The Game Shut Down Before I Could Say Goodbye to the Boss—Now He’s Turned Dark and Come After Me in the Real World

Everyone else was scrambling to sell their accounts, but there I was, staying up all night, saying my goodbyes to the NPCs. People joked that I’d lost it—treating NPCs like actual people. Then the day came: the game’s dungeons merged with the real world, and those so-called NPCs became the ultimate bosses in reality. While everyone else was running for their lives, I was sitting in my yard, fishing and enjoying a hot pot. Bosses? What bosses? Those are my buddies.

The news hit like a bombshell: Sword World, the game that had taken the world by storm, was shutting down in 24 hours. The moment the announcement dropped, players everywhere rushed to sell their accounts. My roommate Sarah was no different. “You should sell yours too,” she urged. “Might as well make some money back while you still can.” But I couldn’t do it. This wasn’t just a game account to me. It was a reminder of everything I’d been through, a source of comfort during my hardest years. To me, it was priceless. When Sarah suggested we sell our accounts together as a bundle, I politely turned her down and logged into the game by myself. If this was the end, I wanted to say goodbye properly. After all, this game had been with me for five long, difficult years. I followed my usual routine: I harvested the vegetables in my little virtual garden, tidied up, and got everything in order. Then, I set off to visit the NPCs one last time. I spent every last coin in my account. I bought the stable boy his favorite pastries. Picked out the perfect calligraphy set for the schoolteacher. And got the beggar by the city gates a new pair of straw sandals. One by one, I visited them all, bringing gifts and watching as they broke into their familiar smiles. “Thank you, hero!” they said, cheerful as always. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Goodbye,” I whispered to the screen. “I don’t think we’ll meet again, but I hope you’ll be okay. Take care of yourselves.” Behind me, Sarah let out a loud snort. “Are you serious?” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’re just a bunch of lines of code. The moment the servers shut down, they’ll get deleted in an instant.” “Take care of themselves? You’re acting like they’re real people!” I stayed quiet, but her mocking tone grated on me. “You’ve totally lost it,” she continued, laughing. “Calling NPCs your ‘friends’? You need help. Like, actual help. Maybe I should tell someone—get you checked out or something.” Then she reached for my phone. “Come on, stop being ridiculous! Just sell your account already! If we sell ours together, we’ll get way more money.” I shoved her hand away. “I said no, Sarah!” My voice was steady, but my patience was wearing thin. “And for the record,” I added, staring her down, “friends are the ones who bring you comfort and joy. These NPCs did that for me when no one else did. So yeah, they’re my friends. Deal with it.” As we argued, the clock quietly struck midnight. I glanced at my phone, and my heart sank. The game had logged me out. The servers were officially shut down. No more Sword World. No more NPCs. And worst of all, I hadn’t made it to Michael. Michael—the sensitive one, the one who’d probably take it the hardest if I disappeared without saying goodbye. I stared at the blank screen, guilt gnawing at me. But it didn’t matter now. Sword World was gone, and there was nothing I could do.