Chapter 22: The Price of Dreams

November 14, 2037

The neon sign of the Golden Mouse Internet Café flickered, casting blue and green shadows across Aiden's face as he leaned forward in his chair. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, but his focus never wavered from the monitor.

"Marcus, shield up! Elena, thirty degrees left, there's an opening!" His voice carried the weight of command despite his exhaustion.

On screen, Marcus's tank character—a behemoth in steel armor—raised his shield just as enemy projectiles flew toward them. Elena's archer character pivoted precisely, her arrows finding their mark in the brief vulnerability Aiden had spotted.

[CRITICAL HIT]

[ENEMY SLAIN]

[VICTORY]

The café erupted in cheers. Another win, another 240 gold to split between them. Another step toward their goal.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Marcus pumped his fist in the air, his broad shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. The construction work that morning had left calluses on his hands that even gaming couldn't hide.

Sophia smiled softly, removing her headset and massaging her temples. "Your call was perfect, Aiden. I almost missed that opening myself."

Aiden nodded, but his eyes were already on his spreadsheet, updating their earnings. The column of numbers told a story of hope and desperation in equal measure. So close, yet still so far.

...

Elena's slender fingers hovered over her keyboard as she posted another item for sale. Her designer watch—one of the last remnants of her previous life—gleamed under the harsh light of her apartment's single bulb.

Starting bid: $150

She closed the listing and leaned back in her chair, glancing around the tiny studio apartment she'd finally been able to rent. It was nothing like her family's mansion, but the walls were hers. Freedom had its price.

Her phone pinged with a notification.

Article approved. Payment sent: $75.

A small smile crept across her face. Her gaming articles were gaining traction, each one bringing a little more stability, a little more validation. She opened her expense tracker, meticulously updated the numbers, and calculated how much she could contribute to the pod fund this week.

"Four hundred and fifty dollars," she whispered to herself, a mix of pride and worry in her voice. "Not bad for a disowned heiress."

...

"All in favor of the Dragon's Crest map for the semi-finals, raise your hand!"

Marcus stood before a group of eager gamers at the Golden Mouse, his tournament organization skills improving with each passing week. What had started as a desperate attempt to raise funds had evolved into something more—a community.

Old Man Jo moved between the tables, delivering energy drinks and ramen with a knowing smile. Business had never been better.

"The kid's a natural," Jo muttered to himself, watching Marcus handle a disagreement between two competitors with diplomatic ease. "He'd make a fine café owner someday."

Later that night, after counting the entry fees and his portion of the night's earnings, Marcus added another $65 to his total. He stared at the number: $300. Not enough, not yet, but growing. Behind that number lay his dream—a small house in a safe neighborhood, where his mother wouldn't have to work herself to exhaustion, where his siblings could play without the background of sirens.

...

Sophia's apartment was quiet, save for the soft tapping of her keyboard. On her screen, statistics and player patterns from their recent matches displayed in neat columns. Being an ER nurse had taught her to find order in chaos, to see patterns where others saw only confusion.

"The Void Raiders favor double-flanking strategies in 73% of their matches," she murmured, adding another note to her analysis. Her insights had become invaluable to Aiden's streams, drawing viewers who appreciated her calm, methodical breakdowns.

Her eyes drifted to the photograph on her desk—herself in scrubs, smiling, before the burnout. Before losing that young patient. She touched the frame gently.

"Maybe someday," she whispered, returning to her notes with renewed purpose. Her stream donations and analysis commissions had brought her total to $520. Each dollar was a step toward healing, toward finding her way back to her calling, but with boundaries this time.

...

The pawn shop owner looked skeptical as Liam placed the repaired gaming headset on the counter.

"You fixed this? It was completely dead when I got it in."

Liam nodded, his face carefully neutral. "Just needed to rewire the left speaker and replace the microphone component. I salvaged the parts."

The transaction complete, Liam pocketed the $40 with practiced casualness. Never show too much satisfaction, never draw attention—lessons from years in the foster system that served him well in this new hustle.

Later, in his sparse studio apartment, he added the day's earnings to his stash. $280. Not much by most standards, but more than he'd ever had at once. Every repair, every flip brought him closer to stability, closer to possibly finding his foster siblings someday.

His phone vibrated with a message from Marco, Aiden's streaming contact:

Want to help set up the multi-cam stream tomorrow? Good learning opportunity.

Liam typed back immediately. Another skill to learn, another potential path forward.

...

The convenience store's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Aiden's face as he stocked shelves mechanically. His mind was elsewhere, calculating odds, plotting strategies, worrying about bills.

"Kim! Customer at register three!"

The manager's sharp voice pulled him back to reality. Four more hours of his shift remained, and then straight to streaming. The exhaustion was bone-deep now, a constant companion.

Later that night, his viewers watched as the legendary "Architect" directed another high-stakes match. None of them could see the tremor in his hands, the way he blinked hard to keep his vision clear.

"Aiden, you need to rest," Sophia whispered through their private voice channel after the stream. "You're pushing too hard."

"Can't afford to rest," he replied, his voice ragged. "Not yet."

Alone in his apartment, with Lily finally asleep, Aiden updated their collective funding spreadsheet:

Pooled funds: $2,345 + $1,250 (from this week) = $3,595

Individual savings: $1867 ($317 from Aiden, $300 from Marcus, $450 from Elena, $280 from Liam, $520 from Sophia)

Total available: $3,595 + $1,867 = $5,462

Goal: $5,995 (5 pods at $1,199 each)

Shortfall: $533

The numbers blurred as exhaustion threatened to overtake him. He closed the laptop and moved quietly to check on Lily. Her textbooks were still open beside her bed, her dedication mirroring his own.

Aiden paused at the doorway, watching his sister's peaceful breathing. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what success in Eternal Realms might mean—not just the pods, but the possibility of that experimental treatment for their mother, of college for Lily, of a life not dominated by constant financial anxiety.

"Just a little more," he whispered, returning to his desk where the spreadsheet waited, implacable in its cold arithmetic. "We're almost there."

Outside his window, the city lights shimmered like distant stars, promises of worlds beyond reach. But for Aiden and his team, those stars were beginning to seem just a little closer each day.