The screen flickered softly.
A blazing fireball, trailing flame, slammed into the target.
The instant the health bar hit zero, the whole display washed over with a dark, blood-red tint.
TARGET NEUTRALIZED:
Damien Thornevale
Daniel's fingers still hovered above the keyboard. He didn't lower his hands right away.
His heartbeat skipped.
He knew this feeling too well—
that brief, razor-sharp anticipation before the results screen popped.
Again.
He'd watched this moment too many times.
Different classes. Different builds. Different ending routes.
But no matter what he did, the ending never changed.
The familiar results animation started to play.
Daniel hit the shortcut on reflex.
Alt + Tab.
Spreadsheets. Numbers. Client lists.
The cursor blinked in an empty cell.
And then—
"Hey, Daniel!"
A rude shout yanked him out of the haze.
Reality hit like a wet, freezing hand clamping down on the back of his neck.
In the open-plan office, keyboards clattered nonstop. Phones rang one after another. A printer hummed in the corner. Everyone was busy—or at least looked busy.
His supervisor leaned into the cubicle, impatience practically carved into his face.
"How many deals have you signed today?"
Without waiting for an answer, he barreled on. "Why are you still sitting there? You think customers are gonna walk in by themselves? You just coasting on base pay or what?"
Daniel looked up. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Talking back took energy.
And he hadn't had that in a long time.
"Let me be clear," the manager said with a cold smile. "I don't need thinkers here. I need closers."
"If you're not selling, you're taking up space."
Nobody spoke up for him.
Nobody even looked his way.
Why would they? He'd been dead last here for five straight years.
Daniel stood, shoved his laptop into the briefcase that was already worn at the edges. The coffee on his desk hadn't been touched, but he didn't want to look back.
"If you don't sign a client today," his supervisor tossed in behind him, voice as cold as someone reciting procedure, "don't bother coming in tomorrow."
The door shut with a bang.
The hallway was so quiet it felt wrong.
Daniel leaned against the wall and let out a long breath.
Twenty-eight.
Five years scraping by in insurance.
Bottom of every annual evaluation, barely paying bills on the lowest-tier base salary.
His girlfriend had dumped him last month. The reason was simple and blunt:
He had "no future."
His rented apartment leaked every time it rained. The window frame was so old it wouldn't seal shut. The water heater had broken three times—he could only afford to fix it the first two.
He'd barely reached the street corner when his phone rang.
His landlord.
"Daniel, when are you paying this month's rent?"
The voice on the other end didn't rise or fall. "Last month you were two weeks late. If I don't see a transfer by tomorrow, I'm changing the locks. Figure it out."
"…I know," Daniel said.
The call ended.
The next second, an engine growled across the street.
A black sports car rolled up and stopped in front of him, polished so clean it could almost reflect his face—along with his wrinkled old suit, which somehow looked unfamiliar even to him.
The window slid down.
"Yo. Is that Daniel?"
The voice was way too familiar.
Kevin.
His college roommate.
Only son of a real estate family. After graduation, he'd gone straight into the family company.
Kevin's gaze lingered on Daniel for a few seconds, from the frayed wear at his suit elbows to the scuffed dress shoes that had long since lost their shine.
"How've you been?" Kevin smiled. "Still… selling insurance?"
Daniel nodded.
"Man…" Kevin let out a soft sigh, but there wasn't much sympathy in it. "Didn't you used to talk about doing big things? Your GPA was insane. And I heard you were, like, top ten in some game, some kind of hardcore ranked player."
He shrugged.
"Looks like you took a wrong turn somewhere."
The passenger door opened.
A woman in a bright, short skirt stepped out in high heels.
She only needed one glance at Daniel to recognize him.
"Is that Daniel?" she laughed. "You still… wearing that?"
"Lily," Daniel said quietly.
They'd been together for three years.
Lived together. Had a dog. Grocery runs, Netflix nights, Thanksgiving trips to each other's hometowns.
"You really haven't changed at all." Lily tilted her head. "Remember when I told you to replace that suit? You know what you said?"
She mimicked his tone: "'As long as it's comfortable, it doesn't matter what people think.'"
She smiled, her eyes pausing on him for a beat. "Honestly? It suits you. Like, really suits you."
Kevin laughed out loud. "He's still selling insurance."
Lily shook her head, her voice light—like she was flipping through an old bill.
"I must've been blind, staying with you in that basement apartment for three years."
"Frozen pizza. Convenience store microwave meals. And you always saying—'I can make money off this game. Once my startup works out, everything will be different.'"
She leaned against the car door, the corner of her mouth lifting.
"I should've walked away a long time ago."