Yes—in this world, you can do anything you want. Breath of the Wild doesn't even give you a clear, specific direction. Even if you never rescue the princess at all, it's totally fine.
So, was there really any reason for Davidson to tell his nephew how he should be playing?
After all, even he had forgotten the ga's main storyline, happily lost in a world of freedom and discovery.
Collecting Koroks had beco a part of his compulsive gar behavior—it bothered him if he didn't find all 999.
And that... was a perfect snapshot of how Davidson had been spending his ti with the Switch.
anwhile, in a quiet rural town sowhere in Europe, a bulletin posted in the town square caught Carson's attention.
It was a recruitnt flyer for esports players, calling for participants in events like CS:GO team matches, NBA 2K tournants, Need for Speed races, Mario Kart, Super Mario speedruns, and even multi-ga "gaming triathlons."
...
...
But the one that truly piqued his interest was the football simulation tournant. If selected, players would receive a salary of €100,000 per year, with extra bonuses for winning the European or even global championship.
Get paid to play gas? What could be better than that?
Carson had once been a notorious football hooligan—constantly getting into trouble. But that was a long ti ago. Lately, he'd started turning over a new leaf, and people had begun to take notice.
Once upon a ti, folks used to avoid him like the plague.
He credited all of this change to video gas.
In the past, his life was idle and aimless. He'd do part-ti jobs just to scrape together enough money for food. No ambition, no plans. Marriage wasn't even on his radar. He spent his days drinking, gambling, hanging out with shady friends, or yelling at the TV in bars during football matches. And if his team lost? He'd pick fights with rival supporters in the streets.
He figured that was how his life would go forever.
Then he discovered video gas.
For the first ti, he wanted sothing more.
At first, he just wanted to play. Then, he wanted to own his own console. Then, he wanted a space where he could play in peace.
Now? He worked regularly, ca ho on ti, and kicked back on the comfy new couch he bought himself, playing the latest football sims.
He loved this new life.
Recently, he'd even beco a local legend at the bar—as a video ga football player, that is.
Nobody in the town could beat him.
Over ti though, he started to get a little bored. Only when a new ga launched did he feel a spark again.
He'd just saved up enough to buy a Switch, and was blown away by the ability to play near-console-quality football gas on a handheld, anywhere and anyti.
Even during work breaks, he could sneak in a quick match—and that's how he t his best friend, and even... his girlfriend.
Sothing he once thought was impossible.
Just as boredom started creeping in again, that esports recruitnt poster reignited his fire.
"We invite all passionate gars to join us and beco professional esports athletes! Sign up at: *** Street, No. ***"
Without hesitation, Carson tore the flyer from the board and sprinted ho.
"Debbie! Debbie! I've got sothing to tell you!"
He burst through the door, still wearing his shoes, waving the flyer in his hand, breathless with excitent.
His girlfriend was in the middle of a ga, her eyes locked on the screen, controller in hand.
"Carson, move! You're blocking the TV!" she shouted.
"Ah—sorry!"
"There's food in the microwave. I made it earlier. Go eat, I'll join you after I finish this round."
Carson looked over and saw she was playing Titanfall.
His girlfriend, Debbie, was a massive FPS fan. That shared love for gas was what brought them together. They understood each other's passions. There were no fights over hobbies. That was one of the things Carson loved most about her. Looks didn't even matter anymore.
Debbie was obsessed with Titanfall ranked matches. If Carson ever dared interrupt her mid-ga, she could body-slam him in real life—sothing he had experienced before.
So, he didn't interrupt. He quietly reheated his food and sat on the couch beside her, patiently waiting while she finished the match.
On screen, Debbie's Pilot zipped through the battlefield like a blur—jumping, wall-running, gunning down enemies in a flash. In their small town, she was a known Titanfall star. Even in Europe-wide leaderboards, her na held weight.
A few minutes later, she finished the round, pleased with her score. She set the controller down, satisfied.
"You must be starving. Here, eat sothing." Carson, ever the attentive boyfriend, handed her a piece of cheese.
She took a bite. "Right, you were going to tell sothing?"
"Oh—yeah, this!"
He pulled the folded flyer from his pocket and smoothed it out on the table for her to read.
As she examined it, Carson explained:"I've been thinking a lot since I saw this. Working odd jobs around town every day... it's starting to feel really dull. I want to see more of the world. And if I can make it in this role, the pay's amazing. We might even be able to buy our own place soday..."
Debbie looked up at him seriously. "Carson... are you being serious?"
"I am. I want to give it a shot. Even if it doesn't work out, it could still be a fun trip, right?"
Debbie frowned. "But we don't have much money."
Carson responded without hesitation, "I'll take on a second job—maybe even a third. I did the math. The event's a month away. If I hustle, I can save up €5,000. That's enough to cover travel costs and still be a decent ergency fund. What do you think?"
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