After the adrenaline rush, Deckard took a moment to study his new card.

  As he inspected the description of [Fortified Shell], the details of another card came into view.

  "What a great card," he muttered, his excitement building. This defensive card was versatile and could buy precious time against aggressive opponents. Sure, it wasn’t perfect; it occupied three slots in the defending lane, and losing even one shell would make the whole effect fall apart. But the sheer potential it offered was enough to make him grin.

  He could imagine a smug aggro player conjuring up a devastating attack, only for it to be canceled by this crab.

  After the crab was sucked into the card, something else caught Deckard’s eye on the floor. He bent down and picked it up—a chest plate.

  Bulwark Chestplate (Common)

  Description: An item crafted from the hard shells of the crab bulwark. It will take a lot of abuse and damage.

  Item effects:

  +20 HP;

  +5 strength;

  +5 endurance.

  Deckard clicked his tongue, turning the chest plate over in his hands. It looked impressive, but aside from the HP boost, the stats were useless to him. He didn’t need boosts to stats like strength and endurance; he needed direct buffs for things like his attack or defense.

  It wasn’t the first disappointment the dungeon had thrown his way. Earlier, a crab enforcer had dropped a helmet with equally pointless bonuses. Both pieces were solid gear for someone else but not for him. He sighed and tucked the chest plate into his inventory.

  The dungeon map hovered before him, its incomplete tunnels a silent challenge. He’d made good progress, but there was still plenty left to explore—and then there was the boss. If an elite had been so tricky to handle, what kind of nightmare was waiting at the end of the map?

  He sighed and leaned back. The thrill of discovery had worn off, leaving behind a nagging tug in his chest. Opening his browser, he quickly researched what would happen if he logged out mid-dungeon. Relief came swiftly when he confirmed his progress would be saved and his rewards untouched.

  He opened the menu and selected the logout option. For now, AstroTerra could wait. There were more important things to take care of.

  *

  Deckard slid out of the capsule, blinking a few times to adjust to the real world. His body felt a little sluggish, but that was a far cry from the nausea and headaches he remembered from the early VR capsules he’d tried. Back then, it wasn’t uncommon for gamers to need an hour to fully recover after logging out, but this new Nexus capsule was a marvel of engineering. Deckard stretched his arms over his head, savoring the return to physical sensation—the slight pull of muscles, the stiffness in his back. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

  He grabbed his phone from the counter and turned to the sleek capsule behind him. Angling the phone for the best shot, Deckard snapped a photo, adding a quick caption:

  “Out of my first session in AstroTerra. This capsule is a game-changer—literally. Big thanks to @Nexus for making it possible! #VRLife #AstroTerra #Terralore”

  He hit “post” without hesitation. It wasn’t the most thrilling update, but it got the job done. Nexus had made the deal clear: they’d give him the hardware for free if he kept up regular social media posts showcasing it.

  Opening his content scheduler app, he programmed a couple more posts for the week. He programmed an AI to make captures of the most scenic landscapes he visited or of monsters he fought, making sure he didn’t appear in them. With this, he guaranteed that he’d live up to his end of the deal.

  “A little automation never hurts,” he muttered to himself. Satisfied, he set his phone down and headed for the shower.

  The hot water washed away the last traces of VR-induced grogginess. By the time he stepped out, toweled off, and dressed in clean clothes, the afternoon sunlight filtering through his window felt like a gentle invitation to leave his apartment.

  Outside was a cool autumn day, with a crispness in the air that carried the faint smell of fallen leaves. It was one of those days where if Deckard wore a coat, he felt too hot, and if he didn’t, he felt cold. After spending a couple of days in the VR environment of a tropical island, where the air was thick with heat and the sound of waves crashing against the shore was a constant backdrop, he couldn’t help but want to crawl back into the capsule.

  As he walked to the bus stop, Deckard’s thoughts turned to AstroTerra—specifically, his decision to avoid guides and tutorials. After Savant had told him he wouldn’t be any good in AstroTerra and accused him of only being good at card games and nothing else, he’d told himself he wanted to learn everything firsthand—no shortcuts, no “meta” advice from veteran players. And it had worked for the most part. His willingness to experiment and make decisions that didn’t follow the beaten path had gotten him a hidden class.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  But now, as he trudged toward the bus stop, he wondered if he’d taken the approach too far. The deeper he got into AstroTerra, the more he felt like he was missing out.

  For one, his gear was still pitiful. The armor he’d picked up from the crab elite was a huge disappointment. Could there be other gear that would make him stronger, hidden behind a simple quest that he didn’t know about because he hadn’t bothered to see what other players were doing?

  Secondly, his battle with the Crab Bulwark was a wake-up call. It had gone his way, more out of luck than anything else. But what if the next elite could climb up to his safe place? How much longer would he keep using the terrain to steer clear from mobs?

  Maybe it was time to step out of his bubble and start reading guides.

  By the time the bus pulled up with its familiar groan of brakes, Deckard had made up his mind. He’d compromise. He wouldn’t abandon his instinctive approach entirely, but he’d start reading about what other players did. Information didn’t mean he had to follow someone else’s strategy—he could still adapt it to his own.

