Chapter 2: The Cost of a Gamble
"If you're scared of losing, you're not ready to win."
December 12th, 2045 – Tokyo, WattsUp
Night crept in along the edges of Shibuya, pressing cold against the foggy glass of the shop. The old city was restless, rain streaking neon across the windows, vending machines humming against the wall, tired men trudging under umbrellas through the sodium glow. The last salaryman had slipped out an hour ago.
Eren Tabuchi and his little crew, just Tomo and the butler, tonight, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of their voices and the faint stench of Eren's cologne.
Inside, it was all routine: lights off, register closed, the lavender incense on the counter smoldering to its last thread. Rin worked through muscle memory, his hands moving, but his mind was elsewhere.
Eren's words kept rattling inside his skull.
Clock's ticking, and you're running out of hours.
The memory of that look, the way Eren leaned over the counter, the smirk, the promise made Rin's jaw clench. He dropped his keys on the laminate and exhaled.
"Damn, I'm really letting Eren get to me… That's new."
The dry, bitter line just hung in the air; no one around to hear it but himself.
He knew it wasn't Chiyo's fault. She'd only ever tried to help with lowered rent, brought groceries, and checked on the kids when hospital nights ran long. Maybe one month or two, that might be all she could afford to buy him, to keep the apartment stable and keep the kids out of the worst of it.
She wasn't pushing; she was protecting everyone else, and Rin got it. That was what grown-ups did. He just wished he didn't feel like the kid stuck with a grown-up's mess.
He locked the doors with a final click, feeling the cold push in against his neck as the last lights dimmed behind him. The city outside wasn't asleep, not Tokyo, not ever. Shibuya's midnight was a living thing: digital billboards still blinking above the station, a fleet of electric buses rumbling through puddles, the air full of J-pop fragments and the low, rainy drone of traffic.
He pulled on his old navy bomber, the fabric stiff from too many winter nights. OGK helmet in hand, scuffed, sure, but never neglected, he checked the visor, wiped away a smudge, and popped it on. His scooter waited under the blue-green WattsUp sign: a ten-year-old Haya e-Beat, still spotless and proud, its battery charged for the ride. The only thing his dad ever left that he hadn't had to sell.
"DADs Haya e-Beat battery is still holding a charge ten years later… Wonder if he'd laugh knowing this is all I kept." Rin thought to himself.
Rin thumbed the unlock, the scooter's lights flaring up. Battery at 85%. Good enough to make it home and maybe get a little lost along the way.
He swung a leg over, boots scraping the wet curb, and slid the key in. The dashboard flickered to life, a soft digital chime, his dad's old "lucky" sticker (a faded, gold Daruma) peeking out from under the speedometer. The bike purred in silence. No engine growl, just the faint, high whir of a good battery and a machine that wanted to last.
He grinned at the thought.
It doesn't matter how old you are, if you keep running. Right, old man?
He let the words float out into the empty street.
He took a slow breath, feeling the crisp air cut through the last of the shop's incense, then zipped his jacket up to his chin. Gloved hands on the bars, he nudged the bike off its stand and drifted into the stream of Shibuya's late-night world.
The city was alive, even now. Stoplights blinked red on the main drag, their reflections bleeding into the oily puddles at every intersection. Taxis prowled the crosswalks, hunting for fares, every empty sign glowing blue. On the corner, two university girls in oversized coats laughed under the combini's awning, trading gossip and Loop videos, their laughter piercing the drone of distant music.
As Rin idled at a stop sign, a wave of sweet-and-spicy air rolled out of a yakitori stall. His stomach growled.
Not tonight. Gotta save every yen. Got mouths to feed before myself. Next paycheck, maybe.
He watched a salaryman, drunk, tie loose, umbrella forgotten, stumble past, the man's face lit up by the screen of his phone, a flicker of digital headlines about HGO's expansion bouncing off rain-soaked cheeks.
He kicked off, merging into the trickle of traffic. The Haya hummed beneath him, battery steady, rain slicking across his visor. Every so often, the city would flicker, LED shop signs buzzing, a stray delivery drone zipping overhead, the scent of fried noodles or cigarette smoke thick at every turn.
He steered past Shibuya Tower, the big digital billboards on the facade looping the same ad:
HERO'S GLORY ONLINE
"OPEN YOUR WORLD"
The expansion's golden bear mascot spun in a holographic loop, waving a cartoon flag.
