Michael Cobb stared at the hospital ceiling.
The smell of antiseptic gave him a headache.
His right arm—what was left of it after amputation—itched beneath the bandages.
Baseball scholarship? Gone.
So did his future.
He'd come to Tenesia to be somebody. Now he couldn't even get properly dressed without help.
The memory played on loop—the wet crunch of his body against pavement, his pitching arm pinned under the tire as the driver sped off, leaving tendon and bone ground into asphalt.
Paramedics had used hedge shears to free him from the wreckage.
And of course, he was in too much agony to remember the license plate.
Scouts had called his 98 mph pitch "once-in-a-decade talent," which is why the University of Tenesia offered a full-ride scholarship.
Now surgeons muttered words like "irreparable nerve damage" and amputated his right arm.
No more baseball.
No more escaping the Alabama where his mother had scraped together every dime to send him here with the hope that he'd not only escape her life but make it into something people'd remember.
All these days, Michael couldn't stop thinking about how he had it all: a golden arm, a college scholarship, and a ticket out of poverty—until that hit-and-run left him maimed, penniless, and stranded in this hospital reeking of antiseptic.
With his future crushed under medical debt and a phantom itch where his pitching arm used to be, he's ready to give up.
His phone buzzed.
Michael did not rush to see it.
Months ago, this was probably another "I am so sorry this happened to you" from another teammate from the baseball team or someone he'd knew. Right now, it's probably just another bill notification.
Besides his amputated arm and crushed future, money is his biggest problem now.
He had $1,212 left in his account from his scholarship, a decent amount under normal circumstances, but for now, they cannot cover even a fraction of his medical and tuition bills, which would come too soon.
His parents already took a loan from the bank with their only house as collateral.
Insurance had only covered the amputation surgery, yet what follows were much more expensive: physical therapy, hospitalization, and a bunch of nonsense stuff that bleed his account dry like crazy.
Michael picked up his phone, yet what he saw surprised him.
A pop-up showed up: exactly like the kind of mobile-game ads that he saw during YouWatch videos, with a girl at its center in deep pain, and big green buttons were arranged around her with options to "feed," "equip," "upgrade," and of course, "romance."
He's not interested.
[INSTALL COMPLETE]
[Claim Your Perfect Companion!]
WTF?
The app icon glared at him—samurai girl with black hair, holding a sword.
Michael blinked.
What is this crap?
Since when do ads skip the "Download" button?
He's not one to click strange links, since they'll drain his account faster than a gas station ATM.
[Account binds to DNA. No refunds. No escapes. Press START to accept your fate.]
What is this trash?
First it downloaded without his consent, now it said that it binds to his "DNA"?
Like hell it would.
Michael almost felt a sense of jubilation for how shameless this game is. At first he just want to delete this crap, but now, he almost felt amused to see what happens next.
If this was a scam, let them try. He was already bankrupt in every way that counted.
His finger hovered, then tapped [START].
The screen dissolved into falling cherry blossoms.
Text scrolled like an old RPG:
Main Character:
Minamoto Aiko, 19
Status: Indentured Courtesan (undefiled)
A full-body portrait materialized—the girl from the icon, but rendered in haunting detail.
Crimson scars crisscrossed her collarbone. Her left eye swelled purple. The once-proud samurai uniform hung in tatters, revealing a sheer silk undergarment. Yet her remaining good eye glared at the screen with feral pride.
[Will you claim Aiko as your Companion?]
[YES] / [NO]
Michael hesitated. The app didn't ask for credit card info or permissions—it just… waited.
He jabbed YES.
The screen flashed gold.
Michael squinted as pixelated cherry blossoms swirled into something disturbingly real: a dingy wooden cage hanging from stone ceiling chains. Inside crouched a girl.
Cold crept up Michael's spine. This isn't CG.
The cage's rusted bars had texture—flaking paint, dried bloodstains. The girl's wrists were raw from shackles. Her injuries looked… researched. Too detailed for some cheap game.
Is this a livestream? He zoomed in.
Her split lip glistened. When she shifted, the chains clinked like real metal. His thumb trembled. What the hell did I just download?
[YOUR COMPANION'S STATUS]
[Hunger: Critical]
[Thirst: Severe]
[Injuries: 7 broken ribs, sprained wrist, internal bleeding]
[Willpower: Almost breaking-point (Suicide Risk: High)]
Michael's thumb shook. This certainly did not feel like a game. The girl's single unswollen eye tracked invisible threats,. When she moved, the chains scraped raw ankles.
"Deep-fake? Are game makers already adopting this?" he wondered.
[FIRST-TIME OFFER!]
[Heal Aiko's injuries for $0.99! (99.99% discount!)]
The "BUY" button pulsed red.
Michael stared at the grimy hospital ceiling.
A cockroach scuttled across a crack above his bed. His arm throbbed beneath the cheap blanket they only washed when patients screamed about the smell.
"Ninety-nine cents," he muttered.
He might get a tiny bowl of ramen vending machine down the hall. Enough to stop his stomach growling for four hours.
The girl—Aiko—coughed blood onto the cage floor. The sound was too real, too wet. Some game developer had recorded actual tuberculosis patients for this scam.
"These gotcha games sure did their homework," Michael told the cockroach.
Another coughing fit. This one left Aiko slumped against the bars.
The "BUY" button glowed brighter.
"Screw it." He tapped so hard the phone slipped from his sweaty palm.
[Payment Processing...]
For one terrifying second, Michael imagined his last $1,212 draining away.
Then:
[$0.99 Charged−Remaining Balance: $1,211.01]
WTF?
Michael is sure that he did not input any credit card information.
How did the app charged his account?
As soon as his parents took out that loan, he canceled every subscription he had, stopped every payment options and wiped clean all the credit card info since every penny matters to him now.
Wait…
What is this?
Gold light erupted from the screen.
Michael recoiled as it seared his retinas.
When the spots cleared, Aiko's bruises had vanished. The chains lay melted on fresh straw.
[AIKO'S STATUS UPDATED!]
[Injuries: Healed!]
This wasn't possible. No app loaded 3D models this fast.
Michael pinched himself with his left hand.
To his disappointment, he's still here. Still one-armed.
But Aiko touched her unbroken ribs like they were foreign objects. She stared at her suddenly unbroken hands like they weren't her own.
"Ka… Kami-sama?"