June 13th, Evening
Northstar Games
The glass doors of Northstar Games slid open quietly.
Vivian Frost walked in, a paper bag in her hand, the smell of warm food faintly drifting through the empty office floor. The lights were dim, most employees already gone, but her footsteps were sharp and irritated.
She was angry.
Not mildly annoyed.
Not slightly displeased.
Truly angry.
Her jaw was clenched so tightly it almost hurt.
"What do you do," she muttered to herself, "when an employee doesn't listen to you at all?"
Fire him?
The thought crossed her mind instantly.
But just as quickly, she dismissed it.
If she fired Ethan Reed, Northstar Games would really be left with only one employee—herself. The company was already standing at the edge of bankruptcy. One wrong step, and everything she had protected for years would collapse completely.
And worse…
She didn't want to see Northstar Games disappear.
In the past few days, Vivian had personally watched Ethan work. He barely slept. He stayed in the office day and night. His eyes were red, his posture stiff, but he never complained.
That man was insane.
Who makes a game in three days?
Who even tries?
What kind of game could possibly be made in three days? A small game? A test demo? A joke?
Even a small game normally took weeks—months—with a full team.
But Ethan had done it.
He had looked her straight in the eye earlier and said confidently:
"You can try the game tonight."
Then—without shame—he asked her to buy him food.
When he waved her off like that, Vivian nearly swore out loud.
Was this an employee's attitude toward his boss?
An intern, at that!
I pay your salary, you know! she thought furiously.
She stormed into the development room.
"Food."
Vivian slammed the meal box down onto Ethan's desk with obvious irritation.
Ethan, who had been staring at the screen, instantly stood up, smiling brightly.
"Boss! Perfect timing! The game is ready for testing!"
His voice was full of excitement.
Three days.
More than sixty hours.
No proper rest.
He had actually finished a playable game.
That sense of achievement filled Ethan's chest, reminding him of the days when he used to make music—when creation alone made him feel alive.
"Heh."
Vivian sneered coldly and waved him aside.
"Move."
Ethan obediently stepped back.
She sat down in the chair—only to instantly stiffen.
Hot.
The chair was still warm.
Her face flushed slightly.
The sensation made her uncomfortable, but before she could stand up again, Ethan pointed at a desktop icon.
"Boss, go on. Try it."
Vivian grabbed the mouse, her expression sharp and cold.
"Let me be clear first, Ethan. Don't get too excited. I have zero expectations. If it weren't for your effort, I wouldn't even bother testing this."
A game made in three days. How bad could it possibly be?
Ethan nodded calmly. He was already used to her sharp tongue.
She was harsh—but not cruel.
Vivian clicked the icon.
The game launched immediately.
The interface was extremely simple.
Start Game.
Settings.
Exit.
Nothing fancy. No flashy effects.
Vivian narrowed her eyes.
"…Very clean."
It matched her expectations perfectly.
Lightweight. Minimalist.
But at the same time, the interface gave off a strange feeling—cheap, resentful, almost hostile.
So hostile that she nearly exited immediately.
She clicked Start Game.
A strange scene appeared.
A man… stuck inside a jar.
The character slowly crawled out, holding a sledgehammer.
Ethan explained from the side, "The game is called Getting Over It. Some people call it Jar Man. The goal is simple—use the mouse to climb upward until you reach the top."
Vivian rolled her eyes. "The top of the universe? You're exaggerating."
She ignored his explanation.
"I can play by myself."
She moved the mouse.
The hammer swung wildly.
The jar-man struck the ground—and bounced slightly upward.
"…This control is weird," Vivian frowned. "The hammer feels completely unresponsive."
The mouse sensitivity was strange. The physics felt unforgiving.
"This difficulty is intentional," Ethan said calmly. "Otherwise, how would we break the player's mentality?"
"Break their mentality?"
Vivian laughed.
This game could absolutely break people.
Anyone who paid money for this would become a vengeful spirit.
She continued.
After the short tutorial—passing a dead tree and learning basic movement—she reached a massive rock.
She analyzed it instantly.
"Simple. Hammer the ground, flick upward, hook the stone."
She tried.
The jar-man bounced—but the hammer moved too slowly, hit the wall, and bounced back.
Vivian smiled slightly.
"The physics feedback isn't bad."
She tried again.
And again.
And again.
Ten minutes passed.
Her smile faded.
"…Why isn't this working?"
She exhaled sharply.
So annoying.
Why was the hammer so uncooperative?
Could this weak character even lift it?
If you can't handle it, let me do it myself!
After countless failures, she finally found the trick—swinging the mouse in a wide arc.
The hammer hooked onto a metal arrow embedded in the wall.
"Yes!"
She lifted the mouse carefully.
The jar-man bounced upward.
"Hah! It's not that hard! You think this can make me rage?"
She laughed confidently.
Beside her, Ethan opened his lunchbox and smiled silently.
This isn't even the real game yet, he thought.
Ten minutes just for one rock—and she was celebrating.
The real nightmare hadn't even started.
She moved forward, hooked a second rock, and faced a vertical wall.
Her brows furrowed.
The controls were far harder than they looked.
Her brain shouted instructions.
Her hand screamed back in protest.
After several painful minutes, she passed it using what she later called the Random Hammer Technique—pure chaos.
She glanced at Ethan smugly.
That's it?
Ethan smiled politely.
You've only reached the iron pipe, he thought.
From here on, one mistake meant falling all the way down.
This was where the game truly began.
As expected, Vivian fell—again and again.
Her irritation escalated rapidly.
"AAAAAAH!"
"No! I shouldn't have done that!"
"Why does it bounce like that?! Are you insane?!"
"You evil bastard!"
Every time she fell back to the starting area, she grabbed her hair in frustration.
After less than forty minutes, her hairstyle was completely ruined.
But she also improved.
What once took ten minutes now took seconds.
Practice made it worse.
Finally—through sheer persistence—she reached the construction site.
Vivian straightened her posture proudly.
"This game is malicious," she muttered.
"One mistake and you fall all the way down."
But surely… surely there was a checkpoint here?
As she advanced carefully, the jar-man climbed metal cabinets and broken walls.
"Wuhu! Made it!"
Her eyes lit up.
I really am a gaming genius.
Then—slip.
Her heart leapt.
The hammer barely caught the edge below.
She exhaled sharply.
Carefully… carefully…
The hammer hooked an iron frame.
She grinned.
Then—
The hammer shook.
Her hand moved slightly.
The jar-man twitched violently.
"Bang!"
"This level is actually very simple—"
Before Ethan could finish teasing, the hammer slammed into the wall.
The jar-man was launched into the air.
"AAAAAAAH!!!"
Vivian screamed.
He was falling.
Straight down.
"Where's the save point?!"
Her chest heaved with rage.
She turned slowly toward Ethan.
Her eyes were burning.
Ethan calmly shoveled two bites of rice into his mouth.
"…Welcome," he said carefully, "back home?"
"???"
"ETHAN REED!!!"
An hour.
One full hour.
Her confidence shattered.
Her patience destroyed.
Her sanity questioned.
What a terrible game.
And yet…
She didn't let go of the mouse.