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Surviving in an RPG Maker Horror Game Chapter 1: Unreality

Chapter 1: Unreality

Dawn.‌​⁠

It⁠ was around four‍​ in the morning.‌⁠

While‌‍‍ everyone else was​‍ asleep, I was‍⁠ still wide awake,⁠‍ clicking away with‌ my mouse.

The‌ monitor, the only‍‍ source of light‌⁠‌ in the dark‍⁠‍ room, glowed faintly.‌‌‌

A file had just‌ finished downloading on​ the desk. After​ a moment’s hesitation,‍‍ I opened it.‌⁠

[Unreality.exe]⁠

Unreality.‍‌

A legendary horror game​‌⁠ made with RPG‍​⁠ Maker, created by⁠​ an anonymous Japanese⁠ user in the​‌ 2000s.

Nowadays,‍‌⁠ with highly advanced‍​ computer graphics and‍‌ a flood of‍ AAA horror games,‌ you’d think old‍​ games no longer‍​‌ have a place.‍⁠ But the gritty,‍⁠ pixelated, eerie vibe‌‍‌ typical of RPG‍​ horror games had‍‌‍ me completely hooked.‌​​

Since⁠​ I started getting⁠ into these games,‌ I think I’ve‌‍⁠ played almost every​​‍ horror title out​​‌ there.

From⁠​ classics like Ao​ Oni and The‍⁠‍ Witch’s House, to‌‌ obscure foreign titles‌⁠⁠ I played with⁠ the help of​​​ machine translators.

That’s‍‍ why “Unreality” was​⁠⁠ the perfect game‌ for me.

No⁠ matter how much‍‌‌ I searched horror⁠ communities, all I ever found were‌​ vague rumors. No⁠​​ videos, not even‍​ screenshots. It was​‌ a real mystery.⁠‌

And⁠ that mystery only⁠ fueled my curiosity.⁠​ I spent years‌ looking for it.‌

I scoured Korean forums,⁠‌ foreign sites, anything⁠​ for a clue​ about “Unreality.”

Then,⁠⁠ finally, a week‌ ago, I found‌‍ something: a Japanese‌ blog where someone⁠ had reviewed the​⁠​ game.

Unfortunately,‌ the post had⁠​ long since been‌​ deleted, but the‍‌​ blog’s address was​‌⁠ still accessible. Using⁠⁠⁠ every translation tool⁠‌ I had, I emailed the author.‍​

One,‍‍​ two, three days‌‍ passed. Just when‌⁠ I’d given up‍‌ hope, I got​‌ a reply.

[No​⁠ subject]

[Sender:​​⁠ Anonymous]

[Attachment⁠‌ (1)]

Not‍ a single word.⁠‍​ Just an attachment.⁠ Unreality.

It​‍‌ was suspicious—sending only​⁠‍ a file with​​ no message or‌‌ context—but I didn’t‍ care.

I was too excited‌⁠​ at the thought​​‍ of playing it.‌‍

Heart‍ pounding with anticipation,​⁠ I opened the‍ executable.

[Warning!]​​‌

[Do‍‍ you want to​ run Unreality?]

[This‍ file may contain⁠‌⁠ a virus.]

I ignored the warning⁠​ without a second‌​ thought and clicked‌⁠⁠ “Yes.”

A black window opened,‍‍‍ emanating a creepy​⁠ atmosphere. I stared‌​‌ at the monitor,‍​⁠ as if something⁠⁠​ might suddenly appear.‌⁠⁠

The‌​ program flickered a few times, then​ shut down.

Click.‌‍‍

The‍‍‍ dark screen reflected‌‌​ my face, looking‌‌‌ pitiful.

“…What⁠​ was that?”

I tried again, but‌​ the same thing‍ happened. It closed‍⁠ before it even‍‍​ began.

I fought with the‍⁠ file for about⁠‌ 30 minutes before‌​ accepting the truth.‍

The‌‌⁠ game wouldn’t run.‍ It wasn’t just‌ a simple error.‌ It had never​ been designed to⁠ launch in the⁠‍ first place.

“Unreality.exe”⁠​ was a catchy‍‍ name, but in​‍ the end, it‌ was just an‍ empty file with‍‍⁠ nothing inside.

