Lily's apartment smelled like burned garlic.
Marcus stood in the doorway at 7:03 PM, holding a bottle of wine he'd grabbed from a corner store, listening to his sister swear creatively from the kitchen.
"Everything okay in there?"
"DON'T COME IN. I'M FIXING IT."
He came in anyway.
The kitchen was a disaster zone. Pots on every burner. Smoke coming from the oven. Lily standing in the middle of it all wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Cook" and an expression that said "Kill Me Now."
"I can't cook," she announced. "I thought I could. Turns out, I lied to both of us."
Marcus set down the wine. Opened the oven. Pulled out what might have once been chicken parmesan. Now it looked like charcoal with cheese.
"What were you trying to make?"
"Your favorite. From when Mom used to make it." Lily's voice got quiet. "I found her old recipe card. Thought it would be nice."
Something twisted in Marcus's chest.
Their mother had died five years ago. Six years ago? Time was confusing when you'd lived it twice.
"Lil, you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." She turned off the burners. Defeated. "I wanted to do something nice for you. You've been working so hard. I never see you anymore. I thought..."
She didn't finish.
Marcus looked at the disaster kitchen. At his sister's face. At the recipe card on the counter—their mother's handwriting, faded but still legible.
"Order pizza?" he suggested.
Lily laughed. Wet. Almost crying. "Yeah. Pizza sounds good."
They ate on her couch. Same spot as movie night. Except this time Lily wasn't laughing.
She picked at her pizza. Ate half a slice. Put it down.
"So," Marcus said. "What did you want to talk about?"
Lily took a breath. "I'm dropping out."
The words hit him like a truck.
"What?"
"Not permanently. Just for a semester. Maybe two." She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I need to work more. Save money. The scholarship covers tuition, but everything else... books, rent, food... Marcus, I'm drowning."
"How much do you need?"
"That's not—"
"How much, Lily?"
She finally looked at him. "You can't just throw money at this."
"Watch me. How much?"
"Marcus, you just started your job. You're building your career. I'm not going to—"
"LILY. How. Much."
She flinched. He'd raised his voice. Hadn't meant to.
Marcus forced himself to calm down. "Sorry. I just... tell me what you need."
"Two thousand a month would cover it. But that's insane. I can't ask you for—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering." Marcus pulled out his phone. Opened his banking app. "What's your account number?"
"I don't have it memorized—"
He stood. Walked to her desk. Found a checkbook. Wrote a check for $10,000.
Handed it to her.
Lily stared at it. "What the hell is this?"
"Rent and expenses. For five months. You're not dropping out."
"Marcus, I can't take this."
"Yes, you can."
"Where did you even get this kind of money?" She looked up at him. Suspicious. "Your sponsorship deal was good, but not $10,000 good."
"I signed a new contract today. Better terms."
"How much better?"
Marcus hesitated. Telling Lily he'd just signed a deal worth potentially millions felt obscene while she was stressing over two thousand dollars.
"Good enough that I can help my sister stay in school."
"Marcus—"
"Lily, please." He sat back down. "You're the only family I have. You think I'm going to let you drop out because of money? After everything?"
Her eyes got shiny. "You're such an idiot."
"Probably."
"A really sweet idiot."
"Don't spread that around. Bad for my reputation."
She hugged him. Tight. Like she was trying to squeeze out the truth.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll pay you back. I swear."
"Don't worry about it."
She pulled back. Wiped her eyes. "Okay. Okay. Now that I'm not having a crisis... how are YOU? Because you look terrible."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. You've lost weight. You've got dark circles. When's the last time you slept?"
Marcus thought about it. "What day is today?"
"Tuesday."
"Then... Sunday?"
"Marcus."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're running yourself into the ground." Lily grabbed his shoulders. "I know this gaming thing is important to you. I know you're driven. But you're going to burn out."
"I can handle it."
"Can you? Because from where I'm sitting, you look like someone sprinting toward a cliff."
