Ethan sat in the half-lit workshop long after the others had left, staring at the glowing numbers etched across his inner vision. The System's countdown ticked forward, silent and merciless, a bright scar across his thoughts. Days left. Not months, not years—mere days. And the truth was he still didn't know what would happen if the timer hit zero.
The hum of machines filled the silence, punctuated by the faint crackle of the soldering iron he had forgotten to switch off. His desk was a battlefield of scattered schematics and crumpled prototypes—half-formed ideas that refused to come together. A mess of hope and failure. He rubbed his temples, knowing that fatigue was stealing the sharpness from his mind, but every time he closed his eyes the visions of blueprints appeared, shimmering in cold System light.
Marcus had left earlier that evening, muttering about "one more test run" for his experimental drone design. Ethan had half expected the walls of the workshop to collapse under one of Marcus's "test runs." The man was brilliant, but recklessness clung to him like perfume—intoxicating and dangerous.
Sofia had left hours earlier, her parting words precise as always. "You should consider real production timelines, Ethan. Dreams don't impress investors—deliverables do." She didn't say it to wound him, but the words stung anyway.
Devon… Devon lingered longest. Not working, but watching. That burned the most. The man's eyes were old in a way that unsettled Ethan—eyes that had seen promises burn down to ash. Devon hadn't said much, only a single warning: *"Companies don't collapse because of bad ideas. They collapse because people can't hold together."* Then he had left too, leaving Ethan with the weight of that statement pressing against his ribs.
Ethan knew he couldn't keep juggling them forever. Three candidates, three temperaments, and not one of them fully loyal. The System demanded loyalty. The countdown demanded resolution. But how could he force trust? Trust had to be earned, and time was the one thing he didn't have.
---
The next morning, Tomorrow Works resembled more of a storm front than a company.
Marcus had commandeered a corner of the lab, parts and wires strewn about like the wake of a hurricane. He was buzzing with energy, muttering equations under his breath and laughing when the drone prototype sputtered to life before crashing into the floor with a metallic groan.
Sofia's jaw tightened at the sight. She had already claimed the whiteboard, mapping out a list of manufacturing suppliers and noting costs in sharp, elegant handwriting. Her posture was sharp enough to cut steel.
Devon sat by the window, arms folded, offering no help, no comment—just watching again, as though waiting for something inevitable.
The tension was thick enough to choke on.
"Ethan," Sofia said at last, tapping the board with the marker, "if we don't set clear lines of responsibility, this chaos will consume us before we even incorporate legally. Marcus plays inventor, you play dreamer, and Devon—" her gaze flicked toward him—"plays cynic. This is unsustainable."
"Hey," Marcus shot back, "I'm building real prototypes, not playing. What's your contribution? Numbers on a board? Anyone can scribble a supply chain."
"You think logistics is trivial?" Sofia's eyes flared, the calm mask cracking. "Without a supply chain, your toys will stay as toys."
"Better toys than endless paperwork."
"Better paperwork than bankruptcy."
Their voices grew sharper, clashing like steel against steel. Ethan raised his hands, heart pounding. "Enough. Stop. Both of you."
Silence fell, heavy and unwilling. Marcus scowled. Sofia turned away, smoothing her blouse with deliberate control.
Devon chuckled darkly. "This is only the beginning, Cole. You think building inventions is hard? Try holding egos together. That's the real game."
The words were acid, but Ethan couldn't deny their truth. He looked at the three of them—the firebrand, the ice queen, the man of ash—and wondered if the System was cruel, or if it knew exactly what he needed.
---
That night, the System pulsed awake with a new quest:
Ethan's stomach twisted. Define roles? The thought of locking them into positions when none of them were ready, when he wasn't sure who he could trust—it felt like pulling threads on a fraying rope. But the System didn't care about feelings. The System never cared.
He called them together in the workshop, the glow of the overhead lights washing the room in pale gold. Marcus leaned against the workbench, Sofia stood straight as a ruler, and Devon lounged in his chair, eyes unreadable.
"I need to set roles," Ethan began, his voice steady though his pulse thundered. "This isn't optional. We can't keep drifting like this. Marcus—your creativity is unmatched, but you need focus. I want you heading prototyping. Small team, rapid designs. Controlled experiments."
Marcus brightened, grinning. "Finally, some recognition."
"Controlled," Ethan emphasized. "No fireworks in the lab."
Marcus shrugged, still smiling.
Ethan turned to Sofia. "You'll handle operations. Supply chains, production, timelines. Keep us grounded."
Her chin lifted, pride flickering through her composed expression. "At last, some order."
"And Devon…" Ethan hesitated. Devon's gaze pinned him, sharp and knowing. "You'll be risk management. Assess threats, weaknesses, prepare us for failures before they happen."
Devon smirked, a bitter curl of lips. "So I'm the one paid to imagine disaster. Fitting."
The room shifted, uneasy. Marcus already looked frustrated, Sofia self-satisfied, Devon detached. Ethan knew this wasn't unity—it was compromise. But as the System chimed approval and **+200 Points** ticked across his vision, he felt the smallest breath of relief.
The countdown paused—briefly.
---
But unity couldn't be forced by roles alone. The next days proved that.
Marcus clashed constantly with Sofia's obsession over deadlines. He wanted freedom to experiment; she wanted strict adherence to schedules. Their arguments became a rhythm in the lab, flaring every few hours.
Devon, meanwhile, delivered reports of risks that sounded more like eulogies than strategies. He forecasted betrayal, collapse, sabotage, as though predicting the fall was easier than believing in the rise.
And Ethan… Ethan tried to hold it all together. He mediated, explained, compromised—but every time he left the room, the voices rose again. He felt like a man trying to hold back the sea with his bare hands.
---
One evening, when the others were gone, Lily arrived with takeout containers and her warm smile. She set the food down on the workbench, brushing dust off the corner.
"You look like hell," she said softly.
Ethan let out a weak laugh. "That bad?"
"That bad." She opened the containers, steam rising. "Eat. Before you collapse."
He did. The taste grounded him, simple and real.
"They don't trust each other," he admitted after a moment. "Marcus, Sofia, Devon… they're oil and fire and stone. And the System wants loyalty. How can I demand loyalty from people who can't even stay in the same room without fighting?"
Lily reached across the table, fingers brushing his hand. "You don't demand it, Ethan. You show them it's worth giving. Loyalty isn't bought or forced. It's inspired."
Her words sank deep. Inspired. The System gave him blueprints, but it couldn't tell him how to inspire. That was something only he could figure out.
---
That night, lying on the workshop cot, Ethan stared at the ceiling as the countdown glowed faintly in his vision. Still ticking. Still unforgiving.
He thought of Marcus's reckless brilliance, Sofia's cold discipline, Devon's scarred realism. Three pieces of a puzzle that didn't yet fit.
But maybe, just maybe, if he could inspire them—not command them—they would become the allies Tomorrow Works needed.
And for the first time in days, he felt not only fear, but determination.
The System had chosen him. Now he needed to prove it hadn't chosen wrong.