water, my limbs curled up. It was oddly comforting, like returning to the womb.
I fell into a deep sleep.
---
I wasn't born an orphan. No one was.
When I came into this world, my mother passed away due to a ruptured aorta. She held on just long enough...
My first breath costed my mother her last.
My grandmother, who cared for me for three years, became increasingly frail. In her final days, her trembling hands would still try to smooth my hair.
"Be strong, little one," she whispered one evening. "Life won't be easy, but you must survive." Those were her last words to me before she too slipped away.
My grandparents had long been deceased, leaving my father as my only guardian. But this man, devoid of the will to live, drowned himself in alcohol and frequently lashed out, both verbally and physically, at me when I could barely speak.
I didn't even dare cry aloud when other children my age would wail loudly. Whenever I made a sound, I would be kicked away. Good days were when he's too drunk to find me.
For me, a day without scolding or beating was like Christmas Eve.
My aunt who lived next door couldn't bear to watch any longer. When my father was not at home, she would often take care of me.
Occasionally, she gave me leftover children's storybooks. My favorite was a book called Grimm's Fairy Tales.
The colorful illustrations captivated me, who had never seen picture books before. In these pages, even orphans could become heroes.
When I couldn't recognize a character, I would save my questions to ask her.
"You love this storybook so much. Since your parents didn't have the chance to name you, how about we call you 'Grimm'?"
I touched the book cover gently, testing the name on my tongue. "Grimm..."
"Yes, it'll be your special name. Your very own."
The image of my aunt's face had long blurred in my memory, but I remembered her gentle voice clearly. That name, "Grimm," stayed with me for life.
On those torturous nights, I would repeatedly read some classic fairy tales, falling asleep with tears in my eyes. They accompanied me through my most helpless times.
But more important was my aunt's care. Without it, I might have died of illness on some nameless night. Even so, I muddled through a year living with my father.
But even those difficult days didn't last long. He passed away from excessive drinking.
With one family member after another passing away, I became an unlucky child in the eyes of the neighbors, who whispered that I brought misfortune.
While my aunt felt sorry for me, she had her own child to raise. Thus, at the age of four, I was sent to an orphanage.
There, everyone was unwanted. At least we had that in common.
Perhaps the shadows of my childhood ran too deep, making me reluctant to play with other children. This led to me being bullied often. We were all children without families, and without attentive care from teachers, the bullying only worsened.
One day, a boy slapped me. The stinging heat on my face sparked something within me—a fire that seemed to ignite a sense of dignity.
Before that moment, only my father had slapped me. His curses still echoed: "Why don't you just die?! You're a boy, aren't you? Why didn't you die instead of your mother? You worthless beast!"
"It's all your fault!"
"What are you crying for? Are you a man or not? Stand up! Don't you have any self-respect?"
For the first time, I stood up in the orphanage. My clear eyes revealed an emotion I'd never felt before: anger.
The other boy, who was used to my meekness, was startled.
"What's with you, kid? Getting all—"
BAM!!
Not anymore. Never again. My angry fist landed on his nose, causing blood to gush out.
Why?! I've done nothing wrong! Why do you all bully me?
The boy, sitting on the ground, wiped his nose with his hand and, seeing the blood, became enraged. He lunged at me, pushing me to the ground. I fought back with all my might, and we ended up brawling until a tardy teacher arrived to separate us.
"Break it up! Both of you, to the storeroom!"
After a brief scolding, both of us were locked in separate, dark storerooms filled with brooms and mops as punishment.
Curled up in the damp, dim storeroom, I clenched my fists, my eyes red with anger. Hot tears dripped down my cheeks. Why? I never provoke anyone! Why do they always pick on me?
For most children, being locked in such a place at such a young age would have been terrifying. But not for me.
Aside from the dried tears on my face, my eyes had changed. I had made up my mind. Since my life had already cost so much, I had to live it well—to honor my mother and overcome all the misfortune.
I had to be strong.
After that day, I grew tougher. Being bullied in the orphanage didn't bother me. A few punches weren't a big deal for a boy. If anyone tried to push me around, I would fight back fiercely, even if it meant using my teeth.
Soon, no one dared mess with me. Still, I kept to myself, never wanting to hang out with the others.
By the time I left the orphanage and entered middle school, I was in my growth spurt, standing tall at around 1.8 meters. Although I struggled financially, I found work in a fast food restaurant, where I was compensated with meals.
The owner would watch me work, sometimes with an approving nod.
Occasionally, my aunt sent me a some cash, which I used for school supplies. I even managed to buy a cheap Nokia phone.
High school was similar.
The noodle shop owner, grateful for my help, treated me to a nice meal when I graduated middle school and gave me 300 dollars.
"Kid, no matter what, you've got to take good care of yourself. Let me know if you get into college. This money is for your textbooks."
I didn't disappoint. I got into a prestigious city high school.
While there, I continued working in the restaurant.
During senior year, I even had a girlfriend, though our relationship felt more like mutual encouragement than romance. We were both broken, trying to piece ourselves together.
After graduating high school, I received an acceptance letter from a medical university. My aunt reconnected with me after many years. Time had left its marks on her face, and she gave me what little was left of my inheritance—1,000 dollars.
The house I had lived in as a child had been repossessed due to unpaid loans, as had the family home in the countryside.
My father's drinking had plunged our already meager finances into ruin. It was likely that my aunt had contributed much of the remaining money.
Over a meal with her, I felt a rare warmth. But my moments of warmth were always fleeting.
After saying goodbye to her, I began planning for my future, working at construction sites to cover my tuition. Every brick I lay was one step closer to medical school.
Though grueling, the physical labor was manageable, thanks to my regular exercise.
I believed I couldn't bring happiness to anyone—not even myself. After all, I thought, I was a person destined to bring misfortune.
---
A woman's faint, tremulous voice blended with the sound of water.
"Another war is starting…"
"Yes, we need to move again…"
"Get the luggage ready!"
Surrounded by chaotic voices, I felt as if I were on a small boat in a thunderstorm.
A feeling of unease swept over me, like the people around me were nervous. On instinct, I lashed out with my foot and hit something. Right after, a fist slammed into my stomach. Silently, clutching my abdomen, I curled up and sank into unconsciousness.