Marcus wanted to tell her she was wrong.
Wanted to say he had everything under control.
But the truth was, he didn't know anymore.
The line between winning and surviving was getting blurry.
"I'll slow down," he lied.
Lily didn't believe him. He could tell. But she let it go.
They finished the pizza. Talked about her classes. Her friends. Normal things.
Marcus tried to be present. To listen. To be the brother she needed.
But part of his mind was already back in the game. Planning. Calculating. Running numbers.
He left at 10 PM.
Drove home with the check still in his wallet.
Lily hadn't cashed it. Probably wouldn't.
Stubborn. Just like him.
His phone buzzed. Message from David Park.
DAVID:Contract signed on our end. You're officially a NeuralTech partner. Welcome to the family.
Family.
Everyone kept using that word.
Marcus deleted the message.
The guild hall cost 50,000 gold.
In real money, that was about $5,000. A fortune to most players. Pocket change to Marcus after liquidating his dungeon loot.
He bought the largest available option. A fortress on Millbrook's northern edge. Stone walls. Training grounds. War room. Space for fifty players.
[GUILD ESTABLISHED: GHOST LEGION]
[GUILD MASTER: GHOST]
[OFFICERS: FROSTQUEEN, SHADOWSTRIKE, IRONHIDE, MERCY]
[MEMBERS: 5/50]
The notification appeared server-wide.
Within minutes, his inbox exploded.
2,847 guild applications.
Marcus deleted them all.
"You can't just delete applications without reading them," Isabella said. They were standing in the new guild hall. Empty except for the five of them.
"Watch me."
"Some of those people might be good."
"Some of them might be spies. Or drama magnets. Or incompetent." Marcus pulled up his recruiting criteria. "We're not building a community. We're building a weapon. Every person we add either makes us sharper or duller. I'm not interested in dull."
Mercy raised her hand. "Quick question. How do we know who's sharp?"
"We test them."
"With what?"
Marcus smiled. "The Trial."
The Trial was brutal.
Marcus posted the requirements on the forums:
GHOST LEGION RECRUITMENT - THE TRIAL
Requirements:
- Level 22+
- Solo clear of Blackwater Depths (Normal Mode)
- Submit video proof
- Time limit: 4 hours
- Top 10 times get interviews
The forums lost their minds.
"Solo clear? That's impossible."
"Ghost is trolling. Nobody can solo a 10-man dungeon."
"This is why nobody likes Ghost Legion. Elitist garbage."
Marcus didn't respond to any of it.
Just waited.
By Friday, seventeen players had submitted attempts.
Twelve had died. Their videos showed the moment they realized they'd bitten off more than they could chew.
Three had given up halfway through.
Two had actually completed it.
Marcus watched their videos three times each.
The first player—username Viper—was a ranger. Level 24. Cleared the dungeon in 3 hours, 47 minutes. Solid mechanics. Good positioning. A few mistakes, but overall competent.
The second player—Oracle—was a mage. Level 23. Cleared it in 3 hours, 12 minutes. Exceptional spell management. Creative solutions. One near-death that they clutched through sheer execution.
"These two," Marcus said, showing the team. "We interview them."
"Just two?" IronHide frowned. "We have space for ten more members."
"Quality over quantity. We'll keep recruiting. But we're not filling slots just to fill them."
"Crimson Vanguard has 287 members now," Mercy pointed out. "We have five. Seven if we take these two."
"Crimson Vanguard has 287 problems," Marcus countered. "More people means more drama. More opinions. More compromise. We move fast because we're small."
Shadowstrike nodded. "I like it. Elite unit. Quick decisions."
"Exactly."
Isabella looked less convinced. "What happens when we need to face them in a 20v20 guild war? They'll steamroll us with numbers."
"By the time guild wars unlock, we'll have more members. Carefully selected. Every one of them worth ten of theirs." Marcus closed the videos. "Trust the process."
"Your process got us killed in the fortress," Isabella said quietly.