The Grid is Open! January 1. New worlds, new lives. Bring your business here!
Rin snorted under his helmet.
"Yeah, bring your business here. Guy better be paying more than the damn corner store. I'm making less than a thousand yen an hour, and he wants to save the world? Sure. Put my tab on his account." He mumbled
He let the sarcasm ground him, the tension easing a little as he wove between a mini-truck and a neon-lit ramen cart. Shibuya's streetlife pulsed: college students bickering over who'd foot the bill, a trio of delivery bikes weaving through the lanes, headlights flashing in the drizzle.
Wind caught the edge of his helmet, tugging at the loose strap. He tightened it, letting the bite of the air keep him sharp. Rain started to pick up a delicate, stinging mist blown sideways by city gusts. He flicked on the visor's wiper, the rhythmic click-click-click keeping time with his heart.
His comms beeped, sending a notification through the helmet's basic speaker system.
[Loop Radio Live: HGO Expansion Osaka Blue Nova Falls]
He thumbed the dial, letting the host's voice bleed in. It was the same host from the finals: bright, unflappable, just a little too hyped for 2 a.m.
"…with London Spire taking the Winter Championship, it's official: the global scene just shifted. Osaka Blue Nova will have to rebuild from scratch for the new 5v5v5 format, and yes, you heard it here first, pro teams are already trading contracts. Expansion keys went on sale an hour ago, and we're seeing record traffic. If you're on Loop, tag us what's your New Year's resolution for HGO? Who's making the move to Eldora's open world?"
A burst of music: poppy, glitchy, electric, cutting through the drone of the city. Rin grinned at the cheesiness, tapping his gloved fingers on the bars.
If Eren can make it in Hero's Glory… Hell, I know I can at least break bronze. And if I can wipe that smug look off his face, even just once, maybe it'll be worth it. Who knows, perhaps I really am just that crazy.
The traffic lights changed. He pushed on, weaving past a stalled taxi, rain scattering off his tires. The world seemed to fold in: lights, voices, wind, every sensation sharp and raw. He could feel the ache in his legs from the long shift, the tension in his shoulders, the slow burn of hunger and nerves fighting for space.
He passed under the JR tracks, train bells ringing above a Yamanote line car shot by, yellow windows flickering through the mist. Rin slowed, waiting for a late-night crossing guard to wave him through.
He watched people. That was his secret power, not fighting, not grinding, just watching. Noticed things:
The way the ramen shop owner always swapped out the sign at 1:30, hand-lettered, hopeful
The old man who swept the sidewalk in front of the manga store, no matter the rain
The couple in matching hoodies arguing gently over which capsule hotel to try for the night
Every one of them living in a city that didn't know he existed, didn't care if he vanished. He felt the urge to laugh absurdly, really all this struggle for a sliver of Tokyo.
He pulled out of Shibuya's maze, following the slow curve toward Shinjuku. The roads widened, traffic was a little faster, and more taxi clusters prowled for tourists. Rain ran down the big LED billboards, turning ad girls into streaks of pink and gold.
His comms blipped again. Another HGO ad, this time, a quick interview clip:
"With the new Grid opening January 1, we're seeing a flood of new signups. Pro contracts are in flux, top teams scrambling to adapt. Can London Spire keep their crown? Who's moving from 3v3 to 5v5v5? If you're thinking of starting over, now's the time for legacy points, new builds, and for the first time, bring your business into the Grid."
He rolled his eyes.
"Legacy points, new builds… like I could afford the key if I wanted to this time…. But a Seven million yen in debt, Mom in the hospital, the twins and Chiyo barely keeping the lights on… and the best planned he had is get good at video games and hope for a miracle. Yeah. Real top-tier thinking, Kazehaya." He thought to himself.
He leaned into a left turn, tires skidding a little on the slick, blacktop. The scooter's battery dipped to 72%, a warning light was blinking, but he had plenty of charge left for the rest of the ride.
His mind drifted, again, to the HGO world.
"What if I did it? What if I actually took the gamble, bought the key, left the job, told Chiyo to keep the kids safe while I tried to win big or die trying? Was it stupid? Absolutely. Was it all I had left? Maybe."
