Ethan woke up on a bright, chilly morning, the kind that feels full of possibilities, and decided to put the mystery aside. He had a job to go to.
A real, tangible responsibility that didn’t involve S-Rank potentials or secret societies.
He was cycling on his usual route to CostMart, lost in thought, when a cheerful voice cut through his ntal fog.
"Morning, gaffer. You’re looking very serious. Plotting the downfall of my S-Rank Maestro already?"
He looked up to see Maya jogging towards him from a side street, a bright, easy smile on her face.
She was wearing running gear, her dark curls bouncing in a high ponytail. She fell into step beside his slowly moving bike.
"Sothing like that," he said, a genuine smile breaking through his glum mood for the first ti that day. "Mostly just plotting how to survive another shift with Mr. Henderson."
"Ah, the final boss of the dairy aisle," she said with a laugh. "I heard about your incident with the Pringles. You’re a legend in the staff room now. They’re calling you ’The Domino’. As in, one push and everything falls down."
Ethan groaned, his face turning a little red.
"It wasn’t my fault! The cart had a mind of its own!"
"Of course it did," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusent. "So, what’s really on your mind? You look like your team just lost a derby on a 93rd-minute own goal."
"Worse," he said, and the words just tumbled out.
He told her about GridironGuru’s ssage. He told her about the post-match interview. He told her about Liam.
She listened patiently, her playful expression softening into one of thoughtful sympathy as he spoke.
"Wow," she said when he finished.
"That’s... a lot."
"Tell about it," he sighed. "Leo thinks he’s a double agent. I just think... I don’t know what I think. It feels like a betrayal."
"Maybe," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Or maybe he’s just a kid in a hospital bed who got an offer he couldn’t refuse. GridironGuru is a big deal, Ethan. In the FCG world, he’s like a celebrity. Maybe Liam was just star-struck and made a stupid, short-sighted decision. It doesn’t necessarily an he’s a bad friend."
Her pragmatic, level-headed take was a refreshing change from Leo’s wild conspiracy theories.
It didn’t make the hurt go away, but it made it feel a little less like a grand betrayal and more like a simple, human mistake.
"Maybe," he conceded.
They had reached the edge of the CostMart parking lot.
The giant, soulless red building lood before them. Ethan slowed his bike to a stop.
"Well," he said. "Ti to go face the cheese."
Maya stopped beside him, a strange, brilliant glint in her eye. "Or..." she began, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "New plan. You’re not going to work today."
Ethan stared at her. "What? I can’t just not go to work! Mr. Henderson will fire for real this ti! There’s a mountain of brie that needs facing-up!"
"Let the brie face itself up for one day," she said, her smile turning into a mischievous grin.
"Live a little, Couch. I have sothing to show you. Sothing important. FCG-related. And it’s way more interesting than the price of cheddar."
The magic words. FCG-related. The logical, responsible part of his brain, the part that had promised his dad he would step up, was screaming at him to get to work. But the other part, the part that had just survived a nine-man miracle and stared down a Premier League manager, was screaming much, much louder.
"My great-aunt," he said, already pulling out his phone. "She’s... had a relapse."
Maya just laughed, a bright, delighted sound.
He dialed the number for the store, his heart pounding with the thrill of his own rebellion.
"Mr. Henderson? It’s Ethan Couch... Yeah, I know I’m not late... Listen, I am so sorry, but a family ergency has just co up... My great-aunt, the one who loves pickles... Yeah, it’s taken a turn for the worse... I have to go. I’m really sorry."
He hung up, a huge, guilty grin on his face. "Okay," he said, turning to Maya.
"I have approximately two hours before my dad gets a call from a very grumpy manager wanting to know about my pickle-loving great-aunt’s sudden decline. What’s so important?"
"Co on," she said, her eyes sparkling.
"I’ll show you."
She led him away from the main road, into a part of town he had never been in before.
The houses grew larger, set back from the road behind manicured hedges and imposing iron gates.
It was a world of quiet, old money, a universe away from his own noisy, friendly neighborhood.
She stopped in front of a particularly large set of gates, pressed a button on a small, discreet intercom, and the gates swung open silently.
They walked up a long, sweeping driveway that led to a stunning, modern house made of glass, steel, and dark wood.
Ethan’s jaw dropped.
"This... this is your house?" he stamred.
"Ho sweet ho," she said with a casual shrug, as if she lived in a shoebox.
He followed her through the front door into a bright, airy entrance hall with a ceiling so high it seed to touch the sky.
The inside was as impressive as the outside, filled with modern art and cool, minimalist furniture, but it still felt warm and lived-in.
"My parents are in London for the week," she explained, leading him through a massive, open-plan living room. "So we have the place to ourselves."
She led him down a hallway to a simple, unassuming wooden door. "My brother, the beta tester," she began, her hand on the doorknob.
"He was one of the first people ever to get a pod. It wasn’t a prize from a contest. It was a prototype. And his setup... it was a little different from ours."
She pushed the door open.
The room inside was not a bedroom.
It was a command center.
Three massive, wall-mounted monitors displayed a constant, scrolling stream of code and data.
A rack of humming servers stood in one corner. And in the center of the room, instead of a sleek, white bed, was a single, black, industrial-looking pod, connected to the surrounding hardware by a thick nest of cables.
Ethan just stood there, speechless, his mind trying to process what he was seeing.
This wasn’t a consur product. This was a server room. A nerve center.
"This isn’t just a gaming room, Ethan," Maya said, her voice a low, excited whisper as she walked over to the main monitor.
"This is a back door."
She typed a few commands, and the screen of scrolling code was replaced by a familiar interface: the FCG league table.
But it was different. It wasn’t just showing wins and losses. It was showing a live, real-ti data feed.
Player morale fluctuations, training intensity levels, even the current transfer budget of every single manager in their league.
"My brother," Maya said, her eyes gleaming with a shared, secret power, "didn’t just get a ga. He got a key."
She turned to face him, a brilliant, ga-changing smile on her face.
"And now, so do we."
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