Chapter 8: App

Ethan had barely taken two steps past Desmond when the man's hand snapped out, covering his nose in exaggerated disgust.

"Jesus Christ," Desmond groaned, staggering back as if Ethan's presence physically assaulted him. "You smell like something that crawled out of a sewer, died, and then got reanimated just to offend my senses."

Ethan didn't reply.

He stood silent, his eyes dull, jaw clenched tight.

Desmond circled him like a scavenger bird, waving his hand in front of his face.

"Look at you, man. What, you dive headfirst into a trash compactor?" Desmond sneered, eyes trailing the grime, blood, and gunk crusted over Ethan's tattered clothes. "You think this is some kind of slum cosplay? You trying to make a statement? Or are you just that broke?"

Ethan looked away.

And Desmond stepped in closer, pushing a finger into Ethan's chest.

"Don't you dare ignore me! You think this is a joke?" His voice dropped lower, more venomous. "You've been dodging me for a month now. Rent's already dirt cheap. Dirt. And you still can't pay?"

Ethan's silence was all the answer he could give.

Desmond snorted. "What's the excuse this time? Lost your job? Boo-hoo. Cry me a river and paddle your broke ass across it."

Okay, that's enough.

Ethan shifted uncomfortably.

Desmond leaned in, voice cold. "You've got until noon tomorrow. You don't pay by then, I swear on my uncle's life—your door's getting busted open, and all your stuff's going out the window. First floor or not, I won't care. You come back from school, you'll find your trash on the sidewalk."

He turned and stormed back toward the stairwell, still muttering.

"Damn freeloaders. If I had my way, this place would be a private dorm. Rich kids only."

Ethan didn't respond.

He simply exhaled slowly and climbed the remaining stairs like a man twice his age.

His key scraped against the rusted lock as he opened the door to his apartment.

Home.

If you could call it that.

The room greeted him with a flickering overhead light that buzzed like an angry insect.

It was a one-bedroom flat in the loosest sense of the word—more like a cube someone had half-heartedly carved into sections.

The walls were stained with age, dotted with tiny cracks like spiderwebs.

The ceiling sagged in the corners, water stains blooming from old leaks.

Sometimes the pipes groaned in the middle of the night like ghosts.

Other times, the faucet would run brown for a few seconds before clearing up—if it ran at all.

The only thing that made this place livable was the fact that it hadn't caved in yet.

Ethan stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and leaned his back against it.

His shoulders slumped.

The air was stale. Muggy.

The hum of distant traffic filtered in through a cracked window with no screen.

After a moment, he pulled off his ruined clothes and headed straight for the bathroom.

The showerhead barely worked, but tonight, even cold water would be a blessing.

The shower tiles were chipped, and the grout was stained dark in the corners.

He twisted the faucet.

A few loud, angry coughs sputtered from the pipes before water gushed out, shockingly clear, and bit into his skin like ice.

He let it hit him.

Let it soak his hair, trail down his back, wash away the trash and blood and humiliation.

As the water poured over his body, Ethan blinked and noticed something.

He barely felt any pain now.

There were faint bruises, yes—ghosts of what should've been far worse—but the deep aches, the bone-deep soreness from a shattered arm or cracked ribs?

Gone.

He pressed against his side, expecting a sharp jab, but there was nothing.

He ran fingers down his forearm, and it was smooth.

Checked his jaw and found no swelling.

Not even a twinge when he clenched his teeth.

"What... the hell?" he muttered softly.

The guard had stomped the lights out of him.

He remembered it vividly.

And now it was like nothing had happened.

His skin felt untouched.

Clean.

Like someone had pressed a reset button on his body.

But...

Even if his body had healed, his mind hadn't.

A lot had happened that day. There was a lot to think about—and also the rent to worry about—but Ethan didn't want to do any of that.

He just wanted to rest.

The stale air of his cramped apartment welcomed him with silence.

He stepped out of the shower, the warm droplets still clinging to his skin as the steam fogged up the cracked mirror.

The fluorescent bulb above flickered once, then steadied—as if even it was too tired to complain.

Throwing on a worn T-shirt and a pair of loose joggers, Ethan collapsed onto the bed with a soft grunt, the springs creaking beneath him like groaning bones.

The city outside buzzed on—distant sirens, a barking dog, the occasional honk of impatience—but inside, in this small corner of the world, there was only the soft glow of his phone screen.

He booted up his favorite escape: 3D Tennis.

A simple, oddly therapeutic game where his player—tall, lean, and always calm under pressure—went on tournament runs that earned cash, trophies, and glory.

The idea of being paid like a real athlete, even if just in-game currency, always made Ethan chuckle.

For now, it was enough.

Winning felt good—even if it meant nothing.

His fingers danced across the screen with practiced rhythm. Serve. Volley. Smash. Victory. The in-game crowd roared with digital enthusiasm, confetti exploded on the court, and the match summary declared a clean sweep.

Ethan let out a breath—somewhere between relief and fatigue, eyes half-lidded.

Then a soft, electronic chime jolted him from the post-match haze.

PING!

It came from his phone.

He looked down to see what it was and saw a notification:

[G.T.R. (Game to Reality) System has successfully been installed]

[Click to Open]

The icon shimmered faintly on his home screen—sleek, silver, and unfamiliar.

Ethan blinked.

"I... didn't download this," he muttered.

Then he remembered.

It had something to do with the strange-looking notification he had seen on his screen while he was in the dumpster.

He had never seen or clicked on any app with such a name, so why did it auto-install?

There were only two reasons.

Maybe he had mistakenly pressed a prompt to install it... or worst-case scenario, his phone was compromised.

Ethan sighed.

It better not be the latter—he had dealt with enough shit for the day.

Ethan stared at the app prompt once again and exhaled.

Normally, he would have uninstalled it immediately, but for some reason, he found himself curious.

His finger hovered over it as he contemplated whether to click on it and see what it was about... or simply uninstall it.

Ethan contemplated for a moment, but ultimately...

Curiosity won.