PROLOGUE

[Year 2024]

"I'm really not feeling up to it..."

Tomorrow marked the dreaded high school reunion for my graduating class, and the mere thought of attending filled me with an inexplicable sense of dread.

The reason behind my reluctance was crystal clear: at 20 years old, my life seemed frozen in time. Having left high school at 17, I found myself stuck in a monotonous cycle, shuttling between the confines of my bedroom and my mundane gig as a pizza delivery guy.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that while my peers were likely immersed in the vibrant college scene, expanding their horizons and relishing in their newfound freedom, I remained stagnant, devoid of any significant progress.

The catalyst for my premature departure from high school was none other than the very class I was supposed to reunite with. Bullied relentlessly by some of my classmates and dealt the crushing blow of rejection by my crush, I reached my breaking point. The relentless torment and the heartache of unrequited love became unbearable burdens, driving me to retreat from the halls of academia.

With no close friends to lean on and an overwhelming sense of isolation, the decision to withdraw seemed like the only viable option. Despite the financial strain it placed on my parents, they exhibited a rare understanding, sensing the torment I endured and refraining from adding to my anguish.

Yet, the guilt of burdening them and the inability to meet their gaze with unwavering honesty gnawed at my conscience, propelling me to seek solace in the anonymity of a modest apartment.

My daily routine followed a predictable pattern: rise at the crack of dawn, toil away until dusk, and lose myself in a world of gaming, binge-watching series, indulging in anime, or escaping into the fantastical realms of manga before succumbing to slumber.

Occasionally, the notion of getting a girlfriend crossed my mind, a flicker of hope that perhaps the presence of a significant other could inject a much-needed boost to my flagging confidence and steer me back on course. Alas, the harsh reality of my circumstances swiftly snuffed out any semblance of optimism. My less-than-perfect eyesight, wiry frame, and unremarkable features painted me as an unlikely candidate in the world of romance.

High school reunion? A nightmare fuel. Back then, an invitation would have sent shivers of excitement down my spine, marking me as one of the cool kids. Not anymore. Life hadn't exactly unfolded as planned, leaving me feeling stagnant and unaccomplished. On top of that, the thought of facing both my old bullies and the girl I'd pined after for three years sent a fresh wave of dread washing over me.

Except, I wasn't given a choice. Not when the message arrived:

[If you don't come shithead, I will put online all your sensitives pictures we had taken. Still have them in phone yeah!]

Alexander Smith. The ringleader of my torment, the one who'd turned my high school experience into a living hell. The thought of him relishing the opportunity to humiliate me again at the reunion was enough to make my stomach churn.

But what options did I have? Succumbing to his blackmail meant risking the exposure of humiliating, potentially compromising photos.

The worst part? Emily Anderson would be obviously there. I peeked at her Instagram profile, bracing myself for the inevitable punch to the gut.

Even more stunning than ever. Three years hadn't dulled her beauty in the slightest.

Memories of Emily flooded back – her kindness, her beauty, the way she offered a flicker of support in the midst of my torment. But back then, I was too blind, too wrapped up in my own insecurities, to see that she'd never reciprocate the feelings of a self-proclaimed nerd like me.

Three years later, nothing had truly changed. I still sought solace in the fictional worlds of books and movies, the harsh realities of my own. My parents, ever concerned, would call, their voices laced with worry, only to be met with my silence, my inability to confide in them. I yearned to make them proud, a burning desire overshadowed by the lingering shadows of my high school trauma.

 Reaching for the can of soda on my desk, I was met with the familiar hiss of emptiness. The fridge echoed the sentiment. With a sigh, I grabbed a jacket and shoes, the familiar routine offering a sliver of comfort. Stepping out of my apartment, I locked the door and turned, only to freeze.

 A sudden chill swept past me, carrying with it a shimmering screen that materialized before my eyes. The words emblazoned across it sent a jolt through me:

[Congratulations! You unlocked the Frozen World!]