Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended

CHAPTER 7: Dire Straits

The front door let out a slight squeak as it opened, revealing Daisuke's mother entering with a companion. The stranger shed his hooded robe, revealing a stout figure dressed in regal attire reminiscent of medieval dignitaries.

Daisuke froze in his tracks, his tiny arms hanging loosely at his sides upon realizing the sort of business his mother had been conducting all this time without his knowledge.

The stranger—the pot-bellied bastard—narrowed his eyes and licked his lips in a perverse manner upon recognizing the child's distress. In response, Daisuke's mother swiftly pulled him into her frock as a means of shielding his gaze.

Yet, the damage was already done. Beyond the curtain separating the front door entrance and bedroom from the living room area, Daisuke had unraveled the mystery of his virtual mother's secret dealings.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Bennington," she uttered softly. "Why don't you go and make yourself comfortable; I'll be with you in a moment."

Daisuke's brows furrowed, and his tiny fingers clenched into fists. He hadn't been in a particularly good mood since he started teething, and this situation had only intensified his erratic emotions.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," his mother whispered apologetically. "Mommy will play with you soon.

Just be a good boy and wait here for me, okay? And remember not to go outside."

She knew the toddler might have only grasped one or two words from her speech, but the obedient look in his eyes broke her heart. She recognized the intelligence in her child, and the realization that he might fully understand the situation added another layer of sorrow to her grief.

***

"...Puh-Puppy," Daisuke awkwardly echoed after his mother, gazing up at the lovely woman from the comfort of her lap.

The presumed NPC clutched a timeworn children's book in her hands, teaching her son how to read. It had been a little over three months, and Daisuke had developed enough to babble, with some words surprisingly coherent for a toddler his age.

He made an effort to downplay his abilities, but his aptitude for learning remained unusually high. It was a bittersweet revelation for his mother—she was thrilled to have given birth to a child prodigy, yet dejected that she couldn't provide him with the formal education he deserved.

Even if, by some miracle, she could come into some money, her humble background wouldn't afford him the privilege to enroll in a decent school.

Witnessing her distress, Daisuke pivoted his waist and embraced her tightly. Her cascading silver hair brushed against his cheek, and her cherished pair of hairpins, each adorned with a firefly, gleamed in her hair.

"...Love, mommy," he uttered softly.

"Oh sweetie, I love you too," she sniffled, pulling him in close, their bodies jerking from her gentle sobs.

Daisuke's eyes drifted open, his expression devoid of emotion as he listened to the turmoil of her beating heart. Tears pooled in his eyes as memories flickered in his mind like the pages of a sketchbook.

Every day, he would curl his body into a ball, desperately trying to drown out his mother's responses from the bedroom. Her sacrifices were an unwelcome burden, born out of necessity rather than desire. The realization that he couldn't contribute to ease her struggles filled him with a profound sense of disgust.

Like a broken dam, all of his anger and rage transformed into a tumultuous sea of frustration and self-loathing. He couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve the years of punishment he had endured, but it felt as though he had inadvertently dragged this woman into the chaotic storm along with him.

As soon as Daisuke transitioned from breastfeeding to consuming physical food, his mother began working longer hours to ensure there was enough on the table for the both of them. It was inevitable now that she had another mouth to feed.

After the day she wept in front of him, his mother resolved never to let it happen again. Life in the slums was a relentless struggle, where food and water were scarce commodities. Even with the meager earnings from her customers, making ends meet remained an uphill battle.

More often than not, some of her clients would pay her little to nothing, and some wouldn't pay at all. But what could she do? She didn't have a brothel to back her, and she didn't have the strength to fight.

Despite the hardships, she always bore a resilient smile, consistently assuring her son that everything would eventually be all right.

Over time, as if the occasional lack of payment wasn't tormenting enough, she would emerge from her room with severe bruises on her face and body. Her line of work was already physically demanding—now, to make matters worse, she had to contend with the burden of dealing with injuries.

But, despite the harsh working conditions, she refused to quit.

***

The house was immersed in an eerie silence, disrupted only by the screeching of crickets on a particularly chilly night.

Daisuke and his mother knelt at a beaten-up, knee-length table, a lone candle casting a feeble glow on the modest space. A meager loaf of bread, perilously close to its expiration date, occupied a plate before them.

"Now, go ahead and eat up," his mother chimed with her customary smile, a robe carefully veiling her malnourished form.

Daisuke looked down, his eyes quivering. With composed eagerness, he reached for the loaf and tore it into two halves, offering her a share with an outstretched arm.

"Food tastes better when you share it with someone," he warmly remarked.

The woman slowly shook her head in refusal, the candlelight barely reaching the deep circles under her eyes. "I'm fine... just a little tired," she returned softly, pushing to her feet. "I think I'm going to turn in for the night. Eat up, then come to bed when you're ready."

Daisuke watched her leave, and the bread slipped from his trembling hand, landing on the lopsided table. As the bedroom door closed behind her, his mask crumpled, and tears spilled from his eyes.

Goddammit! Goddammit! He cursed inwardly, crushing the stale pastry in his right hand. I'm so pathetic! Isn't there anything I can do?

Despite pondering his limited options, he was still too young and vulnerable to take on any kind of work, even if opportunities existed in the slums. Furthermore, his mother strictly forbade him from leaving the house, and the last thing he wanted was to upset her.

Her warnings painted a bleak picture of a poverty-stricken world marred by crime—robberies, kidnappings, rape, murder. Despite the risks, he didn't want to be separated from her while she engaged in her line of work.

It only took one unforeseen incident, one sociopath, and his entire world could crumble and fall apart in an instant. Whether she was a virtual guardian or not, this woman had bled, cried, and sacrificed for him.

It was too late for his previous parents, but he was resolute in always being there for this woman. In this world, he would lead a life without regrets.