The fluorescent lights of SuprMart buzzed like drowsy insects, their harsh glare reflecting off linoleum floors worn dull by years of foot traffic. Aiden's eyelids felt weighted as he scanned a customer's cereal box, the beep of the register syncing with the throbbing in his temples. Saturday shift. Three hours of sleep after the hospital visit, then straight to work. His fingers moved on autopilot, but his mind lingered on Lily's words: "Eternal Realms could change everything."
"Hey, kid! This expired yesterday!" A man slammed a yogurt cup on the counter, flecks of strawberry spattering the conveyor belt.
Aiden blinked, dragging himself back to the present. The date on the container was indeed smudged, the ink bleeding from condensation. "Apologies, sir. Let me fetch a fresh one." He moved stiffly, his muscles protesting the all-night gaming followed by a day of shifts. The chill of the refrigerated aisle bit through his thin uniform shirt, sharpening his senses momentarily.
This is the cost, he thought, swapping the yogurt. The Saturday double shift had cost him a playing time, but the $58.50 income was insurance against a bad night at the café. Still, the math gnawed at him: The $58.50 from today's shift would barely cover groceries for the week. Even with his 2,140 gold from gaming ($214 in real money), he was still short on next month's rent and far from making a dent in the $1,240 hospital bill. Safe wages vs. high-risk, high-reward bets. Basic survival vs. the chance for something more.
The rest of his shift dragged, each beep of the scanner a countdown to freedom. By the time he clocked out, dusk had cloaked the city, the air sharp with the promise of night. Aiden boarded the bus to the Golden Mouse, the $58.50 in his pocket a small victory, but not enough to silence Lily's voice in his head. Eternal Realms. A game where skill could rewrite their future—if he could find a way in.
...
The café was alive when he arrived, monitors casting blue light over sweating cans of energy drinks and crumpled ramen packets. Aiden slid into seat 23, the worn chair a familiar ally. Logging into League of the Ancient, he checked his balance: 1,890 gold, hard-earned from Elena's challenge last night. Her skill had been a wake-up call, proof that the café's stakes were rising. He couldn't afford to coast.
Marcus was at station 17, his tank build dominating a 1v1 match. Aiden pinged him:
[Architect]: Good night?
[FortressWall]: Solid. You in for a team-up?
Aiden nodded to himself, accepting a solo duel to loosen up. His battlemage danced through Arena 3, dismantling a flashy mage with precise counters.
[System]:Victory! 50 gold transferred. Current Balance: 1940 gold
The win was clean, but his eyes kept drifting to the café's edges, where shadows moved between stations.
"Yo," Marcus said, leaning over after his own match ended. "You notice that guy in the corner? Terminal 12, hood up. Been eyeballing us all night."
Aiden glanced over, careful not to stare. A lean figure hunched at the far station, screen tilted just enough to hide his game. Liam. The café's phantom, always playing assassins, his builds as elusive as his presence. Aiden had seen him win bets with surgical precision, never drawing attention.
"Scouting, probably," Aiden said, voice low. "He's sharp. Stays off everyone's radar."
"Too sharp." Marcus's tone was hard. "I caught him using my anchor stance in a match last week. Exact same timing, same follow-up. Won him 150 gold."
Aiden's fingers stilled on the keyboard. He pulled up Liam's match history, cross-referencing it with their own. The pattern was unmistakable—four of Liam's recent wins echoed their tactics: Aiden's terrain traps, Marcus's defensive feints, even the low-mana combos Aiden had honed.
"Liam's been ripping us off," Aiden said, his voice clipped. "He's copying our builds, move for move."
Marcus's jaw tightened. "That's our work he's profiting from."
Aiden's mind raced, mapping the situation like a game board. Liam was no amateur—his assassin builds were lean, deadly, optimized for small, consistent bets. Copying their strategies gave him an edge, but it also meant he was stepping on their turf. The café's betting scene was a shark tank; there wasn't room for both of them to hunt the same prey.
"Let's handle it," Marcus said, already half-standing.
