The air in the penthouse was cold and lifeless, just like the termination contract clenched in Jason Henry's hand.
He sank into a white leather sofa that felt less like furniture and more like a frozen slab of ice.
Outside, the vast neon-lit `Sterling Metro` shone brightly with lights.
The city he once believed he was destined to conquer.
Now, it just mocked him.
Ten years.
A full decade of his life poured into the virtual world of Aethelgard's Echo.
He hadn't just played, he had lived it.
As the lead strategist for the [Vanguard] Syndicate, one of the top gaming workshops, he was a legend.
They called him the Phantom Tactician, a mastermind who could command victories for armies of thousands with a single flick of the wrist.
Under his guidance, [Vanguard] had established five virtual metropolises, generating billions in revenue.
Then came the shark, Marcus Thorne, ruthless CEO of Umbra Capitals, the soulless giant that had launched a brutal hostile takeover.
Jason had fought it every step of the way, warning that merging with Umbra would ruin the soul of [Vanguard], turning a vibrant community into just another profit machine to be drained and discarded.
The next day, he was summoned to this penthouse.
Thorne, wearing a smile as cold and sharp as a piranha's bite, slid the contract across the polished obsidian table like a blade.
This wasn't just the end of a contract, it was the end of a career.
They framed him, leaking fake data logs that branded him a corporate traitor.
The contract came loaded, with a non-disclosure clause, a gag order, five million Credits in severance, and the deed to this very penthouse.
A hush payment to bury the man who built an empire, designed to exile him from the very industry he gave everything to.
The final blow came when he had to log in and delete his Level 200 Blademaster, 36,500 hours of grit, passion, and sleepless, caffeine-fueled nights wiped out with a single click.
"Thrown away like garbage after everything I gave…" Jason whispered, his voice unsteady and breaking.
He looked at the contract, at Thorne's arrogant signature.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
Revenge?
No.
This isn't about revenge.
This is about reclamation.
He would rise again, not for revenge, but to prove that a world built on passion could never belong to men who worship only profit.
He ripped the contract in half, then again, and again, until the shredded pieces fluttered to the floor like fallen leaves.
He marched to the wet bar, snatched a bottle of top-shelf Scotch, then opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills, his hands steady, his eyes burning.
A reckless, desperate cocktail for a broken man.
He swallowed a handful of pills and washing them down with a deep, fiery gulp of Scotch, the burn barely registering.
Outside, the city lights turned into a messy blur, then, everything went dark.
"JASON! WAKE UP, YOU LAZY BUM! RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPING UGLY!"
A voice, sharp as a foghorn blast, shattered the heavy fog in his mind, ripping through the haze like a blade and yanking him back to consciousness.
Someone was shaking him violently.
Jason let out a low groan, his head aching with the weight of a severe hangover.
He swung his hand blindly, trying to shove the disturbance aside.
"Five more minutes, Mom…" he mumbled, his tongue thick and useless.
"Mom? Dude, I'm flattered, but I don't think I'm your type," the voice boomed again, followed by a hearty laugh.
Jason's eyes shot open.
The world slowly came into view, blurry, distorted, and completely unfamiliar.
This wasn't the cold, sterile penthouse.
This was… a disaster zone.
A tiny, 15-square-meter room, just big enough to fit the wobbly single bed he lay on.
The walls were covered in faded posters of decade-old action movies.
A bulky beige CRT monitor rested on a flimsy particleboard desk, surrounded by piles of books on game design and programming.
The air smelled like old instant noodles and a room that hadn't been cleaned in weeks.
Standing over him was a young man with a big, silly grin and messy black hair.
Jay Antonio.
His best friend.
But he looked younger.....so much younger.
The stress lines, the wear from years of battles and betrayals, they were gone, like they'd never existed.
"What… what are you doing here?" Jason croaked, struggling to sit up.
His body felt light, lean, and strangely unfamiliar.
"What am I doing here? I'm here to drag your sorry butt to the university recruitment drive!"Jay said, tossing a wrinkled flyer onto Jason's chest.
The logo was loud and flashy, a stylized 'V' pierced by a sword.
[Vanguard] Syndicate.
They're setting up a stand today! This is it, man, our shot at going pro!
Jason stared at the flyer, his mind reeling.
Recruitment? He'd just been fired.....no, executed by the company that had bought them out.
