Chapter 2: Betrayal Broadcast Live

But just as I picked up my suitcase, a stream of chat-style messages suddenly appeared before my eyes out of nowhere:

[Don’t go! If you leave, who will get justice for your real parents?]

"That’s right! This evil couple killed your parents, took their house, and stole your family’s fortune. Afraid of being caught, they adopted you and used you as a shield for their own son!"

"If you leave like this, you’ll definitely regret it!"

The words flashed so urgently, it felt like they were being shouted right into my brain. My hands shook, and I nearly dropped my suitcase. Seriously? Is this some kind of prank?

I stopped in my tracks, shocked as I stared at those words.

I read them again, my heart pounding in my ears. It was like being yanked out of one nightmare and thrown into another.

"Killed my real parents? Took over their house? What does that even mean?"

I muttered under my breath, hoping no one heard me talking to myself. The idea was so wild, so out of left field, I almost laughed.

"Whoa, did he just say that? Can he see our messages?! 😱"

"Wait, am I just an NPC? I’m so hyped right now!"

"Move aside, spoiler alert! Dylan, listen up—your parents were killed by your adoptive parents working together! The money, business, and house they have now should’ve all been yours!"

"That’s right, your parents died horribly. You have to get justice for them!"

I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. My fingers went numb, and I had to sit down before I fell over.

My eyes went wide. My mind went blank. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Everything I thought I knew was unraveling, faster than I could keep up. My vision blurred, and I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to steady myself.

Who am I?

Where am I?

The questions echoed in my head, over and over. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the world to make sense again.

After a while, I started to get what was going on.

It came to me in bits and pieces, like puzzle pieces snapping into place. I wasn’t just a kid with a broken family—I was at the center of something bigger, something I’d never asked for.

Turns out I’m in something called Round Two, and I’m the main character of the story.

I almost laughed at the absurdity. My life, a story? It explained the messages, the weird sense of being watched. But it didn’t make it any less terrifying.

My life is like a TV drama, being broadcast live in another world.

I imagined people sitting on couches, popcorn in hand, rooting for me or cursing my choices. It was surreal, and a little bit humiliating.

The ones sending the messages are all viewers watching my story.

They knew things I didn’t—my secrets, my past, the things I’d never even guessed. I felt exposed, like every mistake I’d ever made was on display.

So they know all about my parents’ past.

I wanted to scream at them, to beg for answers, but all I could do was read and hope they’d tell me the truth.

"Your parents were once famous entrepreneurs and philanthropists in the area. Out of kindness, they took in your adoptive parents, who were broke and desperate, and gave them work at their company."

I pictured my real parents—kind, generous, maybe a little naive. The kind of people who believed in second chances, even when it cost them everything.

"Your adoptive parents acted innocent on the surface but were scheming behind the scenes. Not only did they steal company property to resell, they also spread rumors that the place was about to go under and couldn’t pay wages, stirring up the workers to strike."

The betrayal stung, even though I’d never met the people involved. It was like watching a slow-motion car wreck, knowing I was trapped inside.

"The summer you were born, the couple used dirty tricks to lure your parents to the office, then hired a terminally ill man to drive a pickup and run them down."

The image was so vivid I could almost hear the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms.

"After your parents died, they used the money they’d stolen to bribe the authorities and gradually took over your family’s company."

I could see it all playing out in my mind—a web of lies and money, everyone looking the other way while the truth got buried.

"To cover their tracks, they adopted you and raised you as their own—until now!"

I felt sick. Every memory I had was suddenly tainted, every kind word now suspect. I didn’t know who to trust anymore.

After reading these messages, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning all over again. My mind went completely blank.

I stared at the wall, trying to process it all. My life was a lie, built on the ashes of something I’d never even known I’d lost.

My real parents were actually murdered in their scheme?

A car accident took their lives, just like that? And after all these years, I never knew?

The injustice burned in my chest, hot and raw. I wanted to scream, to break something, to make someone pay.

"Dylan, hurry up and put your luggage away—the old witch is back. She won’t let you get away so easily!"

"Yeah, another reason she adopted you was to keep you under her thumb, to make sure you wouldn’t seek revenge once you learned the truth!"

"So you have to hide your feelings and never let them know you’re onto them! With your adoptive parents’ power now, getting rid of you would be as easy as snapping their fingers!"

The warnings buzzed in my head, sharp and urgent. I wiped my face, trying to look normal, trying to hide the storm inside. This is it. No turning back.

Getting rid of me would be easier than squashing a bug? Then why haven’t they done it already?

The question nagged at me, but the answer was obvious—risk. Even monsters have to watch their backs when they’ve got something to lose.

Bottom line: murder is risky. With their wealth and status, they won’t do it unless they have to.

I nodded to myself, filing that away for later. If I was going to survive this, I had to be smart. I had to play the long game.

