Developing Feelings | Jikook ✓

If Only

Jimin sat alone, tired eyes glued on his illuminated computer monitor, as he pondered. He had been in this position for little over an hour at this point. Slowly, he removed his blue light-filtering glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pounding in his ears.

He gulped, his mouth and throat parched. The blond hadn't drank anything since before sitting down to work. Jimin had been hyper-focused, yet he was dissociating at the same time. Spiraling, he continued to get lost in his head, mentally plucking flower petals like a lovestruck child:

I will... I won't... I will... I won't... I...

"Why am I even thinking about this?" Jimin whispered solemnly. "It's not like it'll get any attention anyway. It'll go just as I have for twenty-eight years now—painfully unnoticed. I'm a nobody."

There is something to be said about those who put themselves out there, especially their creative work. It requires a certain level of confidence, but more so, it requires a base level of vulnerability, wearing your heart on your sleeve. Creating is one thing—sharing that creation is an entirely other.

Jimin wasn't sure he was ready to put himself out there.

Although Jimin wasn't "old" by any standards—only twenty-eight—life, on the other hand, was getting quite old. Everything was systemically stacked against him. Despite being the most genius in his senior college of programming, his professors were harsh critics, often leaving condescending remarks on whatever he did. If he got praise, it was always backhanded. Comments like "that was good, for an omega," or, "I wouldn't have expected such work from someone of your... background," were common. Employers were biased; the world was biased. Jimin felt powerless. 

Taking another look at the monitor, Jimin's heart ached. He had been working on this game since he was a teenager, all by himself. Always a perfectionist, he would edit, revise, and repeat. Now that he was done, he felt an underlying sense of dread. There no longer existed an excuse to keep his brainchild to himself. It was finally ready, no longer simply in the "planning" stage. But the words of other's circled his mind like a hurricane of negativity.

"You're an omega, don't kid yourself."

"You, a game developer? Like that'll ever happen."

"Jimin, I say this not as your professor, but as someone who cares about you: change your major. This field is very alpha-beta dominated. There exists too much bias against omegas in the gaming world, especially in the professional lens. There aren't any super successful omega eSports players, let alone developers. You'll waste your money. You'll waste your life."

A tear slid down Jimin's face as he read the title of his game. Serendipity, occurring by chance. He had put his entire soul into this game. It was composed of some of his favorite game elements.

Serendipity was a game that was a visual novel of sorts, the player able to go through the world and affect their possible endings based on a series of choices. There were multiple paths a player could choose, making it a long and pleasurable experience.

The game's lore was very detailed. The king and queen of Koro, unable to bear a child, tried everything possible to produce an heir. They were depressed, growing hopeless. As a last ditch effort, the king and queen traveled to the great guardian rock of Inwang, praying to the deity watching over the land.

Surprisingly, the deity showed themself. They were beautiful without limit, unbound by the human concept of gender. They were made of stone, yet their love was anything but cold. They answered the monarchs' prayer, offering them a smooth, small stone.

"Make a soup with this stone as the base for every meal for seven weeks without stopping. You both must eat this meal at least three times a day, no matter how bored of the flavor you may get. After the seventh week, you will be able to bear a child," the deity explained.

And bear a child, they did. The baby was born oddly, cold to the touch and with unnatural features. He had gray hair and eyes, possessing beauty, even straight out of the womb. The king and queen named him Haru, and they loved him.

The character the player would work as was a servant by the name of Zeha. He was in charge of bringing the prince food. Zeha wished nothing more than to be Haru's friend, but the prince had to stay away from others for his own safety.

There existed an ominous prophecy regarding Haru. The prince's heart was made of stone. This did not mean he could not love, but that his heart was not as resilient as normal humans'. The prophecy foretold that there would be a person who would care greatly for the prince and had the power to either make or break the prince by the prince's age of twenty-one.

So, on Haru's twentieth birthday, the king and queen approached Zeha with a year-long quest to prove his allegiance and care for the prince. Only if he were to return successfully, would he be allowed to develop a relationship with Haru—in whatever way that may be.

The game followed this quest.

"This is stupid," Jimin said, snapping out of his daze. He put his glasses back on, eyes landing on the sketch in his journal he drew when he was still young and full of hope, a sketch and plan for his dream.

His finger gingerly traced his dream.

"Maybe I will post it... Should I make it free? Nobody will want to buy it since I'm not a big name, right? How else will I gain traffic? But what if people assume it's a bad game because it's free? I'll just make it cheap, but not free," he concluded, setting the price.

A shaky finger hovered over the computer mouse.

If only I could be more.

He pressed publish.