The room went silent.
Marcus turned to her. "Say that again."
"Your process. Your plan. It got IronHide and Shadowstrike killed. We won, but barely. And you never acknowledged that." Isabella's voice was steady. Not angry. Matter-of-fact. "You talk about efficiency and results. But results don't matter if your team dies getting them."
IronHide shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, I did die. It sucked."
"Death is part of progression," Marcus said. "You knew the risks."
"We knew the risks because we trusted you." Isabella stepped closer. "But trust goes both ways, Ghost. You need to trust us enough to admit when plans don't go perfectly."
"The plan worked. We got world first."
"At what cost?"
"Acceptable cost."
"To you. Not to us." Isabella crossed her arms. "I'm not trying to start a fight. I'm trying to tell you that if you keep treating us like game pieces instead of people, this team's going to fall apart."
Marcus felt something cold settle in his stomach.
She was right.
He knew she was right.
But admitting it felt like weakness.
"Noted," he said. "Anything else?"
Isabella stared at him. Disappointment flickered across her face.
"No. That's all."
She logged out.
The remaining three exchanged glances.
"She's not wrong," Mercy said carefully. "You are kind of... intense."
"Intense gets results."
"Intense also burns people out." Mercy shrugged. "Just something to think about."
She logged out too.
IronHide and Shadowstrike remained.
"You good, boss?" IronHide asked.
Marcus almost laughed. Boss. Like this was a job. Not a team.
Maybe that's all it was to him.
"I'm fine. Interview the two recruits tomorrow. Let me know how they do."
"You're not doing the interviews?"
"You are. I trust your judgment."
That was a lie. He trusted his own judgment. But he needed to delegate. Couldn't micromanage everything.
Even if he wanted to.
Marcus logged out.
Sat in his dark apartment.
Thought about what Isabella said.
Treating people like game pieces.
In his first life, that's what Ethan had done to him. Used him. Extracted value. Discarded him when convenient.
Marcus was doing the same thing.
Just more efficiently.
His phone buzzed.
Message from an unknown number:
"We should talk. - EC"
Ethan Cross.
Marcus stared at the message.
How did Ethan get his number?
Didn't matter. He blocked it.
Another message came through. Different number.
"I know you'll block this too. But hear me out. I'm not your enemy. We want the same things. We can help each other. Check your email."
Marcus opened his email.
One new message. From: [email protected]
Subject: Partnership Opportunity
Ghost,
I know we got off on the wrong foot. My fault. I was defensive. Competitive. Probably came across as an asshole.
But here's the thing: we're both building something. You've got a small, elite team. I've got a large, organized guild. We're not competing—we're operating in different spaces.
What if we worked together?
Crimson Vanguard needs strategic leadership for raids. You need numbers for large-scale content. We could form an alliance. Share resources. Support each other's growth.
I'm not asking you to join us. I'm asking if we can be partners instead of rivals.
Think about it. No pressure. But the offer's genuine.
- Ethan
Marcus read it three times.
Every word was perfect. Reasonable. Strategic.
Everything Ethan did was calculated. This was no different.
An alliance? With the man who'd destroyed him?
The irony was suffocating.
Marcus hit reply.
Typed: No.
Stared at it.
Deleted it.
Typed: I'll think about it.
Deleted that too.
Finally: Not interested. But thanks for the offer.
Professional. Distant. Final.
He hit send.
Thirty seconds later, Ethan replied.
"Understood. Door's always open if you change your mind. See you in-game. - E"
Marcus closed the email.
Stood. Paced his apartment.
Ethan was making moves. Building narratives. Positioning himself as the reasonable one.
And Marcus was the cold, antisocial strategist who rejected collaboration.
The community would eat it up.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was Sarah Chen.
He answered.
"Marcus. Have you seen the forums?"
"No. Why?"
"Ethan posted about reaching out to you for an alliance. Said you turned him down."