  As he boarded the bus and found a seat by the window, Deckard pulled out his phone. Let’s see what quests there are in Stiltwave Village that I don’t know about.

  On the bus ride over, Deckard leaned against the window, his phone in hand. His eyes scanned through a list of quests available in the beginner village. He then moved on to a list of the seagull and crab elites and all their drops. It was a welcome distraction, but it couldn’t fully silence the unease growing in his chest as he approached his destination.

  The care facility came into view as the bus slowed at his stop. An unassuming building, its facade painted in neutral shades of beige and cream, with neatly trimmed shrubs and a few clusters of hardy mums along the walkway. The colorful blooms—one of autumn’s last defiant gestures—added a splash of cheer to an otherwise subdued exterior.

  Deckard pushed open the glass doors, greeted by the faint scent of antiseptic and the low hum of fluorescent lights. The lobby was sterile and subdued, punctuated by the occasional murmur of voices and the faint squeak of a wheelchair. The receptionist glanced up and gave him a polite nod—he was a familiar face here.

  After navigating the sterile hallways, he found his mom’s room. Her room was simple but tidy. A bed with crisp white sheets stood against the far wall while a small table and chair were set by the window overlooking the courtyard. The dresser held a modest collection of framed photos—moments he’d chosen and brought over himself. Family memories. Pieces of a life she couldn’t recall anymore.

  She was in her usual spot by the window, her back straight, hands resting lightly in her lap. Her gaze was fixed on the courtyard, but Deckard doubted she truly saw the bare trees or the colorful leaves outside.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said softly as he stepped inside.

  She turned slowly, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, there was nothing—just a blank, polite stare as though he were a stranger who had wandered in by mistake. Then she said, “Hello,” her tone cordial and detached, devoid of recognition.

  The ache in Deckard’s chest was familiar now, a dull throb that he carried every time he visited. He smiled anyway, pulling a small box of chocolates from his bag and placing it on the table. “I brought you something,” he said lightly. “Your favorite!”

  Her eyes flicked to the box, lingered briefly, then returned to the window. She didn’t reach for it or acknowledge the gesture.

  He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “So,” he began, injecting warmth into his tone, “this week’s been… busy.” He told her about mundane things—the weather, a new card trick he’d learned, the bus ride over. He avoided mentioning Nova Cardia’s end, his worries about making a living in AstroTerra, or the hours spent battling seagulls and crabs in search of rare cards. She wouldn’t understand, and even if she did, it wouldn’t matter.

  As always, there was no flicker of recognition, no smile, no hint that she knew who he was. But Deckard stayed anyway, filling the silence with stories she couldn’t hold onto.

  After twenty minutes, he stood to leave. “I’ll see you next week, Mom,” he said quietly. He hesitated, then gently squeezed her shoulder. She didn’t react, her gaze still lost in the courtyard.

  As he stepped into the hallway, one of the staff members approached him. She was a middle-aged woman with soft features and a neat ponytail, her name tag reading "Mara." Though her smile was polite, her eyes had a faint hesitance as though she were bracing herself for something unpleasant.

  “Mr. Haymond,” she began, her tone warm but formal. “Good to see you here.”

  “Hi there. How has my mom been doing?”

  “She’s had more bad days than good ones lately,” Mara said, her expression softening. “But the other day, I saw her holding a picture of you, and she remembered you.”

  The words filled Deckard with a bittersweet ache. He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s good to hear.”

  Mara lingered, shifting slightly. Deckard’s stomach tightened. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh? Yes, it is, Mr. Haymond. I just need to inform you that the monthly fee will increase at the end of the year. It’s a standard adjustment, but we thought you’d like to know.”

  “How much?”

  “It’s a 10% increase to the monthly fee.”

  Deckard’s jaw tightened. “That much, huh?”

  “Inflation has hit us all this year, and… well, we have no choice but to adjust.” Her tone was apologetic, but her shoulders slumped slightly as if she carried the weight of countless similar conversations.

  Deckard nodded slowly. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “You’re such a devoted son,” Mara said with a small, genuine smile. “It’s good that she has you.”

  Deckard forced a polite nod, but her words felt heavy. Another bill. Another deadline. He thought of AstroTerra and the pressure to make it all work. It wasn’t just his livelihood—it was hers, too.

  The walk back to the lobby felt longer than usual, the muted hum of fluorescent lights and the faint shuffle of a walker against linoleum echoing in his mind. He didn’t begrudge the cost—not for her. But it was one more thing to juggle, and the timing couldn’t have been worse.

  If AstroTerra didn’t start paying off soon, he’d have bigger problems than seagulls and crabs.

  Deckard paused at the entrance, staring at the unassuming building with its beige walls and carefully tended shrubs. His hand ran through his hair as he let out a slow breath, trying to ease the tension building in his chest.

  It wasn’t easy being a son to someone who didn’t remember being a mother. But Deckard would take care of her, no matter what it took.

  He glanced at his phone, checking the bus schedule. He still had one more stop before going home.

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