Academy's Lurking Monster

'Conglomerate Heir'

A term of relative envy for any white-collar worker. The unfair advantage gained purely on the basis of your birth. If you're born to good parents, you're pretty much set for life. Money, wealth, and all the luxuries anyone could ever dream of will automatically fall into your lap. While the rest have to work their entire lives just to even afford one of those very same luxuries.

And I was one of those 'conglomerate heirs', and not to some small company but to one of the few titans of the industry. Which one? ... I'm not one to name names unfortunately. But the fact remains that I was one of 'them', a supposed 'golden spoon'. So, yeah. Life's set huh?

Not really.

The above fantasy lies true only if you're an only child, have a loving family, don't have any dysfunctional relationships, and a million more such pointless conditions. But the fact remained that, for my broken family, which I once hoped to hold dear; this was most certainly not the case.

An older brother, who sees me as nothing but an eyesore to his inheritance. A younger brother, who detests me due to the fact that he is not of the same blood. A father who keeps unreal expectations of his sons in the guise of 'Conditions for Inheritance' and a serial cheater of the mother who frequents shady places. I had all the opposites that you would ever want in a loving family. Oh yeah, there was plenty of domestic violence as well.

But hey, you're still a 'conglomerate heir'! Just wait till your old man is dead! You'll be set for life!

Yeah, no again.

My father's passing only set off a new era of chaos. From a shameless mother who now publicly paraded around with men who were less than half her age, to two of my dear brothers who'd aim to kill me and each other, just to claim some measly inheritance! And man, I could go on and on about the so called 'relatives' who would come once in a blue moon to offer their 'condolences', always coincidentally when their own businesses fell on hard times. The wolves in sheep's clothing that they are.

So how do you like it... The life of a golden spoon. Its delightful! Right?

Yeah, I thought as much. But do you know the worst part? It was that be it now or even in my childhood, I was forced to play at this dastardly, unwanted game for the full inheritance. The even worse part? I was good at it.

Living in that 'delightful' family taught me so many skills; given that it was more of a militant regime than a home. From hiding my emotions, to reading the room, manipulating people, and so much more explicitly useless knowledge that any child should never have had to know. I was forced to experience and even learn how to wield this knowledge alongside the near-impossible expectations of my studies.

I had hoped I would never have had to actually use the skills I had learned in that house, but what could I do? My hands were forced. As at the time of my father's passing, when the political-familial 'war' began, I had to call upon it so many times that it became engrained within my very being.

I had to use all the tools I had just to survive. Did I care about money? Well yes, but not at the expense of my life. I was fine with signing it away to either of my brothers; hell, my relatives or mother could have it for all I cared. I could start over, easily accumulate enough wealth to last a lifetime with my connections and knowledge. So why not do it? Why did I have to fight?

Because of my vindictive brothers of course! If I had signed my shares to either of them, the other would aim to kill me out of spite. If I gave it to my relatives or mother, they'd try to kill me and the person who received it. But hey, psychopaths right? Nothing pleases them.

So I did what I had to do, from using a glib tongue at social events to commonplace skills like blackmail and even a loveless political marriage. My wife ended up just like my mother I'll have you know. She had so many lovers that I lost count a long time ago.

But hey! It all worked out, and before I knew it, here I was, an incredible conglomerate to my name. Finally, a happy ending! I could live in the lap of luxury, relax on a beach, on a private island. Hell, I could do anything I wanted! Right? Riiiight?

For once... Yes! Finally! It seemed to be all over. I had inherited everything, obtained the necessary shares; manipulated my brothers into killing each other, scandalized my mother to the extent she could no longer show herself in public, and damn near emancipated my relatives from the very thought of them approaching me simply by threatening them with the same fate. After all, everyone has skeletons in their closets that they don't want exposed.

But why... Was I still so unhappy? It was an unseemly emotion—a mixture of fatigue, guilt, and hopelessness. I felt disgusted every single morning as I opened my eyes. Lying in that empty bed, I would find it hard to even get up.

Though It may seem confusing to most, the world felt as if it had lost all sense of colour. My naiveté as a child had all but disappeared. It was suffocating to even get up in the morning, not to mention work. I could now clearly understand the schemes behind each hand I shook, the heavy expectations I bore under the guise of leadership, and the two-faced reality within which I had to live. It certainly didn't help that the amount of guilt I felt from destroying my family kept me up at night.

Frankly speaking, I did not want this; all I wanted was a happy family with proud parents and loving siblings, that was it. But all I had received was... This. This filthy, corrupted 'legacy' that was this forsaken company.

