The black notebook contained only a handful of sparse entries, yet every single word sent chills crawling down their spines.
This wasn't a casual sandbox game where you casually evolved from a spore.
What they'd seen so far was only the tip of a terrifyingly vast iceberg.
"This is insane! I don't even know how to praise this game anymore!"
"Honestly, I thought the weakest part would be the lore—but this worldbuilding is ridiculous!"
"Time's up! The giant boss is back—close it! We'll analyze everything later. Focus on killing the boss!"
Someone shouted in panic.
Far away, a ten-thousand-foot colossus strode back into view, each step shaking the miniature world like rolling thunder.
…
Meanwhile, Felix returned, lunchbox in hand.
Naturally, he had no idea that during his brief absence, the players had sneakily flipped through his experimental notebook and mistaken his research notes for hidden lore content. They were now exploding with theories and admiration, convinced they'd uncovered something monumental.
"I managed to calm Ellie down," Felix muttered to himself. "She's not as anxious about the long-distance thing anymore."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"Alright. Time to test that new species… and deal with that nuisance, Akina's Speedster."
He stepped back into the sandbox.
The mountains and rivers were eerily quiet. Despite the giant's return, not a single strange creature ran screaming across the terrain.
Felix smiled faintly.
Hiding behind the chair again, huh?
Waiting to assassinate me.
He didn't mind. He calmly sat down, placed the lunchbox on the table, and opened it.
"Let's see what today's meal looks like."
Inside were neatly arranged dishes—carrots, golden fried eggs, fresh greens. Bright, colorful, and as appetizing as ever.
Then—
A sting.
Something bit his forearm.
Several tiny bugs clung to his skin, gnawing at him. It didn't hurt much—more like a mosquito bite. Annoying, but harmless.
"Oh?" Felix chuckled softly. "A distraction tactic?"
He understood instantly.
Sacrificial units. Their dulled pain receptors meant to keep him occupied—while the real killer, the toxic species, slipped into his lunchbox.
"They're sacrificing themselves to open a path for Akina's Speedster," he mused. "Smart. Definitely raid-level coordination."
His smile slowly turned vicious.
"Hive Mind. Increase pain sensitivity to fifty percent."
At one hundred percent, pain was indistinguishable from reality.
Felix wasn't that cruel.
But fifty percent?
That was more than enough to leave a lifelong impression.
SLAP.
One casual swat.
A tiny body burst into crimson paste, crushed without sound—
At least, not to Felix.
Inside the game, however—
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
A soul-shattering scream rang out.
Back in the real world, the player tore off his VR helmet, drenched in sweat, muscles spasming as if he'd just been tortured alive.
He collapsed onto the floor, gasping.
But to the other players still inside the sandbox…
"Holy crap! What a performance!"
"That scream was incredible—so emotional!"
"He really committed! Dying just to take down the boss!"
"Next one's my turn," another player said smugly. "Just wait—my death scream will be even better."
"Good luck, bro. We believe in your acting."
Another bug crawled out from behind the chair, pain settings supposedly set to zero, and climbed up Felix's arm.
SMACK.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!!! IT HURTS!!!"
The scream was even worse.
"Incredible!"
"He completely surpassed the last guy!"
"That was Oscar-worthy!"
Applause erupted.
Oblivious.
"Alright, my turn!" another bug shouted. "I'll play the stoic warrior. No screaming, no matter what!"
He climbed up with heroic resolve.
SPLAT.
"AAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!"
The scream sounded like someone being boiled alive.
"Wait—weren't you not supposed to scream?"
"That was the most pathetic one yet!"
"Maybe he was going for irony?"
"He's such a bad actor it loops back into good acting!"
Encouraged, a fourth volunteer stepped forward.
"Alright! I'll show you real toughness! No scream! Only honor!"
SLAP.
"UUUUUAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Honor was nowhere to be found.
"Pfft. 'Tough guy,' huh?"
"Still, it sounded insanely real."
"Yeah, I almost believed he was actually being tortured."
They cheered louder.
Then, a familiar figure emerged—Future Skywhale, his bizarre five-limbed creature dragging itself forward.
"Comrades," he said solemnly, "my deformed little prince will not scream. Witness a true warrior."
Everyone fell silent.
Skywhale was known for being calm. Serious. Reliable.
Surely he wouldn't break.
"Though countless dangers lie ahead," he began dramatically, "a true hero—"
SPLAT.
"WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! IT BUUUUURNS!!!"
The sobbing was catastrophic.
Limbs squelched. Dignity evaporated.
It was the sound of someone screaming I regret every life choice I've ever made.
The players stared.
"…This is your true warrior?"
"Worst scream yet."
"Does he… know what 'tough' means?"
Silence lingered for ten seconds.
Then someone laughed.
"He's always so serious. Didn't know he had a sense of humor."
"These guys should quit gaming and become actors."
"Right? That realism was insane."
Above them, Felix calmly picked up his chopsticks, utterly unfazed.
He glanced down at the writhing bugs with mild amusement.
"…Idiots."