“Ah…”​‌

I’d⁠⁠ been completely fooled.⁠⁠

That⁠⁠ file sent by‌​​ an anonymous source⁠ was nothing more⁠‌​ than bait to‌⁠ reel me in.‍

The‍ excitement that had‍⁠‍ reached its peak⁠⁠ collapsed in an​ instant.

Some‌‌‌ crazy Japanese guy⁠​‌ had cruelly crushed​⁠ the heart of‍​‌ a desperate person.⁠

‘I​ just wanted to⁠‍ play a game—why‍⁠‍ do this to‍ me?’

My​⁠ reflection in the⁠ monitor looked utterly‍ miserable.

Even‍​⁠ a baby getting‌​ its candy taken‌​ away wouldn’t wear‍​ such a defeated​​ expression.

I was wrecked, inconsolable.‍​ Exhaustion hit me⁠ all at once.‌⁠‌ I rubbed my‍ face hard to​‍ stay awake.

‘What‍ if the file⁠⁠‌ really had a virus?’

I’d‌​ ignored the warning‌⁠ without a second‍‌​ thought, and now‍‍‍ I felt like‍‌ a complete idiot.‍‍

I ran the antivirus​⁠⁠ multiple times before​‌⁠ calming down. Luckily,‌‌⁠ my computer was​‌‌ fine. The file⁠​ didn’t contain any‌ viruses.

It⁠⁠ was just a hollow shell, created‍ to mock me.‌⁠​

“Seriously.”‌​

A huge wave of‍‍⁠ emptiness washed over⁠ me. And with⁠​‍ it, all the‍ curiosity I had‍⁠ for “Unreality” vanished.​

I muttered something under‌‌ my breath and​⁠ collapsed onto the​‍ bed. I didn’t‌ want to look‍ for “Unreality” anymore.‌​‍

Thinking⁠⁠​ about how hard⁠​ I’d tried just​ to play it‌‍‌ made me feel​‌‍ like a complete‍ fool.

That‌ game I’d longed‌​ for so desperately⁠​ had left me​‍​ with nothing but⁠⁠​ a vast, hollow‌ void.

***​‌

Time​⁠‍ to clock in,​ just at the‍⁠ brink of being‍ late.

I barely made it‍⁠ to class, dragging‌​ my feet as⁠⁠⁠ I silently took​ my seat. I was utterly exhausted‍⁠​ from staying up‍​ until four in​⁠⁠ the morning doing​ stupid things. All‌‍‌ that fatigue from‌​ the sleepless night‍‌‌ hit me in‍ one go.

My‌ eyelids began to‌‌ droop.

I practically smashed onto⁠‌ my desk. “Sleeping⁠ for a few‌‌ hours won’t end​‍⁠ the world, right?”​

So,‌‌ as always, I fell asleep. And⁠‍‌ not long after,​‌​ I opened my‍​ eyes—not because someone⁠ woke me, but​ simply because I woke up.

Interestingly,​‌‍ no teacher came‍ to wake me⁠ today. Maybe that’s​‍⁠ why I slept‍ straight through. After⁠ that long rest,​‍ the exhaustion was‌⁠‌ completely gone.

It‍​⁠ must be lunchtime.⁠‍

I sat up listlessly​⁠‍ and stretched hard.‌​​ At the same⁠ time, an overwhelming​⁠‍ deja vu washed‍ over me.

There⁠⁠ was something strange⁠ in the classroom.‍ The atmosphere just‍‍ didn’t feel normal.​ Only then did‌‌ I look around,‌‍​ feeling a bit⁠ alarmed.

“What⁠⁠⁠ the hell…?”

Oddly​⁠ enough, the classroom​​ was already dark.​

Not​⁠ because the lights​‌‍ were off—but the‌‌‍ curtains were completely‌​​ open.

And​⁠‌ not just the⁠⁠ classroom—so was the‍‌ hallway, and even‌ what I could‌‌⁠ see outside the‌ window: total darkness.​

Complete‍⁠‍ darkness.

Like‍‌ midnight.

‘Midnight?’⁠⁠‍

I glanced at the‌‌⁠ clock on the‍​ classroom wall. Unfortunately,​ the hands pointed‌⁠ precisely at 12.‌‍​

Dead-on​ twelve. And of⁠ course, it wasn’t‌‍ noon.

