The glow of his monitor blurred as his eyes darted over page after page of legal jargon. Articles of incorporation. Tax filings. Shareholder agreements.
Each line was a wall, each requirement a barbed wire fence. He had no degree in business. No background in law. He fixed machines. He didn't build companies.
The system prompt pulsed at the corner of his vision:
[Quest Deadline: 6 Days, 13 Hours, 27 Minutes.]
Every tick of the countdown dug claws into his chest.
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. His apartment was a jungle of papers—printouts of patent law, local business codes, half-scribbled notes. The Nano-Repair Kit lay forgotten on the desk, the Auto-Schematic Lens dark.
For the first time since this madness began, Ethan wondered if the system had finally demanded too much.
He whispered into the empty room. "I can't do this."
The lens pulsed, cold and unfeeling.
[Failure is not an option.]
He slammed his fist against the desk, the sound startling even him.
___
Lily balanced a stack of sketchbooks on her lap, but her pencil had gone still. Across the courtyard, Ethan's light burned again, flickering late into the night. She'd seen him hunched over that desk for days, shoulders tense, movements sharp.
She wasn't blind. She'd grown up watching her mother keep their apartment running on scraps of income, memorizing forms, arguing with landlords, filling out paperwork nobody else wanted to touch. She knew the language of bureaucracy.
And she knew the look of someone drowning in it.
"Idiot," she muttered, affection lacing the word.
Grabbing a hoodie, she crossed the courtyard and knocked on his door.
When Ethan opened it, his eyes were ringed with exhaustion. His place looked like a bomb had gone off—papers everywhere, empty mugs stacked on the counter.
"Lily?"
She held up the stack of papers she'd grabbed from her shelf. "You look like you're losing a fight with paperwork."
He tried to laugh but it came out hollow. "That obvious?"
"Painfully." She stepped past him, scanning the chaos. "Show me what you're working on."
Ethan hesitated. The system's warning echoed in his mind about disclosure. But when he looked at Lily—really looked—he saw the steadiness in her gaze, the way she didn't flinch at the mess.
He pushed a form toward her. "Company registration."
She skimmed it, brows knitting. "Ethan, you didn't even fill out the basics right. No wonder you're stuck."
He flushed. "I—I don't know what I'm doing."
Her voice softened. "Then let me help. I've done this kind of thing before. Not a company, but… enough to know my way around forms. You don't have to do this alone."
For the first time in days, Ethan felt something loosen in his chest.
___
Through the tinted glass of his sedan, Derek Harland watched the apartment building. His men had placed the cameras that morning—tiny lenses tucked into the streetlamps, the laundry shop's awning, even a fake delivery box across the street.
All streaming back to him. All watching Ethan Cole.
On his tablet, he scrolled through the feed. Cole pacing his apartment. Cole scribbling on papers. Cole meeting with the neighbor girl.
Interesting.
Derek's instincts whispered louder with every frame: the boy was more than he seemed. That patent was bait, but the real hook lay hidden.
He leaned back, sipping scotch from a travel flask. "We'll let him build," he murmured. "Let him rise just enough to show his hand. Then we'll move in."
But he felt a spark of unease. Something about Ethan Cole didn't feel random. As though invisible strings were guiding the boy's every step.
Ethan's POV
The next two nights blurred together. With Lily beside him, the paperwork no longer seemed like an impossible mountain.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, highlighting sections, explaining terms in plain English.
"This part," she said, tapping a form, "decides your company structure. Sole proprietorship is easy, but risky. LLC gives you protection. That's the smart play."
Ethan blinked at her. "How do you know all this?"
She shrugged, a faint smile playing at her lips. "When your mom works three jobs, you learn how to fill out government forms before you learn to drive."
Her casual tone belied the weight behind the words. Ethan swallowed, a flicker of respect and something warmer rising in him.
Bit by bit, they built the foundation. The company needed a name.
Ethan stared at the blank line on the form, the pen heavy in his hand. "What do I even call it?"
Lily tilted her head. "Something that means something to you. What are you really building, Ethan?"
He thought of the lens, the blueprints, the endless horizon of inventions waiting for him. The word slipped out before he could stop it.
"Tomorrow."
Her eyes softened. "Tomorrow Works. I like it."
Ethan wrote it down, the letters anchoring him. His company now had a name.
System Fragment POV
For 0.000003 seconds, the system pulsed in quiet satisfaction.
[Node Progression: Entity Formation Achieved.]
[Trajectory Alignment: 92%.]
Subroutines whispered in languages no human tongue had ever spoken. The human subject was adapting. Correcting. Aligning with the intended path.
The network pulsed approval.
But another subroutine stirred—monitoring external interference. The Harland entity. The deviation risk rose by 12%.
[Countermeasures Pending.]
Then silence. The system returned to its dormant hum, invisible in Ethan's eye.
Ethan's POV (Closing Scene)
The last form was signed. The application filed. Tomorrow Works was born—on paper, at least.
The system chimed.
[Quest Completed: Establish a legal entity.]
Reward: 120 Points Earned.]
Resource Unlock: Subsidiary Framework.]
Total: 415 Points.]
Ethan's heart raced. A new tab opened in his lens:
[Subsidiary Framework Menu]
Repair Division – Suggested manager slot empty.
R&D Division – Suggested manager slot empty.
Sales & Partnerships Division – Suggested manager slot empty.
Three blank spaces. Three shadows of people he did not yet have.
He felt the weight settle over him. The system was telling him what he already knew: no single person could hold up an empire.
And if he didn't find allies, those empty spaces might crush him before he ever built anything real.