In this world, PUBG’s version and popularity roughly matched what I remembered from the first half of 2019 in my previous life.

The initial hype had faded. As more competitive battle royale titles emerged, PUBG’s player count dipped—but not enough to cause unmatchable queues. Overall, it remained decently active.

"Hey, bro, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Where should we drop?"

PUBG was a battle royale game: 100 players parachuted from a plane into urban zones to scavenge weapons and supplies, eliminating opponents until one remained. It offered solo, duo, and squad modes. Logically, Zhang Haosen and I should’ve played duo—but he insisted on squad mode, randomly matching two strangers, just to "show off his girlfriend" or some equally ridiculous reason.

Hence, every match began with the same routine: "Hey, can you hear me?" and "Where are we dropping?"

"Oh, there’s a girl? Her voice sounds underage."

"What do you think? That’s my wife."

"Player Two’s your wife? Wild. It’s 2030—girls still play this?"

"Right? These days, girls… *sigh*… letting us game an hour feels like a death sentence. Always whining, ‘Am I more important or the game?’ So annoying."

"Bro, you sound experienced."

"Don’t ask. Just broke up. Chose gaming. I swear, I hate women."

After two matches of parachuting, landing, looting, and intense firefights, I realized a serious problem:

Me—or rather, my current body—had "3D motion sickness."

Simply put, when perceived motion intensity exceeded a threshold, the nervous system triggered discomfort: nausea, dizziness, queasiness, palpitations, racing heart.

I recalled it commonly affected those with sensitive nerves or weaker constitutions—people prone to carsickness, or most girls.

"Xiao Xue! Behind the rock at 175—see him? Shoot!"

"Oops, your aim’s all over the place! Haha, same as mine. No worries, next round."

"Xiao Xue, why frozen? Poison zone’s closing—run!"

"The way you drive… sidewalk’s wide enough? …Nah, I’ll drive. You heal up."

Unprepared, I succumbed to motion sickness the moment the camera swayed. My condition plummeted. Reactions lagged. I held the team back repeatedly.

"Haha, Xiao Xue, calling this a parachute simulator for you wasn’t exaggeration."

"Bro, your wife’s seriously bad."

"So what? I love her anyway."

Thankfully, Zhang Haosen and most teammates didn’t blame me—a familiar reminder of the "privilege" girls get in gaming.

Tch… careless of me.

After another match, I subtly took deep breaths, lowered graphics to minimum, reduced mouse sensitivity, nudged the monitor closer, and leaned back to widen the screen distance.

I’d overlooked it: this girl’s body was prone to motion sickness. Bi Xin Xue herself had barely played games. QQ Speed was the only remotely "3D" title she knew—but its cartoonish visuals and slower pacing never triggered symptoms. My former male self was immune too. Reincarnation made me forget entirely.

Now, my only fix: minimize focus. Avoid tight urban zones after landing. Keep camera movements slow and infrequent. Or I’d genuinely vomit.

Feeling my heart pound in my chest, I silently apologized to Zhang Haosen.

Sorry. Today, I’ll sacrifice your gaming experience.

"Xiao Xue! 230 degrees!"

"Whoa, slow reaction!"

"Behind you! He’s coming!"

"Ahahaha! So bad! A wife this bad needs punishment—sing us a song!"

Guilt-ridden, I complied, singing "hits" in my gentlest voice:

"Is this your breakup excuse… If given another chance, would you love me? Love brings joy and torment…"

"And we swing on a swing, soaring beyond the stars, watching Cowherd and Weaver Girl meet by the Milky Way…"

"Anyway, he feels no pain, he just wants freedom, never caring how I feel…"

Zhang Haosen burst into carefree laughter.

"Hahaha! What creepy songs!"

"Wife, skip it!"

"Change! Something normal—fast!"

I laughed along, pushing through nausea to recall another tune:

"Beyond endless dreams, through this cold world… I won’t lose to myself. Your memories fuel my strength…"

"Stop! Too sad. Something upbeat."

"The moment I wake from the dream, the world’s colors have shifted. Day after day, people pray…"

"Ooh, this is nice. Title?"

"Incarnation—the theme of the donghua *Ling Long*."

"Whoa, *that* popular Chinese donghua? You’ve got range!"

"…"

Later, Zhang Haosen—fully aware of my terrible PUBG skills—demoted me to "medic" and "bait." For the next hour, after every drop into hotspots like Altar, Training Grounds, or Zibi City, he’d send me out to lure enemies.

"Hurry! Cute voice. Say you misclicked solo queue."

"Guys, hold position. My wife’s voice is sweet—great bait. We’ll camp and loot."

"Xiao Xue, go!"

Reluctantly, I’d wander near enemies, then hide and open all-chat mic:

"Big brothers… I misclicked, wuwu… didn’t know it was squad mode."

"Can you carry me? I don’t need chicken dinner—just top ten. You can eliminate me after."

"Ahhh, so many people…"

Male voices always chimed in:

"Where are you, sis?"

"Nice voice! Wanna team up illegally?"

"We’re a full squad. Our leader’s pro—adding you guarantees victory."

I’d continue in that deliberately cute tone:

"I’m below you. Hear your steps. Wearing a little lion onesie… no gun."

"Please don’t kill me… wuwu…"

Footsteps rushed closer: "Hold on, sis! Big brother’s coming!"

"Guys, hide!"

"They’ll come this way—listen for steps."

Zhang Haosen and our teammates aimed toward me.

Then… rat-a-tat-tat.

Guilt surged as I slipped away. Eliminated enemies always reacted the same:

"Ugh, totally blindsided."

"Damn it!"

"Sis… remember. Your name is Greed."

"…"

With Zhang Haosen, I learned to sing for teammates, flirt shamelessly without batting an eye… and the treachery of human nature.

Two hours flew by. As another match ended, Zhang Haosen checked the screen clock—17:12—and looked sheepish. "Went overtime. Send you a red packet?"

"No need." I forced a smile through lingering nausea. "Just a good review."

"Review’s guaranteed! Haha, those dorks earlier."

He pulled out his phone and gave a five-star rating on the spot.

After logging off at the cafe counter, he stole a cautious glance. "Can I… ask? What do you think of me?"

"You’re great. Humorous, easy to talk to. I like you." I handed him the cashier’s three one-yuan coins.

"Don’t you think gaming obsessively… seems irresponsible?"

"It’s just a hobby. Like manga, shopping, fishing. Hobbies have no hierarchy."

"That’s a relief." He scratched his head. "Online, so many girls hate gamers… leads to fights."

"Then find someone without that bias." I smiled gently. "I think it’s fine. Two girls in my dorm game too. It’s about values. Some dislike games, some hate durian, some prefer savory tofu pudding. If you click, stay. If not, move on."

"Your words cleared things up." He nodded. "You’ve got volleyball later, right? Be careful. Your job meets many people—stay safe."

"Thank you."

I opened my backpack, took out a sticky rice cake, and handed it to him.

"No matter how much you love gaming… eat on time! I’m off!"