Jay… I got fired.
Yesterday.
Jay narrowed his eyes at him, then took a sniff of the air.
"Dude, have you been drinking already? It's 8 AM.
"We talked about this last night, remember? We were gonna crush the interviews and score sponsorship for our Neuro-Link Helmets!"
Jason's eyes scanned the room, confused and searching.
He spotted his phone on the nightstand.
It wasn't his sleek, modern smartphone.
It was a brick.
A classic, indestructible Nokia that hadn't been sold in a decade.
He snatched it up, his hand trembling as he pressed the power button.
The screen flickered to life.
Date: April 19th, 2129.
A jolt, colder and more shocking than any electric current, shot through him.
He jumped out of bed and staggered to the wardrobe, yanking the door open in a rush.
The mirror on the inside showed a stranger he hadn't seen in ten years.
A skinny twenty-year-old with sharp features, a stubborn jaw, and eyes that blazed with raw, untamed fire.
It was him.
He had gone back in time.
Ten years into the past.
The memories came flooding back.
This small, cluttered room, it was his old university dorm, frozen in time.
The flyer was for the first-ever recruitment drive [Vanguard] held.
He remembered the heavy burden of his family's debt, the loans they'd taken so he could chase a dream he feared he'd thrown away.
He remembered living off instant noodles, the constant burning hunger, the shame of having his card declined for a cheap lunch box.
On his desk, next to the ancient computer, was a framed photo.
It was of his parents, smiling.
They looked so much younger, healthier.
In his original timeline, the stress of their debts, compounded by his own financial struggles in the early years, had led to their health failing.
He had made his fortune, yes, but it was too late to completely undo the damage.
A tear slid down his cheek, followed by another.
It wasn't just sadness.
It was regret, joy, and a wave of overwhelming relief.
This time, it would be different.
He wouldn't just make money.
He would make enough to give them the worry-free life they deserved.
He would build his own empire, on his own terms.
"Jason? You good, man? You're spacing out."
Jason wiped his eyes and turned to Jay, a new, unshakable resolve hardening his features.
"Yeah, I'm good.
Better than ever.
But change of plans.
We're not joining [Vanguard]."
He dressed quickly, his movements filled with a purpose that startled Jay.
They walked out onto the bustling Jin Hai University campus, the morning sun bright and full of promise.
Jay was still babbling nervously about the recruitment drive.
"and if we impress them, we could get in on the ground floor! This is our shot, J! Don't blow it!"
Jason stopped and turned to his friend, his eyes intense.
"Jay, I'm not joining them. I'm starting my own Workshop. And I want you to be my first member."
Jay's jaw dropped.
"My man, have you lost your mind? A Workshop? Do you know how much a single Neuro-Link Helmet costs? 8,000 Credits! We barely have enough for pizza tonight! And startup funds? You'd need at least 70,000 Credits to even rent a small office!"
"I don't have the money," Jason admitted, a calm smile playing on his lips.
"Not yet."
"Then it's a crazy fantasy! We should be practical! Join [Vanguard], get the free helmets, build a reputation, and then maybe, years from now, we can think about it!" Jay argued, his voice full of desperate logic.
Jason put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
His gaze was so steady, so full of ancient confidence, that Jay's protests died in his throat.
"There's a student trial program for 'Aethelgard's Echo.' Show your student ID, and you get a Neuro-Link Helmet to use for free, for ten days.
They don't advertise it much because they want people to buy them."
Jay's eyes widened.
"For real? How do you know that?"
"I have my sources," Jason said cryptically.
"We have ten days. Ten days to make a name for ourselves and earn enough money to not just buy our own helmets, but to fund the entire workshop."
"Ten days? But what if we fail? We'll miss all the recruitment drives!" Jay fretted, the worry returning.
Jason grinned, a brief glimpse of the Phantom Tactician shining through.
"Don't worry about the money," he said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty.
"Leave that to me."
He had more than just skill.
He had ten years of knowledge.
In a game where information was king, he was returning as a god.
They retrieved their trial helmets and bought two large boxes of instant noodles.
As they sat in their dorm room, waiting for the launch, Jason felt a thrill he hadn't felt in years.
This wasn't just starting over.
It was a second chance to build everything right.
April 25th, 9 PM.
The countdown hit zero.
Jason lay back, the helmet humming to life.