"Just Five More Minutes!"
Elias Quinn had just successfully stolen a car, led a high-speed chase through a futuristic Tokyo, punched a cyborg in the face, and secured a diamond the size of his head; all in time to hear the You Win jingle blast through his PS5 speakers. He let the controller drop to his chest, panting like he'd physically run laps.
"Jesus," he muttered. "That game needs a health warning."
Red Wire: Tokyo Underground had turned him into a twitchy, adrenaline-fueled mess for the past two weeks, and it still hadn't stopped being intense. Good graphics, great story, near-impossible boss levels. If only real life had half the spice.
With a grunt, he pushed himself up from the bean bag that had become his second spine and padded barefoot into the hallway. The house smelled like laundry detergent and whatever his mum had just finished microwaving. His stomach rumbled and ached, reminding Elias all he had not eaten all day.
In the kitchen, his younger sister, Ashley, was curled up on the island, nose buried in yet another rated 18+ werewolf romance novel, her feet kicking lazily against the cabinet. She looked like their mum, all dark blonde and pretty. She didn't look up as she spoke.
"You look like someone who just died in-game."
"Very funny," Elias deadpanned. He opened the fridge, rummaging past leftovers and a half-eaten birthday cake. "You're reading another one of those books again?"
"Yes." She turned the book toward him.
The cover featured a shirtless, gun-wielding Alpha male with tribal tattoos and an oddly sharp jawline. A girl with moon-eyes clung to him like he'd paid off her student loans and whispered sweet nothings about mutual respect. Yeah, right! That's a proper red flag wrapped in six packs and glistening oiled skin.
"Let me guess," Elias said, grabbing a tub of ice cream. "He's secretly a cursed Alpha who hates love but falls for her anyway because she's not like the other girls?"
"No," she said with dramatic pause, "he's a war-torn Alpha prince banished from his pack who meets her after she accidentally crashes into his bike while running from her emotionally unavailable ex."
Elias blinked. "...That's worse. Does this one growl at every inconvenience too?"
"It's a given they growl," Ashley retorted, "You liked Guns and Roses!"
"You forced me to read it."
"You liked the spicy scenes," she smirked.
Heaven forbid he admits that to her. He scowled and snatched the half-eaten bag of chips from beside her elbow. "Thanks. These go well with existential dread."
"Hey!" she lunged, but he danced out of reach, grinning.
Their mum peered in from the laundry room with a mild frown. "Elias, be nicer to your sister."
"She's enabling toxic masculinity."
"You eat cereal with a fork because 'it builds character.' Let her read her books." Elias sneered at Ashley who stuck out her tongue.
Their dad, entering just behind her, added, "Have you laid out your gown for tomorrow? Your graduation's at eight."
Elias, already halfway back up the stairs with his ice cream and stolen snacks, called over his shoulder, "It's somewhere. I'll find it after this quarter-life crisis."
Back in his room, dark, messy, and comfortingly his, Elias dropped the ice cream on his nightstand, accidentally knocking Guns and Roses to the floor.
"Oops," he muttered, not bothering to pick it up. The guy on the cover stared up at him with guns, muscles, and that overly intense look of fictional libido. The heroine next to him looked like she was seconds from swooning or fainting. Possibly both. He flopped onto his bed.
Graduating with a second-class upper in Business Admin from UBridge College, one of those mid-tier, mildly respected American universities you heard about from LinkedIn success stories and alumni who peaked in sophomore year hadn't been nothing. But it also hadn't been... well, something. His internship at Veerstone & Doyle, a big-name firm with glass elevators and absolutely no lunch breaks for interns had drained his soul and paid him less than the cost of his daily Uber. They hadn't offered him a job after. Not even a ghosted email.
Now he was jobless, broke, living at home, and down to about $102.73 in his savings account. That included the random coins he'd thrown into the sock drawer for emergencies. He stared at the ceiling and let his brain spiral. Was this it? Was this the rest of his life? Reading cringey-ass books Ashley threw his way, stealing snacks, and occasionally crying in the shower while LinkedIn pretended everyone else had their life together?
His eyelids grew heavy. Somewhere in the darkness between sleep and despair, he heard a soft thump, probably his controller falling to the floor, and decided to ignore it like every other warning sign in his life. The last thing he remembered was the lingering smell of salted chips and dairy.
Then...
Someone was shaking him. Not violently, not gently. Just enough to be annoying.
"Fuck off, Ashley," he grunted, already expecting to hear her scream for their mum.
"Hey. Come on. Break's over." Wait, what? That did not sound like his little sister.
Break?
Elias groaned, eyes squinting against... fluorescent lights? He blinked. A girl stood over him, wearing a frilly pastel apron, her expression impatient. She smelled like buttercream frosting and something oddly earthy. Her curls were tucked under a headband with tiny coffee beans on it.
"Come on," she said again. "There's a line."
Line?
Elias sat up. Slowly. The surface beneath him was not his bed. It was... bags of flour? He was surrounded by shelves, coffee beans, cake mix, and racks of dishware.
"What the hell," he said under his breath.
"Language," the girl snapped.
He stumbled out of the storeroom, following her against his better judgment. His limbs felt... weird. His body felt weird. Even the air felt filtered, artificial, like a movie set pretending to be a bakery. He stepped into blinding noise; people chatting, a coffee machine steaming, baristas laughing over whipped cream, and—
He turned to the girl. "Where the hell am I?"
She stared at him. "...Bean & Bark Café?"
Elias turned toward the front. A queue of customers waited at the counter. A digital menu blinked above his head. His hands... were covered in frosting? And then—he trembled in panic. Because none of these people were familiar. Nothing about the café looked remotely real. And he didn't feel remotely like himself. Where was home? His parents? His sister?
"What the fuck?" Elias shouted, voice slightly too high.
The customers went silent. Someone dropped their latte.
The girl beside him sighed. "Oh great. He's malfunctioning again."