The clock on the wall read 7:00 PM. Leo tied an apron around his waist, the floral pattern a humorous contrast to his focused expression. In the living room, his sister, Maya, was already looking toward the kitchen, her eyes filled with the eager anticipation of a gourmet critic awaiting a Michelin-star meal.
Ever since that first night, cooking had become his responsibility. Maya, having tasted what he was capable of, had effectively gone on strike against any other form of dinner. So, every evening their parents worked late, Leo found himself at the stove. He didn't mind. It was a grounding ritual, and seeing Maya's unabashed delight was a reward in itself—though he was starting to worry she might eat her way into a new weight class if he wasn't careful.
Tonight, he was deboning chicken thighs for a spicy dry pot, the rich, savory aroma of his mapo tofu already simmering on the back burner.
"Brother," Maya called out from her perch on the sofa, her voice tinged with a delicate curiosity. "You haven't found a job yet, have you?"
Leo's hands stilled over the cutting board.
"I only ask because you were running around so much a couple of weeks ago," she continued, oblivious to his pause. "I thought you were going to interviews."
A small, private smile touched Leo's lips. She thought his frantic search for an office space had been a job hunt. He couldn't blame her. Here he was, twenty-four years old, a recent graduate living at home, spending all day in front of a computer. To his family, it must look like he was adrift. In a family struggling this hard, with a sister whose medical bills were a constant, looming shadow, an able-bodied son who wasn't contributing was a heavy burden.
"Brother," she said again, her voice softer now, hesitant. "If… if it's really hard to find something, you could… maybe you could try live-streaming? I watch a lot of streamers, and honestly, most of them are terrible at games. They're just funny. You could try it, maybe?"
Leo felt a wave of amused affection. Her suggestion was so earnest, so endearingly misguided. He, Alex Vance, hailed by Time Magazine in his past life as a visionary entrepreneur, the producer behind multiple blockbuster games… becoming a streamer? The irony was thick enough to taste.
He shook his head, still facing the counter. "There will be work," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I'm not just sitting around, Maya. Don't you worry. Your brother isn't a lost cause."
"Ah! No! That's not what I meant!" she stammered, flustered. "I didn't mean you were—that you were… I just—I know you're amazing! You can cook like a professional chef, which I never knew! I know you're not an… an idler!"
Her panic was so acute she'd switched from her usual casual "bro" to the more formal "brother," a sure sign of her embarrassment.
Leo just smiled. "It's okay. Go on, back to your room. The oil smoke is about to get serious, and I know how much you hate the smell."
"Okay! Call me when it's ready, brother!" she chirped, relieved, and he heard the sound of her crutches as she limped away.
He returned to his work, the heavy cleaver making short, precise work of the chicken bones. He hadn't told a soul about the company. Not his parents, not his sister, not a single friend. What would he even say? "Hey, I know I'm a junior college graduate with no degree, but I started my own company." They would think he was delusional. Their concern would be a weight he couldn't bear right now. It was better this way. He would wait until he had something real to show them. He would wait for Dark Forest to succeed.
Another week passed. The monster concept art had fanned the flames of hype into a raging inferno. On StreamVerse, his gameplay demo video shattered another milestone, its view count soaring to a mind-boggling 17.75 million. It was, for a time, the number one trending video on the entire platform.
A search for 'Dark Forest' now yielded fourteen full pages of related videos from other creators. His original upload was still at the top, but Zaneiac's screaming playthrough was a close second, with over 2.4 million views of its own.
He checked the cloud drive. The demo had been downloaded over 280,000 times.
Leo looked at that number, a pang of longing hitting him. He did some quick, desperate math in his head. If even half of those people bought the Early Access version for, say, nine dollars… after the platform's thirty percent cut… it would be enough. Enough to solve everything.
The thought spurred him on, his fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed urgency.
He was deep in the code when his phone buzzed on the desk. A text message. He glanced at it, expecting spam. His eyes caught the first few words, and he froze. He snatched the phone, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs.
The message was short, clinical, and the most beautiful thing he had ever read.
His application had been approved. Dark Forest now had an official version number. It was a real, legally protected, commercially viable product.
A giddy, explosive joy erupted in his chest. The version number! In his past life, he had lived through the "cold winter," a period where the bureaucratic approval process for games was a soul-crushing nightmare. He'd seen studios go bankrupt waiting for a stamp of approval that never came. He himself had only ever gotten two of his games approved. The rest had to be released on overseas platforms.
And now, here, in this world, his brutal, terrifying, nightmare-inducing horror game—a game that would make children sleep with the lights on for a week—had passed without a hitch. The relief was so profound it almost brought tears to his eyes.
A wide, predatory grin spread across his face, and he spoke the words aloud to his empty office.
"Fright Value… Not a single one of you is getting away!"
His mind, now buzzing with adrenaline, kicked into high gear. The plan unfolded, clear and precise.
Chapter Two was ninety percent finished. Another three days, tops. Chapter Three, the finale, was shorter. While finishing the build, he would contact the regional agent for the Cyber Platform and get the contracts signed. Then, while the hype was still white-hot, he would drop the final, cinematic CG trailer he'd been saving. Immediately after, he would announce the Early Access release date.
The money from that would be his war chest. He'd hire artists, programmers. They would handle the console ports while he focused on the next project. The system was a powerful tool, but it didn't provide ready-made assets for future games. He couldn't do it all alone.
And he had another idea, a grander strategy. Develop two types of games in parallel. Horror games to farm the precious Fright Value he needed to unlock more titles from the system, and mainstream games to print money.
This world's gaming scene was a vast, untapped goldmine. He thought of the FPS genre alone. He could unleash titans like Far Cry, Borderlands, BioShock, Left 4 Dead. And with the system's power, he could remaster even the oldest classics to look and feel brand new. The possibilities were endless.
He leaned back in his chair, a sense of absolute, chilling confidence settling over him. He wasn't just a kid in a rented office anymore. He was Alex Vance again, looking out at a landscape ripe for conquest. He thought of the entire gaming industry in this world, of all the established giants and their repetitive, uninspired games, and borrowed a classic line from his past.
"There's not a single one of you," he whispered, "who can put up a fight."
PLS SUPPORT ME AND THROW POWERSTONES .