When I heard the front door open, I quickly hid my suitcase.

I shoved it under the bed, heart pounding. I wiped my eyes, grabbed a random book, and tried to look busy.

Mom walked in and glanced at me. "Have you eaten?"

Her voice was flat, almost bored. She barely looked at me, scanning the room like she was checking off a list.

I nodded. "Yeah, I’ve eaten."

I kept my answer short, hoping she’d move on. My stomach was in knots, but I forced a smile anyway.

Every time Mom came home, the first thing she did was check my room.

I used to think she was just being caring, but now I realize it was just surveillance.

I used to think she was just being caring, but now I realize it was just her keeping tabs on me.

The realization made my skin crawl. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, wondering what she was really looking for.

"Wow, a PS5!"

My brother, Mason, squeezed in through the door and immediately spotted the gift box on the bed.

He darted across the room, practically bouncing off the walls. His eyes lit up, and for a second, he looked like the little kid I remembered—before everything got so complicated.

Like a little gremlin, he rushed over and hugged the console, kissing it several times.

He spun around, waving the box in the air, a goofy grin plastered across his face. I almost smiled, despite everything.

Mom saw this, her face instantly clouded, and she turned to me angrily.

Her lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. I braced myself for the storm I knew was coming.

"Did you forget what I told you? I said not to buy a game console—why did you buy one anyway? Return it, now!"

Her voice was sharp as broken glass. I shrank back, clutching the edge of my desk.

I pressed my lips together, too scared to say a word, much less admit Dad bought it for me.

I glanced down, hoping she’d drop it. But Mason wasn’t about to let go that easily.

"No! I want to play, I want to play!"

He stomped his foot, clutching the box tighter. His voice rose, shrill and desperate.

"Honey, don’t play games, it’ll hurt your grades! Be good, okay?"

Mom’s tone instantly switched to gentle and sweet.

She knelt down, smoothing Mason’s hair, her voice dripping with honey. It was like watching someone flip a switch.

But Mason wouldn’t give up, crying even harder: "No, I just want to play—boo-hoo!"

He collapsed onto the floor, wailing. The noise echoed down the hallway, making my ears ring.

Listening to my brother cry, Mom’s face twisted with frustration.

She shot me a look that could freeze me in place. I knew what was coming, but I still flinched when she raised her hand.

She stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. "You disobedient brat—deal with this!"

The sting burned long after her hand dropped. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let her see me cry.

[Dylan, why not just say your adoptive father bought it? Why are you still covering for him!]

[Sigh, it’s because the adoptive father’s been so good to him these past years—he’s developed real feelings.]

The messages flickered at the edge of my vision, their words sharp and insistent. I wanted to scream at them, to tell them they didn’t understand. But maybe, deep down, they did.

"Real feelings, my ass! Dylan, do you know why he’s been nice to you these years? Partly because three years ago, during a mountain hike, you risked your life to save him, so he feels grateful. But he’s also guilty!"

"That’s right! After your parents were hit by that terminally ill man, they weren’t dead yet. It was your vicious adoptive father who finished the job—he suffocated them with a towel!"

The truth hit me like a slap, harder than Mom’s ever could. I staggered back, clutching the edge of my desk to keep from falling.

I stared in shock, realizing that the only reason I’d gotten any kindness these past few years was because I saved his life and he felt guilty.

It was a cold comfort, knowing that every smile, every pat on the back, was just penance for a crime I never knew existed.

I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. How ironic and heartbreaking.

The sound echoed in the room, hollow and sharp. I pressed my fist to my mouth, trying to hold myself together.

Bang—!

Just then, a loud crash rang out.

The noise jolted me back to the present. I turned to see Mason staring in horror at the shattered pieces of the PS5 on the floor.

Mom, fed up with Mason’s crying, grabbed the game console and smashed it on the floor.

Plastic shards scattered across the carpet, the dream of playing together shattered in an instant. Mason’s cries turned into stunned silence.

It sounded like a gunshot. The sound of breaking plastic echoed in my ears, mingling with the ache in my chest. I knelt down, gathering the pieces, but there was no fixing it now.

Mom took a deep breath, forced a smile at my stunned brother, and said, "Sweetie, do you still want to play with the game console now?"

Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her eyes were cold. Mason just stared at her, too shocked to speak.

Mason was speechless as Mom pulled him away.

He shuffled after her, clutching a broken controller. The silence between us felt heavier than ever.

The whole time, Mom never looked at me once.

I watched her go, my cheek still stinging, my heart even more so. It was like I didn’t exist at all.

I clenched my fists, struggling to hold back the anger boiling inside me.

I bit down hard, willing myself not to cry. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Gone. Just like that.

I silently vowed to find evidence and bring them to justice—to get justice for my parents!

The promise burned in my chest, stronger than any fear or doubt. I wouldn’t let them get away with it. Not anymore.