He forced himself to pay attention, eyes scanning the curb, dodging a cluster of revelers outside a karaoke bar. Their voices were rough and happy, trailing out into the wet night. One girl, maybe college age, just perhaps brave, met his gaze and grinned, hair plastered to her forehead, mascara smeared. He smiled back, quick and automatic, before pulling away with the next wave of traffic.
If you're scared of losing, you're not ready to win. His old man's favorite quote hits at the back of his mind, nagging but accurate.
He threaded through a string of red lights, the city getting denser as he neared Shinjuku. Neon bled into the side streets, with shop signs in a hundred languages: Vietnamese, Tagalog, Thai, even Korean. Bistros with paper lanterns. The scent of fish and miso, fried dough and spice, all mixing into the wet air.
He turned onto his block, one of the quieter corners, a little hidden, but not poor. The apartment complex Chiyo owned stood behind a trimmed hedge and a low wall, an electronic gate shining faint blue. Security camera at the door, mailbox slots all in a row. Not fancy, but safe. The entrance chains kids' bikes, and a neighbor's cat is stalking something in the grass.
He cut the battery and let the quiet settle. Rain ticked on the awning, a steady, slight sound. He swung the scooter onto its stand, whir winding down to a hush.
For a minute, he just sat there, helmet in hand, head tipped back to let the rain cool his skin. The city's noise faded to a dull, soft pulse.
"What now, old man? What's my play? Nexus Enterprises acquired your old company, leveraging its first-gen pod patents to develop HGO's third-gen technology. They never sent us a thank-you note. Figures." Rin thought to himself
He looked up at the apartment windows; multiple lights were still on, possibly including his. He let out a breath.
He wasn't ready. Not really. But the only way to win was to play.
He grabbed his bag, slung it over one shoulder, and climbed the steps.
Tomorrow, he'd figure out the next gamble. Tonight, he just needed to be home.
2:45 a.m. Chiyo's Apartment Lobby, Shinjuku
Rin rolled the Haya e-Beat under the familiar awning, beads of midnight rain flicking off his helmet as he set the battery to rest. The street was quieter here. Shinjuku never truly slept, but Chiyo's building radiated its own soft hum of safety. A pale blue lobby light cut through the darkness, glass doors fogged with condensation, sheltering him from the city's damp chill.
As he slipped inside, the air changed instantly: the faint tang of citrus cleaning spray, polished floors, and a whisper of jasmine incense clinging to the walls. Someone's door was cracked, letting out a muted pulse of late-night J-pop, some idol group's chorus floating down the hallway.
Chiyo was at her post behind the battered front desk, tablet glowing in one hand, pen twirling absently in the other. Even at this hour, her presence filled the room, tall and broad-shouldered, hair in a silver braid, eyes sharp and kind all at once. Her hoodie hugged her frame in a way that said "retired athlete" more than "landlord," the outline of muscle and a natural bust visible even beneath the loose fabric. For all her toughness, she radiated warmth and grounded energy that made every returning tenant breathe a little easier.
She looked up at the soft click of Rin's boots on tile, eyebrow raised, mouth tugging toward a smile. "Well, well. The prodigal son returns." Her Kansai accent smoothed the words into a joke, but concern still hovered in her eyes.
Rin unbuckled his helmet, raking a hand through his damp hair. "Gave the city my best lap. Traffic's a mess out there." He forced a grin, the fatigue and tension still simmering just under his skin.
Chiyo nodded at the plastic bag hooked on his wrist. "You remembered the milk, at least. Points for effort."
He blinked, half-laughing in relief. "Didn't dare come back empty-handed. You'd have me cleaning the elevator for a month."
She snorted, setting her tablet aside. "Smart boy. Your mother used to do the same thing, run all over town, come home with everything but her own sanity. You're more alike than you realize."
Rin's smile faltered, eyes dropping. For a moment, the old ache of loss and the mess he'd inherited threatened to surface, but he shoved it down. "Still wish I was half as tough as she was."
"You are. Just got your father's stubborn streak on top of it," Chiyo said, the edge of her voice both teasing and real. She straightened up, stretching her arms overhead; the tank top rode up slightly, revealing a flash of a firm, flat belly beneath the hoodie, age and athleticism blending into a living reminder that some people refused to fade out.
