"Orson, how about a drink with us?"
"How’s the studio doing lately? Interested in joining us to pioneer the new game?"
A lavish championship anniversary banquet was being held in a five-star hotel, the club sparing no expense. Giants from inside and outside the esports scene streamed in one after another. Among them were even the wealthy sponsors who had once backed top guilds.
But their presence wasn’t simply to celebrate—it was to probe whether Orson might consider a return.
"Cough... sorry, everyone. It’s not like the old days anymore. These hands can barely flip a pan now, let alone wield a staff in-game."
Surrounded like the moon among stars, Orson took the wet towel Riley handed him and wiped away the sweat pouring down. He felt utterly out of place.
He was never good with crowds . Even as the studio boss, he treated his employees like brothers, never carrying the aura of some commanding CEO. If not for spotting Wedge, Reaver, and DonutWizard lurking at a distance, waiting to laugh at him, he might’ve smashed a glass and walked out already.
"Maybe we really should stage a comeback. They say this new game, Infinite Dimensions, is insane. The internal test footage shows freedom like nothing else!"
Reaver spoke with little confidence, glancing at Wedge. With so many domestic powerhouses preparing to invest in Infinite Dimensions, the thought of rivals luring away the great God of Magic unsettled him.
"It is popular," Wedge replied smoothly, sipping her Bloody Mary. "But the bigger the game, the more money gets poured in. That means our team’s model might not compete. Better to wait and watch."
She added, "DonutWizard made top four this year, but still fell to NUK’s roster. We can’t afford to abandon this side of the scene."
Reaver slumped against the spiral staircase rail, sighing. "Why’d I retire so early? Damn shame. I was in my prime."
DonutWizard cut in mercilessly: "Two years ago your dual-blade screwup was clipped into the ’Top 5 Fails of the Year.’ I spent twenty grand scrubbing it off the net. Please, just stay home with your kids."
"You brat! Come here!"
Reaver’s face turned beet red as he chased DonutWizard down, fists flying.
"They really haven’t changed a bit," Wedge said with a smile. She’d seen them grow up—from kids always bickering, to teammates overcoming setback after setback together, building unshakable bonds.
Her gaze shifted to the radiant pair in the center—Orson and Riley—and a warm, alluring smile curved her lips. She was genuinely happy for them.
Back then, when the six of them had retired at the height of glory, it had shaken the global esports industry. And all because Orson had said one line: "I’m tired. I want to stop."
Wedge hadn’t understood at first. But she knew how much they had sacrificed—children who’d entered the scene at sixteen, seventeen, missing out on youth, on life itself.
It was time to pause their journey. Esports wasn’t the only main quest in their scripts.
"Infinite Dimensions? Sounds fun. Should we try it?"
Later, by the riverbank after the party, Riley leaned into Orson’s shoulder and whispered.
"Forget it. Just thinking about it makes me tired. Besides..." His eyes glinted mischievously. "Didn’t we agree we still had one main quest left undone?"
"What quest?" Riley tilted her head up, curious.
Orson grinned, his wolfish gaze sliding over her smooth, pale back. He whispered slyly, "How about... making a little life of our own?"
Her cheeks flushed crimson. She smacked him with her purse. "You’re unbelievable! I don’t know why I ever liked you. And don’t you dare use drinking as an excuse—people are watching!"
Before she could finish, Orson pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply.
"Seriously? Right now?" Reaver’s voice rang from behind.
"Come on, don’t ambush us with public PDA like that!"
Orson froze, Riley flushed bright red, and the two quickly broke apart, pretending to admire the moon while babbling about how nice the weather was.
"Boss, how about a round two? That dinner turned into way bigger of a show than we thought." DonutWizard’s eyes gleamed with hero-worship.
"Round two’s on me," Wedge said, raising her glass. "We’ve got catching up to do."
"Captain’s treating? I’m in!" Orson grinned sheepishly.
"If he’s in, I’m in," Riley murmured shyly, half-hiding behind him.
Round two turned out to be far more than they expected.
Drinking. More drinking. Until the night blurred into chaos.
If Reaver hadn’t ended up in the ER with alcohol poisoning—his furious mother showing up to scold them like misbehaving children—Orson was sure he’d have drunk himself dead on the roadside.
By the time he staggered home, head pounding, he clung to Riley like an anchor. The moment they stepped through the door, alcohol and longing consumed them. He kissed her hungrily, passion spilling over.
Her blush deepened, her defenses crumbled. She gave herself to him completely.
A successful career. A loving wife. Loyal friends and devoted fans. For an orphan who had clawed his way from nothing, this life was more than enough.
And now, the most important quest was underway.
He cherished every moment.
By dawn, they collapsed, exhausted. Orson brushed a kiss against her forehead, then slipped into slumber.
This time, he dreamed again.
But not of strange worlds filled with dragons and gods. Instead, he stood at a crossroads before an old orphanage. Children lined the corner, selling flowers with bright smiles.
He didn’t think much of it—he was a plainclothes cop in this dream, chasing a thief down the street.
As he dashed past, a small hand grabbed him. He tried to shake free, but the grip was unbelievably strong, stopping him cold.
He froze, unwilling to hurt the child, and watched the thief vanish into the alleys.
"Tall, narrow face, about five-foot-nine, nickname Madman... damn it, next time I’ll tear you apart myself," Orson muttered, memorizing every detail.
"Hey, mister. Wanna buy a flower?"
He turned to see a doll-faced little girl. Unlike the others with baskets of blooms, she held only a single stalk of foxtail grass.
"You’ve got to be kidding me. New kind of scam?" he thought bitterly.
But her bright, cheeky grin melted his heart. He sighed. "How much, little one?"
"One million dollars."
Orson froze. Then burst out laughing.
What a rascal. Yet strangely, looking at her, he felt an odd sense of closeness. It made him... happy.
"I don’t have that kind of cash. How about... I give you a knock on the head instead?" he teased.
The girl’s eyes went wide. She hopped back, covering her forehead with both hands, glaring at him. "No way!"
"Then I’m not buying."
"Hmph! I don’t need you to. Someone else will."
"You beg me, and I’ll buy."
"Never. You’ll be begging me one day."
The two stood bickering on the curb, one grown man, one little girl, locked in a silly standoff.
At last, Orson caved. He pulled two hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and thrust them at her. "Keep the change. You look way too scrawny—buy yourself something."
"So this is credit then?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "You still owe me nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, eight hundred..."
Orson’s forehead darkened with exasperation. What a little demon.
He snatched the foxtail grass and bolted before she could say more.
He turned back reluctantly. "What now?"
The girl waved her tiny hand and shouted, "When you’ve had your fun, remember this: she doesn’t want to kill you. She wants to save you. Don’t forget!"