The black notebook held only a few sparse notes, but each word sent chills down the spine. This wasn't just a casual sandbox game where you evolve species from spores—
No, what they had seen so far was merely the tip of a colossal iceberg.
"This is amazing! I can't praise this game enough!"
"Honestly, I thought the game's weakest part was its lore… but this setting is incredible!"
"Time's up! The giant boss is back—close the file! We'll analyze it later. Focus on killing the boss!"
Someone yelled in a panic.
Far in the distance, a ten-thousand-foot tall colossus lumbered toward them, step by thunderous step.
…
Meanwhile, Xu Zhi returned with his lunchbox in hand.
Naturally, he was unaware that the players had used his absence to sneak a peek at his experimental log, assuming it to be some hidden backstory. Now they were frantically theorizing and praising the game for its "deep lore."
"I've calmed Chen Xi down. She's less anxious about the long-distance relationship now," Xu Zhi murmured to himself. "Time to test the new species… and deal with that nuisance Akina's Speedster."
He stepped into the sandbox once again.
The miniature landscape of mountains and rivers was unusually quiet. Despite the giant's return, none of the bizarre creatures were running around or screaming in terror.
They were hiding—behind the chair, no doubt—lying in wait for their chance to launch another ridiculous assassination attempt.
Xu Zhi didn't mind. He calmly took his usual seat, set his lunchbox on the table, and opened it.
"Let's see what we've got today."
Inside was a neatly packed, home-cooked meal. Carrots, golden-fried eggs, and fresh greens—bright, colorful, and delicious-looking as always.
Then he felt it—a sudden sting on his forearm.
Several strange little bugs were biting him. It wasn't painful, just irritating—like a mosquito's kiss.
"Ah… a distraction tactic?" Xu Zhi chuckled knowingly. "So that's how it is."
He quickly pieced it together. The insects biting him were a diversion. While he was preoccupied, the real attacker—a highly toxic species—would sneak into his lunchbox to poison his food.
"They've dulled their pain receptors and are sacrificing themselves to create an opening for Akina's Speedster." He smirked. "Smart. Definitely the kind of coordinated strategy you'd expect from raid veterans."
His smile turned wicked.
"Hive Mind, crank their pain sensitivity up to 50%."
At 100%, the pain would be indistinguishable from reality. Xu Zhi wasn't that cruel. But 50% was more than enough to etch the memory of failure into their souls.
SLAP!
A single swat.
A bug turned into crimson paste with a soundless crunch—
Except to the player, it was far from soundless.
"AAAHHHHH!!!"
He screamed as if ancient torture methods were being reenacted upon him.
Back in the real world, he ripped off his VR headset, drenched in sweat, body trembling from the phantom agony of virtual death.
His muscles spasmed. He panted like he'd just run a marathon.
But to the others still in-game…
"Holy crap, what an amazing performance!"
"That death scream! So full of emotion!"
"He really gave it his all just to kill the boss. Talk about dedication!"
"Next one up! I'm going in," another player announced smugly. "Just you wait—my death scream will be even more pitiful!"
"Good luck, bro. We believe in your acting chops!"
As if auditioning for a role, the next bug emerged from behind the chair. He toggled his pain settings to zero, rallied his team, and climbed up Xu Zhi's arm.
SMACK!
Before he could bite down—
"AAAHHHHHHH!!!! IT HURTS!!!"
An even more tragic scream echoed through the sandbox.
"Incredible!"
"Now that's what I call acting!"
"He outperformed the last guy by a mile!"
"That death scene was Oscar-worthy!"
They applauded, not realizing the screaming wasn't acting—it was very real.
"Alright, my turn!" declared another bug. "This time, I'll play the stoic soldier! No screaming, even if I get smashed!"
He climbed up, full of resolve.
SPLAT.
"AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!"
He screamed like someone had dipped him in boiling oil and tossed him down a flight of stairs.
"Wait, weren't you supposed to not scream?"
"That scream was the most pathetic one yet!"
"Maybe he was going for irony? Like, dramatic contrast?"
"He's such a bad actor that it looks like amazing acting."
Encouraged by these 'masterclass performances,' a fourth bug made his way up.
"Alright! I'm gonna show you all what real toughness looks like! No scream, no flinch, just honor!"
SLAP!
"UUUAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
The sound that came out of him was absolutely not honor.
"Pfft—'tough guy,' huh?"
"Still, props for how real it sounded. I almost believed he was being tortured to death!"
"Exactly! Even if he broke character, the realism was through the roof."
They cheered louder than ever.
Then, a new challenger appeared—an odd creature with five limbs known as Future Skywhale.
"Comrades," he declared solemnly, "My deformed little prince will not scream. Prepare to witness a true warrior."
Everyone held their breath. Skywhale was known for being calm, serious, reliable. Surely he wouldn't break.
"Though countless perils may block his path, a true hero—"
SPLAT.
"WAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! IT BUUUUUURNS!!!"
The sobbing was worse than all the others combined. His mangled limbs squelched like smashed fruit. It was the visual equivalent of screaming "I regret everything."
The players watched in stunned silence.
"…This is your 'true warrior'?"
"Worst scream yet."
"Does he… does he not understand what tough means?"
Ten seconds passed in dead silence. Then someone chuckled.
"Man, he's always so serious. I didn't think he had a sense of humor."
"These guys should just become actors. Such talent wasted on gaming!"
"Right? That was the most realistic acting I've ever seen!"