Marcus's blood went cold. "He posted what?"
"Check the forums. Now."
Marcus opened his laptop. Navigated to the Eternal Dominion subreddit.
Top post. 47,000 upvotes in three hours.
"I reached out to Ghost about partnering. He said no. And that's okay."
Ethan's post was masterful.
Hey everyone. Wanted to address something before rumors start.
I sent Ghost a message today. Asked if Ghost Legion and Crimson Vanguard could work together. Share strategies. Support each other's content. Help the community grow.
He declined. And that's totally his right.
Different players have different philosophies. Ghost wants a small, elite team. I want a large, inclusive community. Neither approach is wrong. Just different.
But I want to be clear: I have nothing but respect for Ghost and his team. What they've accomplished is incredible. I hope we can at least be friendly competitors.
To Ghost, if you're reading this: the door's always open. No hard feelings.
To everyone else: please don't turn this into drama. We're all here to have fun and play a game we love.
Let's keep it positive.
- Crusader
The comments were predictably split.
"Ethan is so mature about this. Ghost should've accepted."
"Ghost doesn't owe anyone a partnership. Respect his choice."
"This is why Crimson Vanguard is better. They actually care about community."
"Ghost doesn't need charity from Ethan lol. He's doing fine solo."
Marcus slammed the laptop shut.
"He played me," Marcus said into the phone.
"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "He did. Sent you a private message, then made it public. Now you look like the bad guy for refusing."
"What do I do?"
"Nothing. Responding gives him more attention. Let it die."
"And if it doesn't die?"
"Then you win so hard it doesn't matter what people say." Sarah paused. "Marcus, this is politics now. You're good at the game. But Ethan's good at people. You need to decide which battle you're fighting."
Marcus hung up.
Sat in the darkness.
Ethan had made him look petty. Small. Antisocial.
And the worst part?
He'd done it by being reasonable.
Marcus's phone buzzed one more time.
Message from Isabella:
FrostQueen:Saw Ethan's post. You okay?
Marcus stared at the message.
He could ignore it. Maintain distance.
Or he could be honest.
Ghost:No. Not really.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
FrostQueen:Want to talk?
Ghost:Not about this. About what you said earlier. You were right.
FrostQueen:About what?
Ghost:Everything.
Long pause.
FrostQueen:Meet me in-game tomorrow. 10 AM. Let's figure this out.
Ghost:Okay.
Marcus set his phone down.
Looked at his reflection in the black laptop screen.
The ghost staring back looked tired.
Looked isolated.
Looked like someone who'd won every battle but was losing the war.
Isabella was right. Lily was right. Even Mercy was right.
He was treating people like tools. Like pieces on a board.
Just like Ethan had treated him.
The realization hurt.
Marcus stood. Walked to his window. Looked out at the city lights.
Five years ago—in his first life—he'd stood at this same window and dreamed of building something great.
Then Ethan had stolen it.
Now Marcus was rebuilding. Faster. Stronger. Better.
But if he became Ethan in the process, what was the point?
His phone buzzed with a calendar reminder.
NeuralTech Meeting - Monday 9 AM
Topic: Expanded Partnership Discussion
The money was coming. The fame was growing. The wins were stacking up.
But Marcus had never felt more alone.
He went to bed at 2 AM.
Dreamed of burning bridges.
Woke up at 6 to a notification.
[CRIMSON VANGUARD HAS CHALLENGED GHOST LEGION TO A GUILD DUEL]
[ACCEPT OR DECLINE?]
[STAKES: 100,000 GOLD + PRIDE]
Marcus stared at the notification.
Ethan was forcing his hand.
Publicly challenging him. Making it impossible to decline without looking weak.
Marcus checked the details.
5v5 match. Next Saturday. Arena combat. Winner takes all.
His team versus Ethan's best five.
National stream. Thousands of viewers.
The ultimate showdown.
Marcus smiled.
Finally.
[CHALLENGE ACCEPTED]
Game on.