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Making Game: CH 5 – A Wish from a Lost Life
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 10:07:07 +0000 UTCDorian lowered his head, his shoulders slumping. He moved to put the violin back in its case. "Sorry for the noise," he mumbled, his voice thick.
"N-no no," John stammered from the doorway, taking a hesitant step into the room. "It's good. It's good that you play. I loved to hear more." A soft, fragile smile touched his lips.
Dorian paused, his hand hovering over the violin. He turned back to his father. "Really?"
"Yes, really," John said, his voice gaining a bit of strength.
"You've said you hate my violin."
John's smile faltered. He shifted his weight, looking awkward. "Now... when do I said that?"
The fragile peace shattered. "You told me that yourself, dad!" Dorian shouted, his voice cracking with a sudden, raw anger. John was so taken aback he physically took a step back.
"The day mom left," Dorian continued, his words tumbling out, laced with years of pain. "Y-you said it's a nasty instrument. One that should never be played in this house."
They stared at each other, and for the first time in a long, long time, they finally saw eye to eye. John's own eyes went glassy as he saw his son, a boy on the verge of breaking, trying so hard to hold himself together.
"You're right," John whispered, his voice failing him. "I... I do said that. I was at my lowest point in my life, Dorian. Eline left me so sudden, leaving behind little Marcus, Lyra, and you that-"
"She left US, dad!" Dorian cut him off, his shout echoing in the small room. "US! And we needed you!" He began to pace, his movements jerky and erratic. "But you threw yourself at work, leaving me behind. Which, I should understand, because you need to put food on the table."
"Dorian..." John tried to interject, but his son kept rambling, the floodgates of his resentment thrown wide open.
Dorian ran a hand through his hair, his voice becoming more frantic. "But can't you even imagine? I was seven when you left me alone with Lyra and Marcus. Granted, there was Leo to help, but I felt like I was pushed to be the head of this house in that year. For god's sake, I was seven! Even younger than Marcus is now!"
"YOU'RE A GENIUS, DORIAN!" John's voice boomed, a desperate roar that finally made Dorian stop in his tracks.
"Wha-what?" Dorian asked softly, his anger deflating into confusion.
John held himself together, his whole body trembling with the effort. "You are a genius, son. Ever since you were a child. You grasp things you have never touched before. You saw your mom play her violin and the next thing I knew, you could suddenly play." He paused, gathering himself as a single, hot tear ran down his cheek. "It terrified me," he continued, his voice breaking. "I looked at myself and kept telling myself to fill my own inadequacy. But your mom... El-Eline, she told me everything would be okay. But the day she left, all that pressure mounted on my shoulders once again. I am sorry, Dorian."
He paused once more, reaching into his pocket. He walked over to Dorian's desk and put down a sealed letter from the academy. He looked at his son, his eyes full of a pain and a love that Dorian was only just beginning to understand.
"Be a Solar... not be a Solar," John said, his voice barely a whisper. "Be successful... not be successful... Dorian, I have never cared about any of that. What I care about is for my son to be happy."
He roughly swiped the tear from his cheek and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.
Dorian was left alone in the sudden silence. He stood there for a long moment, collecting his own thoughts, and then the tears came. Hot, silent tears that streamed down his face. But with every tear that fell, it felt as if tons of weight, a burden he had carried since he was seven years old, was finally being lifted from his shoulders.
As Dorian stood alone in the quiet of his room, his thoughts a chaotic storm, he heard a soft, rolling sound. Like a single marble skittering across a glass floor. He paused, pulling himself together, and listened.
Ding.
The sound was soft, clear, and seemed to come from directly in front of him. A transparent blue panel shimmered into existence in the air, displaying a single line of glowing text.
{Resonance Detected...}
"What?" Dorian whispered, his voice hoarse.
{Acquiring Connection...}
He looked wildly around the room, then his eyes darted to his desk. His heart began to hammer against his ribs. He rushed over, tapping the sequence on the side. The monitor and keyboard flipped open.
{Connecting...}
"What the hell," he breathed, his fingers flying across the holographic keyboard, running diagnostics. "Does the Accord know? Did they find out I jailbroke Leo?"
The panel in front of him flickered, the text changing.
