Chapter 30
ETHAN
The error message blinks at me like a neon middle finger.
I’ve been staring at this same fucking code for six hours. Six hours of trying to implement the perfect everything, that was supposed to prove I could take criticism and turn it into something better.
Instead, my game crashes every time the tower explodes.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running both hands through my hair. It’s 2 AM on Monday, senior showcase is in three weeks, and I’m about to submit a project that doesn’t even run.
My phone sits face-down on the desk beside me, notifications silenced.
I know there are messages—from Freddie asking if I want dinner, from Alfie offering to help debug.
Maybe even from Piper, though I doubt it.
I haven’t looked at Discord because seeing ButterBoi69 online makes my chest feel like it’s caving in.
I haven’t spoken to or seen Piper since I discovered she is ButterBoi69. That was like…10 days ago.
I’m fucking miserable.
The bedroom door opens without a knock.
“Jesus Christ, man.” Troy’s voice cuts through the darkness. “It smells like energy drinks and desperation in here.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, not turning around.
“Sure you are.” The overhead light flicks on, making me wince. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“I slept.”
“When?”
I consider this. “Friday?”
“It’s Monday night, genius.” Troy surveys the disaster zone that is my room—empty energy drink cans, crumpled notebook pages, three different hoodies I’ve worn and discarded. “Okay, that’s it. Emergency intervention.”
“Troy, I don’t need—”
“Freddie! Alfie!” he bellows down the hall. “Code red in Ethan’s room!”
“I hate you,” I mumble.
Within minutes, all three of my housemates have invaded my space. Freddie carries nachos, Alfie has his laptop and decent coffee, and Troy’s dragging in extra chairs.
“Alright,” Troy announces, making himself comfortable on my bed. “What’s the damage?”
I gesture at my screen. “Everything’s broken. The new scene crashes the engine. I’m three weeks from showcase and my GPA is fucked.”
“Let me see.” Alfie nudges me aside, scanning the code. “Ah. You’re calling a particle effect that doesn’t exist. Line 2847.”
“That’s it?” I stare at the screen. “A missing file?”
“That’s one problem. There are more underneath.” He keeps typing. “But why are you freaking about your GPA? The beta test is only part of your grade.”
“Twenty percent,” I mutter. “And Piper’s review tanked it.”
“Piper?” Freddie’s head snaps up. “What’s she got to do with this?”
I take a breath. “She’s ButterBoi69. The reviewer who gave me 2 out of 5 stars.”
Silence.
“Holy shit!” Troy says finally.
“Yeah. And that 2 brought my beta average down to a B-minus. In my best class. The one that’s supposed to carry my mediocre grades.”
“Wait,” Alfie turns from the computer. “The beta feedback is only twenty percent of your final grade?”
“Yeah, but—”
“So the showcase and final submission are worth eighty percent?”
I pause. “Yeah...”
“Then stop being a drama queen,” Troy says bluntly. “You can still get an A if you nail the rest.”
“But the beta scores are locked in—”
“So we make sure your final build is perfect,” Alfie interrupts. “We’ll all test it tomorrow, help you polish every detail before showcase.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course,” Freddie says. “Bros before grades. Or something.”
“That’s not the saying,” Troy points out.
“Whatever, you know what I mean.”
I slump in my chair. They’re right. I’ve been so focused on feeling betrayed that I forgot the beta was just one part of the grade.
“Let me see the actual review,” Alfie says, pulling up Discord. He reads in silence, then looks at me. “Dude, this is incredible feedback.”
“She destroyed my ending!”
“She said it didn’t feel earned. Was she wrong?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because no, she wasn’t wrong. The ending did come out of nowhere.
“Look at the rest,” Alfie continues. “‘Best character development in a student game.’ ‘Addictive gameplay loop.’ ‘Made me cry at the second act break.’ This isn’t someone who hated your game, Ethan. This is someone who loved it enough to be honest about the one thing that didn’t work.”
“I’m an idiot,” I say.
“Yep,” they chorus.
“A fixable idiot though,” Alfie adds, turning back to the code. “Let’s implement this heartbeat thing properly...”
By 6 AM, we’ve done it.
The tower falls in violet flame, just like before. But now, as the destruction settles, text appears on screen—
The staff lies shattered. Your power fades. What remains?
