The air in the penthouse was as cold and sterile as the termination contract in Jason Henry's hand.
He sat on a sterile white leather sofa that felt more like a block of ice than a piece of furniture.
"Outside, the vast neon-lit Sterling Metro sparkled, a 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 mind that could orchestrate victories for armies of tens of thousands with the flick of a wrist.
Under his guidance, [Vanguard] had established five virtual metropolises, generating billions in revenue.
Then came the shark. Marcus Thorne, the CEO of the soulless conglomerate Umbra Capitals, had initiated a hostile takeover.
Jason had fought it tooth and nail, arguing that merging with Umbra would destroy the spirit of [Vanguard], turning their passionate community into a corporate asset to be squeezed dry.
The next day, he was summoned to this penthouse.
Thorne, a man with a smile as sharp and predatory as a piranha's, had slid the contract across the polished obsidian table.
This wasn't just the end of a contract, it was the end of a career.
They had framed him, leaking falsified data logs that painted him as a corporate spy.
The contract came with a non-disclosure agreement and a gag order, along with a severance of 5,000,000 Credits and ownership of this very penthouse.
A token sum to silence the man who had built an empire, crafted to make him a pariah in the industry he loved.
The final, crushing moment was having to log in himself and erase his Level 200 Blademaster — the result of 36,500 hours of hard work, passion, and sleepless, caffeine-driven nights.
To be thrown away like trash after all I've done… Jason whispered, his voice cracking.
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 rebuild, not for vengeance, but to prove that a world built on passion could never be truly owned by men who only understood profit.
He tore the contract in half, then again, and again, letting the pieces drift down like dead leaves.
He matched over to the wet bar, grabbing a bottle of premium Scotch and a bottle of sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet.
A reckless, desperate cocktail for a broken man.
He swallowed a handful of pills, washing them down with a long, burning swig from the bottle. Outside, the city lights blurred into a hazy smear, then everything faded to black
JASON! WAKE UP, YOU LAZY BUM! RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPING UGLY!
A voice, as piercing as a foghorn, tore through the thick mental fog that clouded his thoughts.
Someone was shaking him violently.
Jason let out a low groan, his head aching with the weight of a severe hangover.
He slapped a hand out, trying to push the annoyance away.
"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 swam into a blurry, unfamiliar focus.
This wasn't the cold, sterile penthouse.
This was… a disaster zone.
A tiny, 15-square-meter room, barely big enough for the uneven single bed he was lying in.
The walls were covered in faded posters of decade-old action movies.
A clunky, beige CRT monitor sat on a cheap particleboard desk, next to stacks of books on game design and programming.
The air smelled of stale instant noodles and youthful neglect.
Standing over him was a young man with a wide, goofy grin and a mop of unruly black hair.
Jay Antonio.
His best friend.
But he looked… younger. So much younger, without the faint lines of stress and worry that had etched themselves around his eyes over the years.
What… what are you doing here? Jason croaked, pushing himself up. His body felt light, wiry, and unfamiliar.
"What am I doing here? I'm here to drag your sorry butt to the university recruitment drive!"Jay said, tossing a crumpled flyer onto Jason's chest.
The logo was garish, a stylized 'V' with a sword through it.
[Vanguard] Syndicate. They're setting up a booth today! This is our chance, man! To go 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 squinted at him, then sniffed the air.
"Dude, have you been drinking already? It's 8 AM.
We talked about this last night, remember? We were gonna ace the interviews and get them to sponsor our Neuro-Link Helmets!"
Jason's eyes darted around the room.
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 scrambled out of bed and stumbled towards the wardrobe, yanking the door open.
The mirror on the inside showed a stranger he hadn't seen in ten years.
A skinny kid of twenty, with sharp features, a stubborn jaw, and eyes that burned with a fierce, unjaded fire.
It was him.
He had gone back in time. Ten years into the past.
The memories came flooding back.
This cramped, messy room was his dorm during university.
The flyer was for the first-ever recruitment drive [Vanguard] held.
He remembered the crushing weight of his family's debt, the loans they had taken out so he could get an education he felt he'd wasted chasing a dream.
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.