{Creator System Initialized. Thank You For Your Patience.}
Dorian froze, staring at the words. He stammered, his mind reeling as he recognized that the font, the design, the sheer existence of this panel was not based on any technology he had ever seen in this world. "A... what?"
{A symphony created by User has impacted a soul. Resonance acquired.}
"A what? What is 'System'? What is this?" he demanded of the empty air.
{A wish made by User has been finalized. Thank you for your patience. Are there any questions?}
"Yeah, I have many!"
{User may ask any questions before System enters dormant mode.}
"Dormant? What do you mean?" Dorian's mind was racing. "You know what, scratch that. First thing's first. What is this? What are you?"
{I am the System. A helper construct manifested by User's wish.}
"Wished for? What do you mean?"
{User is detected to be confused. Further explanation required. Requesting authorization... Transmitting... Authorization accepted. User made a wish in a previous life. The cost of this wish, dictated by causality, was the sacrifice of specific memories to ensure fulfillment.}
"A wish? What wish did I wish for?"
{Authorization Denied.}
"Okayy..." Dorian trailed off, stopping to think, to truly process what was happening. He paused, then a strange, fragmented thought surfaced. "Does this... 'System' thing... is it a fictional concept from my past life?"
The panel displayed three blinking dots. {...}
{User's deduction is correct. Memories related to the fictional concept of 'Systems' were removed from User's Mnemonic Echo to ensure an uninfluenced, novel experience.}
"What is your purpose?"
{To assist User in collecting Resonance and to grant power based on User's own creations.}
"Elaborate."
{Each creation User makes, provided it has an audience and impacts them emotionally, will generate Resonance. This is a point system. The value of the points is dependent on the depth of the emotional impact.}
"What do these Resonance points do?"
{User can expend Resonance to pull from a Gacha banner generated by User's game creation.}
"Only from games?" Dorian asked, a flicker of his old passion returning.
{Causality has determined that User can only manifest Gacha banners from the 'Game' creation category.}
Dorian felt more confused than ever. "I need more details."
{User must acquire further details through personal experience. System entering dormant mode in 3... 2... 1...}
The panel went blank.
"System? System!" he called out. Nothing. "What the hell? Why did it stop?" He said again, "System."
This time, a much smaller, simpler panel appeared. It looked like a single note from a memo app, colored with a soft, shifting rainbow gradient. In the top corner, a number was displayed: {Resonance: 1000.}
Dorian stumbled back and plopped down onto his bed. He covered his damp face with his hands, the tears from moments ago now mixed with a profound sense of the surreal. He let out a soft, broken chuckle.
"What a strange day."
He was tired, mentally and physically, but it was the good kind of tired that comes after a storm has passed. Dorian slept, a deep and dreamless sleep that washed away the lingering shadows of the past months and gave him energy for tomorrow and the days to come. The letter from the academy, sealed and stark against the wood of his desk, remained unopened through the night.
The next morning, he was woken by a gentle, repetitive rolling motion against his shoulder.
"Do-do-Dorian," a soft, stuttering voice called.
Dorian's eyes fluttered open. "I'm up," he said, his own voice clear for the first time in weeks.
Leo, who had been nudging him, paused halfway to the door. The Compadre stopped dead in the air, its optical sensor blinking rapidly. "D-Dorian," it said again, the stutter more pronounced. "You a-answered me." It floated higher and began to spin in a slow, happy circle.
Dorian chuckled, sitting up. "Are you that happy from me answering you?"
"O-of course I-I-I'm happy," Leo chirped.
Dorian tilted his head, his brow furrowing in concern. "What happened to your voice? Has it been glitching for a while?"
"I-I-I do not know," Leo replied. "It has been like this since yesterday."
Dorian looked at the clock on his wall. It was still early. He walked over to his computer desk and tapped the activation sequence. The hidden workshop panels flipped open. He looked back at Leo and patted the empty space on the desk.
"Come here," he said gently. "Let me see."
Leo floated over and powered down on the desk. Dorian connected the familiar data cable. As the code materialized in the air, he found himself stumped. The months he had spent in his stupor, ignoring his routine maintenance, had not left Leo's code static. It had changed. It had grown. It seemed to have evolved on its own.
