The woman had messy black hair falling over her shoulders.

She wore only a t-shirt and dirty athletic shorts, glasses perched on her nose, completely absorbed in the screen as her fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard.

"You’ve got to be kidding me..."

But then the girl in front of the computer, headphones on and face twisted with fury, started shouting.

"You’re all completely useless!" she exclaimed, slamming her palm on the desk. "You’re a bunch of fucking Failures! That’s what you are! I would’ve done so much better going into that dungeon alone instead of carrying all of you!"

From the other end, voices could be heard trying to calm her down.

"Hey, take it easy, the dungeon is new..."

"Nobody knew what enemies were in there, it was bad luck..."

"It’s not a big deal, we can try again and—"

"I don’t give a shit that it’s new!" she cut them off without letting them finish. "A good player adapts! This is what I get for wasting my time helping a bunch of stupid noobs!"

Mark stayed silent.

The scene turned his stomach, but at the same time it stirred an uncomfortable feeling of familiarity.

And as unpleasant as he found what he was watching, he couldn’t judge her.

Because, after all, he had been exactly the same.

In his past life, he too had vented his frustrations on strangers through a microphone, convinced the problem was always everyone else and never him.

But there was something more.

That apartment. That small, cluttered room, the arrangement of the furniture, the type of building hinted at through the few visible details...

It struck him as strangely familiar.

He didn’t know why, but something about that place gave him a sense of déjà vu.

"Well?" the Demon Lord’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. "What do you think of my charming past life?"

"Hmmm... I think you should have cleaned this room." he replied, looking around, "And, while you’re at it, opened a window. Seriously... the air in here must be toxic."

"Very funny," she said, with not a trace of humor in her voice, rolling her eyes.

And right at that moment, the bedroom door was kicked open.

The blow was so violent it shook the walls.

Through it came a woman in her forties, with long light brown hair, a flushed face, and glassy eyes.

The woman walked with difficulty, and her voice, when she spoke, came out slurred and thick with alcohol.

"Mary!" the woman shouted, advancing toward the girl with an unsteady but furious gait. "Why the hell aren’t you answering when I’m talking to you, huh?! I’ve been calling you for half an hour!"

The girl, Mary, spun around in her chair instantly.

And all the fury she’d had a second ago, all the insults and arrogance, vanished at once.

The only thing left on her face was pure terror.

"M-mom," she stammered, eyes wide, shrinking into the chair. "I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, I had my headphones on and—"

Mary didn’t get to finish speaking before the woman was already on top of her, grabbing her by the hair with a hard yank.

"Always glued to that stupid computer!" the woman shouted, shaking her. "That’s what you have time for, you little bitch! Get up! You’re going to go buy me more alcohol right now!"

"Wait, mom, please!" Mary begged, tears in her eyes as she was dragged out of the chair. "You’re hurting me! Let go of my hair, please! At least let me turn off the computer before—!"

But the woman wasn’t listening.

She dragged her by the hair toward the door without the slightest consideration, while Mary tried to keep her balance and begged her to stop.

And in the background, still coming through the headphones left dangling, laughter could be heard.

The laughter of her guild members, who had heard it all through the open microphone.

Mocking cackles mixed with humiliation, cruel comments about what they had just witnessed, while the girl who moments before had insulted them with such confidence was dragged out of her own room like an animal.

The two went out through the door, which slammed shut behind them with a sharp bang.

And the room fell silent, except for the faint laughter still coming from the abandoned headphones.

The Demon Lord turned toward Mark with a half smile.

"Isn’t my mother just a real delight of a person?"

Mark opened his mouth to respond, but the words never came.

Whatever joke he might have made died in his throat, and any serious comment felt insufficient.

So he simply stayed quiet, looking at the closed door through which the two had disappeared.

The Demon Lord, getting no response, snapped her fingers and the apartment vanished entirely.

In its place appeared a deserted street, sunk in the silence of the early morning hours and lit only by streetlamps and the faint glow of signs.

And in front of them was a convenience store.

"Wait a moment..." he said, narrowing his eyes. "I recognize this place."

"Of course you recognize it..." the Demon Lord replied calmly. "After all, we lived in the same city."

"..."

"In fact," she continued, not looking at him, her eyes fixed on the store, "we lived in the same apartment complex... You and I were practically neighbors, even though we never knew it."

"What?" he asked in disbelief. "How could you possibly know something like that?"

"I know because I saw your apartment in your dreams," she replied with a half smile. "Or rather, in your nightmares. The ones where you dream you go back to your world, to your old life."

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

The idea that she had been watching his dreams, his most private nightmares, without him realizing it, sent a chill through him.

Then the convenience store door opened and Mary came out carrying two cases of beer. At first glance she looked the same as before... until Mark saw her face, covered in injuries.

Bruises covered her face, her split lip was still bleeding, and one of her cheeks was so swollen it nearly distorted her features.

Just looking at her was enough to understand what had happened after her mother dragged her out of the room.

Mary walked with her eyes down, muttering under her breath as she went.

"Damn witch..." she whispered, her voice broken, carrying a hatred she could barely contain. "I hate you... I hate you so much... I wish you would die..."

She was so sunk in her own resentment, so lost in her hatred toward the woman waiting for her at home, that she didn’t pay attention to the road.

Mary crossed the street without looking.

And then a horn cut through the air with a sharp, desperate sound, but it was already too late.

The truck struck her full force and everything ended in an instant.

Mark kept staring at the site of the accident, unable to look away, until the Demon Lord’s voice pulled him from his trance.

"You know," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the street. "Many times I wished I had really died that day."

"...Why?"

"Because that day was when the real nightmare began..."