It⁠ was midnight. I had woken up⁠ after midnight.

Nobody‍ had bothered to‌‌⁠ wake me?

I realized something was​ seriously wrong. I grabbed my throbbing⁠ head and started‌‍⁠ packing my things.​

While​​‌ shoving my backpack⁠‍⁠ in a hurry,​‌ my attention landed⁠​ on a notebook.⁠‌⁠ It was open‍⁠ right on my​ desk, impossible to‍​⁠ ignore.

Did⁠ I fall asleep​ using it as​ a pillow? I couldn’t remember.

Anyway,⁠⁠ the open notebook‍‍ had a number⁠⁠​ written in it,‌ with no context:⁠‍

[00:00]‍⁠⁠

I didn’t recall writing​ that. Though it⁠⁠ felt suspicious, I dismissed the distraction⁠⁠‍ immediately.

No‌ time for that.​‍ I grabbed my‌​‍ bag and bolted​ for the back‍‍ door.

Clack⁠​

It‌‌ didn’t open.

It‌ was locked. After‍⁠‍ several attempts, I had to give‌ up.

But‌‌ classroom doors—they usually‌​ lock from the‌​ outside, right? This​ lock was on‌‍‍ the inside.

It‍‌ made no sense,‍ but I didn’t⁠‍⁠ dwell on it.⁠‍‌ Escaping school was‌‌ the priority.

If​‌⁠ the back door‍‌ was locked, there​⁠ was still the‌‌ front one. I headed there, half-dreading⁠‌ the result. Same​​⁠ situation.

Locked‍ with a padlock​⁠ facing outward. Unless‍ someone came and‌⁠ unlocked it from‌‌ the other side,⁠​ I was trapped.‍

Both​ doors were locked.​‌‌

That’s​‍ when it hit​⁠ me—I was stuck⁠​ in the classroom.​⁠​ Literally locked in.‌​‍ Is this a dream?

The‌ absurdity left me​‍ stunned. I pinched⁠​ my cheek, poked‌⁠ the wall like​⁠ an idiot. And⁠​‍ that’s when a message appeared floating​‌‌ in the air.‍‌

Flash‍

[Initiating‌‌​ tutorial.]

[Escape‌‍ the classroom within​‍​ time limit.]

[Reward:​‌ Status window]

[Failure‍‍ penalty: Death]

[Time‍​‍ remaining: 10:00]

‘What?’‍⁠

I blinked, stunned at‌⁠​ what looked like‌‌⁠ a video game‌‌ interface.

Tutorial,‌‍⁠ reward, failure penalty.‍⁠⁠

A mission window, complete‍⁠ with a live​‌ timer at the⁠‍​ bottom.

[Time​​‌ remaining: 9:48]

Apparently,​ I had to⁠ escape the classroom​‌‌ before time ran⁠⁠ out. But what‌ did all this⁠​ mean?

Too‍ real to be​ a dream—too surreal‌​ to be reality.‌⁠

I couldn’t grasp it,⁠⁠ frozen in place,‌‌‍ lost in thought.⁠‍⁠ Meanwhile, the timer⁠ mercilessly counted down.‌⁠

[Time‍ remaining: 9:13]

I had a gut‍‌ feeling something terrible​⁠ would happen when‌ the time ended.​‌ Reluctantly, I began⁠⁠ searching the classroom.​⁠

On⁠​​ the surface, everything‍⁠‌ looked normal—but there‌​ was something unsettling​ in the air‌‍‍ I couldn’t explain.​

First⁠⁠ thing that caught‌‍⁠ my eye: the⁠⁠ lockers.

At⁠⁠⁠ the back of‍​ the classroom, they⁠ lined up neatly.⁠​‌ And one stood‍ out.

Right‍⁠​ in the middle,‍‍ painted a deep,‍‌‌ industrial red.

It⁠ was also padlocked—a⁠ few weeks ago‌ there had been​‌ a theft in‍ the neighboring class,‍​‍ and we were‌​‍ warned to secure‌‍‍ our belongings. Since‍⁠‍ then, some students​ started locking their​‍ lockers.

That‍ red locker probably⁠‍‍ belonged to one​‌‌ of them.