She came around the desk, crossing the lobby with the grace of someone who once dominated a volleyball court, broad hips, long legs, still powerful in her forties. The line of her braid swung over one shoulder, a silver streak through dusk. "You look dead on your feet. Long night?"
He nodded, glancing at the scuffed tiles, the mail slots, the little hand-painted sign welcoming guests in three languages. "Just… a lot. Eren's guys were around tonight. I keep waiting for the next knock."
Chiyo's eyes narrowed, all playfulness vanishing. "Tabuchi men are nothing but trouble. You don't need to shoulder it alone, Rin. I keep telling you that." She rested a big, gentle hand on his shoulder, a gesture that was both comfort and a subtle nudge to open up.
Rin hesitated, weighing how much to say. The words threatened to come out: the truth about Eren, the old loan, the ICU, how it was his own choice that brought the mess to their door. But pride clamped down. He looked away, jaw tight.
No way I'm telling her about the loan. She'd flip. I'll handle it, like always.
He only shrugged. "It's just old drama, Chiyo. Eren and I, we… went sideways at Tochi. That's why I didn't go back. Figured if I worked and helped with rent, maybe things would calm down." He tried to smile, knowing how hollow it sounded. "Guess I was wrong."
She studied him for a long moment, seeing too much. "You're as stubborn as a brick, you know that? But not alone. Never were." She stepped a little closer, the motherly side surfacing through her CEO persona. "I wasn't kicking you out. I'm giving you time to handle this so those kids have a chance to catch their breath. If things go south, I'll keep Momo and Taji safe. That's not a threat, it's a promise. But if you go back to Tochi, Tabuchi's men can't follow you in. At least there, campus security will keep them off your back."
Rin exhaled, some of the knot in his chest loosening. "You really think Tochi's the answer?"
Chiyo's mouth curled in that fierce way only women who've survived both loss and bureaucracy can manage. "I know it is. But it's your call. I'm not your mother, Rin, but I swore to her I'd keep you kids safe. I need you to meet me halfway."
He offered a crooked, tired smile. "Yeah. I know. Thanks, Chiyo. For all of it."
Her expression softened, but she gave him the mom stare, hands on her hips, chest rising with a breath that said Don't even try to out-stubborn me.' "You go see your siblings now. Taji's probably rewired the TV, and Momo's writing love letters to that HGO host you hate."
That pulled a genuine laugh from Rin, the heaviness breaking for a beat. "She's going to roast me on Loop if I say anything."
Chiyo gave him a gentle push toward the elevators. "Good. Builds character. Now get moving before I have to start charging you double rent for loitering."
He paused as the elevator doors slid open, glancing back to see Chiyo framed in the golden lobby light, her arms crossed under her chest, firm, the backbone of everything good left in his life. He wanted to tell her everything about the loan, about Eren, about the quiet fear that pressed in every time he locked the door at night.
But not tonight. Not while he still had a chance to fix it himself.
She'll know, eventually. Just not now. Let me carry it a little longer. Please.
The doors closed, carrying him up into the warm, waiting dark.
He pressed the worn button for the third floor. The elevator hummed, old gears grinding beneath the neon-lit panel. His reflection stared back at him from the mirrored walls: tired, rain-slick hair plastered to his forehead, navy bomber clinging damp to his frame, bag slung over one shoulder, and the Haya e-Beat helmet dangling from two fingers. Tokyo drifted away for a moment, replaced by the soft elevator chime and the steady thud of his pulse.
His mind spun with numbers: the seven million yen to EREN, the rent, the grocery bill, the price of the HGO keycard hell, even the new battery he'd need soon for the e-Beat. He remembered Chiyo's words, the offer of Tochi as a lifeline, the gentle but immovable line in the sand. If he went back, it would be everything: school, work, siblings, safe but out of reach. And EREN, still circling, always watching for a crack in the armor.
He tried to see another way out, some half-bright miracle. There was none. Every path bent back to one truth: he was out of time and out of options.
The elevator dinged on the third floor. Rin stepped out, shoes scuffing against the patterned carpet, and started down the long, silent hallway. It smelled of wax, fabric softener, and a faint hint of old cigarette smoke. Most of the doors were closed, shoes neatly lined up on the mats, a potted plant wilting under a flickering sconce.