I endured each day without reason, but soon it reached a point where I no longer felt sane. So I did what I thought was best. With my lingering sense of reason, I relinquished anything and everything that reminded me of this damn corporate hellhole.

I divorced my so-called wife; a small settlement was enough, seeing that I had not touched her during our marriage along with the fact that she was pregnant with another man's child made the divorce easy as pie. I discretely distributed a portion of wealth within my remaining family and my mother, strongly 'urging' them to build and donate to numerous charitable foundations, gave my brothers a proper burial, and finally handed over my management rights to those who truly deserved it and vanished.

Now here I was, located in a tiny apartment, sat in front of a computer screen as I played one of the only games that gave me the few happy memories I had. I was amidst recalling those few memories when the name, ⸢Heroes of Fyrthorn Academy⸥, flashed on the screen as I began to load an old save file. My memories of countless nights I had spent playing this game as a distraction from my tumultuous life still fresh in my mind, I began to boot up my saved game.

The game had a pretty common trope in which a player would attend an 'Academy'. Where the character, 'Cyrus Raeford', beginning as a freshman, would have to navigate his way through the academy, aiming to graduate within the top ranks but would end up fighting within a treacherous war; aiming to save the world. And of course, he has to face world-ending monsters and demons continuously.

But the real reason this old game had survived for so long and still had an active playerbase was due to its intricacy, be it characters or settings; their events and relations all changed with your choices. Frankly, it was pretty similar to Artificial Intelligence, and how it changes and adapts to different stimuli.

Besides this, the fact that the 30-odd year-old game somehow still had graphics that could easily compete with newer games and excellent gameplay mechanics definitely helped, but honestly, the true reason lied in the endings.

Though the developers had leaked it that there were a limited number of endings, the number of endings was unbelievable, It was around 15,000. 15,000! This ludicrous number and the fact that each ending could be achieved only by changing a singular choice within the game helped keep the game alive even after 3 decades of it's launch. Most Players were yet to even finish half of the endings, not to mention the fact that secret endings were not even a part of the alleged 15,000 endings.

None had achieved all the endings yet, but I was rather close. At the precipice in fact, only the final ending remained and I was once again at the final Boss fight. As the screen loaded up, I poured myself a freshly brewed cup of instant coffee when suddenly, the game began. Dramatic boss fight music blasted in my tiny apartment as the name, ⸢Deir, The One True Demon - Demonic Progenitor⸥, popped up on the screen.

He was one of the common points in the game, the hidden final boss on each route and was incredibly hard to beat. Each route provided a fresh challenge due to the fact that the final boss practically evolved with the MC; he countered nearly all the specs that the player would build up. The only way he could be defeated was actually through proper party building and intricate game tactics.

But for a veteran like me, thankfully, this had become rather doable—enjoyable even. I sat down, cracking my fingers before beginning to mash away at the keys.

***

It took over an hour, like all the prior times but I had finished. I had finally finished the game, a complete and full clear of the game. I even got an Achievement called, ⸢Hope⸥ for doing so. Nonetheless, I was a little excited on finishing my beloved game, but the sentiment soon passed as I took a sip of my now cold, but full cup of coffee. I sat in my chair, wondering what I could do next to pass the time in my miserable life.

My mind, expectedly took a turn for the worse now that I had finally beaten the game, despite it's ridiculous amount of content. The only source of my happiness had disappeared, and I had to return to reality, to my dreary life in which I struggled to even encompass my will to live.

It was funny seeing how hard I had struggled to survive, used many a nefarious means to do so, only to end up here, depressed and hopeless, struggling to find a reason to wake up the next day.

It was then that my body felt weird. It ached as my chest began to feel like it would explode. I collapsed on the floor, my hazy eyes saw red as blood covered the floor.

I knew this sensation; I had felt it before, many a time, though this was much worse—

It was when my elder brother had given me a certain glass of hot milk to drink when I was 12. Thankfully, I was rushed to the hospital at that time and had survived without much trouble. But it was a familiar feeling; I knew what this was.

I had been poisoned.

A flurry of thought suddenly rushed through me.

Why?

How?

Who would want to do this?

Just why?

...

If I was in my youth.. it might have been a different story, but... now..

...I gave up.

Why even struggle anymore?

At this point I didn't care; it didn't matter who or why. I couldn't do anything... neither did I want to.

I was dying, rather hopelessly too! ..But rather than despair or rage, a large part of me was, oddly, thankful... that I no longer had to live in this rotten world.

before long, my eyes closed. Eternally.

I had died.

..Or so I had hoped.