But​‌‍ honestly, with that​ ominous look, I doubt anyone wanted‌⁠ to use it.​⁠‌ Other than that⁠ locker, nothing else⁠‍ was obviously weird⁠‌‌ in the classroom—though‍‌ I didn’t check‍⁠ everything thoroughly.

I looked in logical⁠​ places—the teacher’s desk‍ drawers, behind the‍‍​ TV—searching for the‍ back-door key, but‍ found nothing helpful.‌

The‍‌‌ timer was about‌‌ to hit zero.‍‍ Maybe to show⁠ time running out,‌ its color shifted‍ to a dark​‌ red.

Still,‌‌ no clue how‌‍ to escape.

[00:00]⁠

Finally,​⁠⁠ time was up.‍‌

I braced for something‍ horrific to happen—or‍‌ so I thought.‌​ But nothing happened.​⁠⁠

‘Ridiculous.‌​ I frightened myself‌‌⁠ for nothing.’

I exhaled in relief.⁠ Then I heard⁠​‍ a dull, heavy‍​ vibration.

It‍⁠⁠ came from the⁠​ hallway.

My​​⁠ relieved expression vanished.⁠​ I turned slowly⁠‍‌ in that direction.‌

‘Did⁠ someone come?’

I peeked out the​ window. Just like⁠ the classroom, the‍⁠‌ hallway was engulfed⁠​ in darkness. I heard shuffling footsteps⁠ in the distance.​⁠‍ Soon, the silhouette⁠ of a bulky⁠⁠ figure appeared, approaching.‍‌

I couldn’t see clearly‍​‍ in the dark,‌⁠ but the dim‌⁠ light from the‌‌ emergency exit sign‌‌ and fire extinguisher​ illuminated just enough.​⁠⁠

He​‍ wore a plain,‌⁠ sloppy blue uniform‍ and a matching‌ cap. In his‍​​ right hand he​‌⁠ held a flashlight.‌‍

‘The‍⁠‌ guard?’

He‌​⁠ looked like one‌‌ of those nighttime‌​​ school security guards.‍

Since‌ it was late,⁠⁠ he probably had​​​ the night shift.⁠ It’s the same‍ person I always​‌ saw entering school,‍​⁠ so seeing him​⁠ made me feel​ a strange mix‍ of relief—and dread.​‌‌ I was about​‍ to call for⁠‍ help, then froze.‌‍‌

‘Something’s​ off…’

I couldn’t explain why,⁠‍​ but the guard‍ didn’t feel normal.⁠⁠⁠ His usually friendly‌‌ morning expression was​‍​ now utterly stiff.‌⁠

More‌​ than expressionless—frozen, inhuman.‍ A chill ran‌​ through me. The‍​​ classic “uncanny valley”⁠⁠ feeling.

The​‌ guard shuffled down⁠⁠‍ the hallway toward‍ the classroom.

His​‌‌ awkward, unnatural gait⁠​‌ made me feel​​‌ like I was​⁠‌ watching a moving‌‍ mannequin.

Instinctively,‌‌⁠ I ducked. My‌ first thought was⁠ to hide before‌‌​ he noticed me.⁠

The‌⁠ footsteps drew closer.​​‌ I covered my‍​ mouth and nose—to​ stifle any noise.‍

I cocked my ear‍​ and focused entirely​⁠ on the hallway.‍‍​

‘Is‍ he gone?’

At​ some point, the‌ steps stopped. I was hiding in⁠‍ a blind spot​ under the window,⁠ so I couldn’t‍⁠ see the hallway⁠​‌ outside.

I had to rely‌‌‍ on my instincts.​ Maybe he didn’t​​ see me and‍​​ had passed.

‘Let⁠ me check.’

I peeked slowly through‌​‍ the window and‍⁠‌ froze.

The​ guard was right‌‍‍ there—standing directly in​‌ front of it,⁠ eyes wide open,‌​‌ like he’d known​ all along I was hiding there.⁠

The‍⁠⁠ moment I raised⁠​‍ my head, our‍ eyes locked. His‌‌‍ were red, bloodshot—and⁠‍​ fixed directly on⁠ me.

“Shit!!”​‌

I yelped and fell‌‍ backward in shock,⁠ knocking over every⁠‍⁠ desk around me.⁠

Yet​ still, the guard⁠⁠⁠ didn’t take his‍ gaze off me.‌⁠‍

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