He stopped at 312. The gold numbers gleamed in the soft hallway light, a memory of better years. He slipped the key from his pocket, hands steady even though his insides felt like glass. The door unlocked with a quiet click.
The apartment was quiet, but lived-in: the fridge hummed, a distant siren wailed from somewhere below, and muted voices from a late-night HGO highlight reel drifted from the living room TV. The entryway was tidy, Chiyo's touch everywhere: slippers lined up, a basket for umbrellas by the door, and the faint scent of her favorite lemon cleaner hanging in the air.
He took off his shoes and padded through the front room, careful not to wake anyone.
Taji was sprawled out on the futon, arms tossed over his head, glasses sliding down his nose, TV remote clutched in one hand. The boy's features softened in sleep, all the manic HGO energy gone, his breath steady and deep. A half-eaten convenience store sandwich sat forgotten on the table, next to a looped replay of London Spire's highlight victory and a stack of well-thumbed game magazines. Taji, even half-asleep, had managed to tangle himself in a blanket, a pair of headphones dangling from his neck, Loop feed still flickering with esports drama.
Rin reached over, gently slid the remote out of Taji's hand, and lowered the volume. "You're gonna strangle yourself, kid, genius," he whispered, unruffling Taji's headphones from his neck. He felt a wave of something warm and raw, a mix of guilt and hope, all knotted together.
He peeked into the bedroom, where Momo was curled up in bed, her hair fanned across the pillow, the glow of her tablet casting a soft, J-pop-like light across the blankets. She was the polar opposite of her twin: all sharp wit and big emotions, constantly bickering with Taji but loving him fiercely, secretly obsessed with HGO's host and the world of J-pop more than any game stat or kill streak. She muttered something in her sleep about a fan letter and then rolled over, clutching a plush idol to her chest.
Rin smiled, quietly closing the door.
He went back to the living room, sat down at his dad's old desk by the window, and stared out at the city, Shinjuku's towers gleaming through the mist, red taillights blinking in the rain. The desk was now mostly filled with paperwork, rather than blueprints: bills, old photos, and a faded schematic or two from the first-generation VR pod business. His father hadn't been some wild inventor; he'd been practical and skilled, with a small company that built the first-generation VR pods that Nexus Enterprises later bought out. It was love, not ambition, that wrecked him. He'd gambled everything on hospital bills, loan after loan, trying to buy more time for the woman he loved. In the end, it was all paperwork and loss.
Rin ran a thumb across the desktop, thinking about legacy, luck, and the way every path in his life seemed to narrow to a single point. He had one last gamble. That was all.
He opened his phone, eyes tracking the HGO promo flashing across Loop.
THE WORLD OF ELDORA AWAITS
It was more than hype. Since the 3v3 era began, the game has created a real economy of pro teams, coaching gigs, streamers, and even local shops that hired delivery drivers to keep up with HGO's traffic spikes. Adults and kids, hustlers and rookies, all making a living or trying to. Even EREN, who'd just been a top amateur, managed to carve out a reputation when he got ahead of the meta. If he can do it, why can't I? If this place really is a new world, maybe I can build something. Maybe for once, I can win. Rin thought to himself
He checked his balance, barely enough left after rent, groceries, and tonight's milk. The HGO key was still on discount, but it would clean him out. Chiyo would cover for him; she always did. He hesitated. Then, before he could second-guess, he tapped "buy."
A confirmation ping. The money vanished. Just like that, his future was sealed.
Rin exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. "Well, Dad. Guess it's my turn to bet it all."
He turned, scooped Taji up in his arms, dead weight, all limbs and wild hair, and carried him to the bedroom. Momo was still out cold, one hand flung over her head, the other clutching her idol plushie. He tucked them both in, pausing for just a moment in the doorway, letting himself feel the peace that only came in these quiet, late hours.
He closed the bedroom door behind him and flopped onto the couch, pulling his dad's old blanket over his legs. The city was silent now, save for the hum of the fridge and the low drone of the rain.
Sleep didn't come easily. His head swam with debts, with hope, with the idea that tomorrow, everything could finally change.
He closed his eyes. In the dark, he dreamed of Eldora of a world where he might finally be more than a bystander.
END THE CHAPTER 2
Chapter 3: The World Tilts Sideways
"Everything changes the second you stop believing it won't."