Chapter 2 – Starting Over (Part 2)
The streets of Green Hills Estate were lined with imported pines, their shadows stretching long under the pale wash of streetlamps. Joseph walked slowly, his hands buried in his jacket pockets, his mind drifting between past victories and the present ruin.
Each step carried the weight of ten years.
Ten years of grinding, of strategies drawn on whiteboards at two in the morning, of bloody matches where a second's hesitation meant losing sponsors worth millions. He remembered the roar of the crowd at the Huston International Arena, the way his name, ShadowReaper, had echoed from thousands of voices. He remembered standing with his team on the podium, medals gleaming under the lights, champagne spraying across the stage.
It felt like another lifetime.
Now, those same voices cursed him online, spitting on his name. Cheater. Criminal. Trash. No one wanted to hear the truth, that the higher-ups of Shadow Corps had orchestrated the trafficking scandal, that the players were pawns in the scheme. To the world, guilt by association was enough.
He stopped under a lamp post, tilting his head back to look at the stars peeking through the haze of city lights. "Ten years," he whispered, his voice carrying a tremor. "All gone in a second."
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, the screen once again displayed the date.
July 5, 2030.
He stared at it for a long time before locking it again. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Happy Independence Day, America," he muttered dryly. For him, it was the day his independence had been stolen.
He walked on. Past quiet houses, past rows of parked electric cars, past gates that whispered of fortunes less fragile than his. His thoughts circled endlessly.
What now?
He was twenty-eight. His résumé was nothing but "professional gamer." No corporate would hire a disgraced esports player whose name was trending in the worst way possible. The thirty million dollars had been a mountain once, but without the game, it would drain fast. The treatments alone ate millions every year.
"Back to zero," he muttered. "Back to nothing."
The words scraped his throat raw.
Eventually, the ache in his chest forced him to turn back. His legs carried him along familiar paths until the towering outline of his mansion should have come into view.
Except it didn't.
Joseph slowed, frowning. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, then looked again.
Where the mansion should have stood — a gleaming three-story masterpiece of glass and steel — there was nothing. Just an empty lot surrounded by an old, rusting fence, weeds pushing up through cracked pavement.
He froze.
"What the hell…?"
His hand went instinctively to his pocket, fumbling for his keys. He found nothing. No smooth biometric car fob, no sleek digital house card. Just a jangling weight of old-fashioned metal.
His heart hammered as he pulled them out. Rusted, scratched keys — the kind he hadn't touched in more than a decade.
A laugh escaped him, hollow and disbelieving. "No. No way."
He pulled out his phone, desperate for grounding. The device lit up — but instead of the slim, holographic brilliance of the iPhone 22, a small, scuffed rectangle filled his palm.
Joseph stared. The rounded edges. The cracked corner of the screen. The weight that felt so light, so outdated.
An iPhone 6.
His thumb trembled as he pressed the home button. The screen flickered, sluggish compared to the fluidity he was used to, before displaying the date.
5th of July, 2020.
The numbers hit him like a gunshot.
He staggered back a step, nearly dropping the phone. "No. No, no, no…" His breathing grew rapid, ragged. He unlocked the screen again and again, as if repetition would change it, but the date never shifted.
July 5, 2020.
Exactly one month before War Online's official launch.
Joseph's lips parted in a strangled laugh. His voice cracked in the still night. "What is this? Some… some sick joke? Did I… go back? Did I—"
He cut himself off, pressing a hand to his forehead. His pulse thundered in his ears.
The old phone's weight was real. The rough edge of the rusted keys was real. The empty lot where his mansion had once stood was real.
And the memories came rushing in.
The lockdowns. The layoffs. The endless nights in his crammed apartment, refreshing job boards with no reply. The desperation that had led him to gamble on a lottery ticket. The $20,000 win that changed everything. The advanced VR helmet he bought with it — $8,000 that everyone called him insane for spending.
But he hadn't been insane. That gamble had opened the gates of War Online. It had turned him from a nobody into ShadowReaper, from poverty into fortune.
And now…
Joseph looked down at the iPhone 6, his thumb brushing the cracked screen. His laugh was shaky, almost hysterical. "I actually… went back."
The wind rustled through the weeds, as though mocking his disbelief.
He pressed the phone against his forehead, his eyes burning. A second chance. That was the only explanation. Somehow, impossibly, he had been sent back to before everything began.
COVID-19 had shut down the world in 2020, forcing billions indoors. Despair had reigned — until War Online launched. Its promise of real money from virtual loot had turned into a revolution, a cultural phenomenon that gave hope to the hopeless.
Joseph remembered the queues at VR shops, the news channels flooded with stories of ordinary people becoming millionaires overnight. He remembered his own climb, from buying that very first helmet to his first big score, to the tournaments, to the sponsorships.
And he remembered the betrayal that came ten years later.
He clenched the phone tighter, teeth gritting.
This time, things would be different.
His legs moved on their own, carrying him away from the empty lot, through the streets of the old neighborhood he had once sworn never to return to. The neon lights were dimmer here, the buildings older, the roads rougher. Every corner was familiar, burned into his memory from years of struggle.
Finally, he reached it: a small convenience store, its flickering sign buzzing in the night. The exact store where fate had changed his life once before.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside.
The air smelled of instant noodles and detergent. Shelves were half-stocked, the refrigerators humming in the corner. Behind the counter sat the same weary old shopkeeper, his glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through a newspaper.
Joseph's chest tightened with déjà vu.
His gaze drifted to the lottery stand near the counter, where a banner advertised the week's special jackpot: $20,000.
The same jackpot. The same amount.
His lips trembled. "Unbelievable…"
He walked to the counter, pulling out a few crumpled bills from his pocket. They felt strange, outdated, but the cashier didn't even blink.
"One lottery ticket," Joseph said, his voice steadier than he expected.
The man grunted, tearing off a slip and handing it over. "$5."
Joseph paid without hesitation. His fingers closed around the ticket, the paper crackling softly.
The time on the wall clock read 20:29.
He remembered this exact moment. In his previous life, he had bought the ticket at 20:30 on July 5, 2020. Superstition or not, that number had been etched into his destiny.
He waited, eyes on the clock. The second hand ticked slowly, dragging each heartbeat.
Finally, the minute hand shifted. 20:30.
Joseph clenched the ticket in his fist, a rush of heat flooding his veins.
This was it. The first domino. The spark that would ignite everything.
He stepped out of the shop, the bell jingling behind him, the cool night air meeting his flushed face. Holding the ticket tightly, he lifted it toward the sky as though offering it to the stars.
"I swear," he whispered, his voice hoarse with conviction. "This time, I won't just reach the top. I'll go higher. I'll build an empire no one can tear down. War Online won't break me again. I'll break it."
The paper crinkled under the strength of his grip.
"From zero to infinity. No second chances wasted."
And with that vow, the wheels of fate began to turn once more.