Dorian tilted his head, tracing the new, unfamiliar lines of logic. He found some of the brute force modifications he had made in the past, but there were new, elegant subroutines he could not explain. He triple checked everything, reinforcing his old jailbreak code around the new, strange architecture. Then, he disconnected Leo.
As he turned the Compadre back on, it floated up, spun rapidly, and shook, like a wet dog drying itself off. Then it went still. "Dorian," Leo said, its voice perfectly clear now. "The connection to the net. It has become broader."
A smug smile spread across Dorian's face. He rubbed his nose with his thumb. "Of course. I had some ideas while I was sulking around."
Leo paused, its optical sensor glowing a soft, steady blue. "Are you okay now?"
"Never been better," Dorian said, and he meant it.
"Wow," Leo stated. "My new strategy of waking you with a gentle rolling motion has proven eighty five percent effective in curing your prolonged sulking period."
Dorian stood up, laughing. "Stop analyzing nonsense." He walked towards the door. "Come on, help me make breakfast."
"But you never require my assistance to cook," Leo pointed out, following him.
"Alright, you are on cleaning duty then."
"I never said I would not help," the Compadre replied instantly, zipping past him towards the kitchen.
…
Lyra drifted from a deep sleep, woken not by an alarm, but by a wonderful, unfamiliar smell wafting from the kitchen. Half-asleep, she shuffled out of her room and saw a sight she had not seen in months. Dorian was at the stove, cooking real food.
"D-Dorian?" she asked, her voice small. "You're cooking."
Dorian turned halfway from the sizzling pan, a warm, easy smile on his face. "Oh, good morning, Lyra. Sorry I have not been cooking for dinner these past few months. So, let's start the day with real food this time, how about it?"
Instead of answering, Lyra's face crumpled. She walked slowly towards him, her steps hesitant, and then she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his tunic. He could feel her small body shaking with quiet sobs.
"You're not leaving, are you?" she cried, her voice muffled.
Dorian was caught completely off guard. He immediately broke her hug, turned to the Compadre, and said, "Leo, take over the cooking." Then he knelt, bringing himself down to Lyra's level.
"Hey, hey," he said gently, his voice soft. "I'm here. What makes you think I would leave?"
Lyra swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Mommy cooked a big breakfast in the morning too," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The day she left. So does it... does that mean..."
Dorian cut her off by pulling her into a tight, secure hug. "I am not going anywhere," he said firmly into her hair. "I promise. Now, now, let it out."
They stayed like that for a while until Leo's voice cut through the emotional moment. "Dorian, the cooking. You cannot just give up halfway."
Dorian let go of Lyra and patted her on the head. "Alright," he said, his own voice steady now. "Let's eat. Leo, wake up Marcus. Lyra, you go wake up Dad. I will plate the meal."
Filled with a new, visible relief, Lyra enthusiastically ran to John's room. Leo floated beside Dorian for a moment and then turned its optical sensor on him.
"What?" Dorian asked.
"You have changed," Leo stated.
"What changed?"
"It might be a result of puberty," the Compadre offered clinically. "Does the hair on-"
"Okay, okay!" Dorian cut Leo off, his face flushing as he physically pushed the spherical robot towards Marcus's room. "It is too early for this kind of talk!"
"Then the evening would be a good time to discuss it?"
"Nooo!" Dorian groaned. "Just wake Marcus up, please."
Leo spun once and hovered, then floated obediently into Marcus's room as Dorian began to plate the food.
That real breakfast became a turning point, a new momentum for the Kepler household. While they ate, Dorian and John did not talk about last night's ordeal, but the heavy, awkward tension between them was gone, replaced by a quiet, unspoken understanding.
Marcus, for his part, looked up from his plate halfway through the meal. "Brother, can you give back Benny to me?"
"Benny?" Dorian asked.
"The plush doll I gave you," Marcus said simply.
Dorian put a hand to his heart in mock hurt. "Does little Marcus not want his brother to have a good sleep anymore?"
The table erupted in a wholesome, genuine laugh.
"But you're better now," Marcus said, his logic impeccable. "And I miss him."
Dorian reached across the table and patted his brother's head. "Okay. Finish your meal, and you can take him from my desk."