"Hold up," Aiden said, his tone steady. "We don't rush in blind. Let's see what he's playing."
They queued for a 2v2 match, picking opponents who favored early aggression—a perfect stage for Marcus's signature shield-wall setup. Aiden signaled him to bait the charge, letting their enemies overcommit. Marcus's Rising Bulwark caught them mid-strike, and Aiden's arcane chain sealed the deal, health bars dropping like stones.
[System]:Victory! 200 gold transferred. Current Balance: 2140 gold
As the crowd murmured approval, Aiden's eyes flicked to terminal 12. Liam's screen was dim, but his gaze was locked on them, sharp and unreadable beneath his hood.
"He got the whole show," Marcus said, standing. "Time to talk."
Aiden followed, the café's noise fading as they crossed the room. Heads turned, sensing tension, but no one intervened. Liam didn't move, leaning back in his chair, hands resting lightly on the desk like he'd been waiting.
"Architect. FortressWall," he said, voice soft but clear. "Something on your mind?"
"You've been studying us," Aiden said, keeping his tone level. "My traps, Marcus's stances. You're winning bets with our plays."
Liam's eyes flicked between them, calculating. "Game's open source. I see what works, I use it. No rule against learning."
"There's a rule against stealing," Marcus snapped, his bulk looming. "That's our grind you're cashing in on."
Liam raised his hands, palms out, a gesture of peace. "Not stealing. Adapting. I'm not here to flex—I'm here to survive. You know how it is."
Aiden studied him—wiry, scarred, with the guarded look of someone who'd scraped by too long. The café's bets were brutal for solo players, small wins barely covering rent. Liam's gear was secondhand, his setup patched together. Aiden recognized the hunger, the same drive that kept him up nights.
"Why our moves?" Aiden asked, probing. "You're good enough to make your own."
Liam's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Because you're better. You don't just win—you break the game down, rebuild it your way. I'm not proud, man. I take what I can get to keep the lights on."
Marcus's fists unclenched slightly, his anger cooling. "You're cutting into our bets. We can't all fish the same pond."
Aiden checked Liam's match logs on his phone—clean, no overlap with their opponents. "He's right," he said to Marcus. "He's picking different targets. Staying clear of our marks."
"Still ain't cool," Marcus muttered, but the edge was gone.
Aiden weighed the play. Liam was a wildcard—slippery, independent—but his skills could fill gaps in their lineup. With Eternal Realms whispers growing, a team was starting to feel less like a luxury and more like a necessity. Burning Liam now would cost them; redirecting him could pay off.
"Here's how it goes," Aiden said, locking eyes with Liam. "You stop copying our tactics. You want in on our game, you run with us, not behind us. We've got bigger matches coming—team bets, high stakes. You pull your weight, we split fair."
Liam's brows rose, surprise breaking his mask. "You're serious? A crew?"
"Tryout," Aiden corrected. "One match, one chance. You ghost us, or compete against us, we're done."
Marcus shot Aiden a skeptical glance, but didn't argue. Liam's gaze darted between them, weighing the offer against his instincts.
"Alright," Liam said finally, nodding once. "I'm in, for the next team match. No tricks."
"Don't make me regret this," Aiden said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Show up ready."
As they walked back to their stations, Marcus muttered, "You sure about this guy? He's all angles."
"He's surviving," Aiden replied, thinking of his own late nights, the hospital bills stacked on their counter. "Like us. We give him a shot, he might surprise you."
The café roared back to life, bets flying, screens blazing. Aiden glanced at terminal 12—Liam was already in a new match, his assassin darting across the screen. Not an ally yet, but a step toward something bigger.
The Saturday shift had grounded him, kept the lights on, but tonight's move felt like laying a cornerstone. Lily's voice echoed—Eternal Realms could change everything—and with Marcus's loyalty and Liam's tentative pact, Aiden sensed a framework taking shape. Not just for another week's rent, but for a future he could build.
He cracked his knuckles and queued another match, the screen's glow pulling him back in. One fight at a time, he'd architect their way forward.