Three options shimmer into existence—
a) Try to repair what was broken
b) Accept the loss and forge something new
c) Let the destruction consume you
“Try the first one,” Troy demands, leaning over my shoulder.
I click it. The apprentice gathers the shattered pieces, desperately trying to force them back together. The magic backfires, exploding outward. The screen goes dark. A single heartbeat. then…
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING.
“Now the second,” Alfie says.
Same ending approached differently—the apprentice accepts the broken staff, tries to channel raw magic without it. The power overwhelms him. Darkness. Heartbeat. Same message.
“And the third,” Freddie whispers.
The apprentice doesn’t fight. He opens himself to the destructive magic, lets it flow through him. The result is the same—consumed by power he can’t control. Darkness. Heartbeat. Beginning.
“Holy shit!” Troy breathes out. “They all lead to the same place.”
“But I chose it,” Freddie says. “I picked how to fail. That’s... that’s brilliant.”
“It’s what Piper suggested,” I admit. “Not exactly, but she said players needed to feel like participants in the destruction, not victims of it. So now they choose their path to devastation.”
“And all paths lead to the heartbeat,” Alfie observes. “To the promise that this isn’t over.”
I run through all three options again, watching how each choice feels deliberate, meaningful, even though the destination never changes.
“The illusion of choice,” Troy says. “But it doesn't feel like an illusion.”
“Because the choice is real,” I explain. “You're choosing how to face loss, not whether to face it. The emotion is different even if the outcome isn't.”
“She's going to lose her mind when she sees this,” Freddie says.
My chest tightens at the mention of her. “If she ever sees it.”
“She will,” Troy says with characteristic confidence. “After showcase. After you nail your presentation and prove to everyone—including yourself—that you're as good as we all know you are.”
“I wasn't thinking about reaching out yet,” I lie.
“Bullshit,” Alfie calls from where he's still adjusting code. “You've been thinking about her all night. How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”
“I've been thinking about my game all night. And, twelve days.”
“You’re counting the days. You care. And, your game that she helped make better,” Freddie points out.
I run my hands through my hair. “Look, even if I wanted to reach out—which I'm not saying I do—I need to focus. Showcase is in a few days. My entire future depends on that presentation.”
“Good,” Troy says, surprising me. “Get your shit together first. Show her the final version when it's perfect, not when you're still spiraling.”
“I'm not spiraling.”
They all look at me.
“Fine, I'm spiraling a little. But the presentation comes first. I need to prove this is real, that I can do this.” I look at my screen, at the game that's consumed years of my life. “Maybe after, if it goes well, I'll... consider options.”
“Options,” Alfie repeats. “Very romantic.”
“What options?” Freddie asks.
“I don't know. Depends how showcase goes.”
“Grand gesture,” Freddie suggests. “But after you nail the presentation. Show up with flowers and a heartfelt speech about how you're an idiot.”
“Subtle conversation,” Alfie counters. “Acknowledge you overreacted, ask for a chance to start over. But yeah, after showcase.”
“Dick pic,” Troy adds helpfully. “Right after you get a standing ovation.”
“Troy!”
“What? It worked for me and Delilah that one time—”
“I'm not sending Piper an unsolicited dick pic, before OR after showcase!”
“Your loss. I'm telling you, confidence is key. And nothing says confidence like absolutely crushing your senior presentation.”
I shake my head, but I'm grinning despite myself. These idiots somehow managed to debug both my code and my emotional state in one night.
“First, I perfect this presentation,” I decide. “Then... we'll see. Maybe she'll be there. Maybe she won't. But I need to do this for me first.”
“Now you're thinking straight,” Troy approves. “Get your professional shit sorted, then deal with the emotional stuff.”
“And if all else fails—” Troy starts.
“No dick pics!”
“Fine, be boring.”
As my friends file out, leaving me alone with my fixed game and the weight of the upcoming showcase. I look at where Greg used to sit on the windowsill. I never got around to getting him back from Piper. For that, I would have had to face her.
“What do you think, buddy?” I ask Greg's ghost. “Think we can survive three more days? Get through showcase first?”
Greg's ghost obviously doesn't answer, but I take this silence as approval.
And then I laugh at myself.
Before, I was talking to a plant, but at least, it was there. Now, I am talking to his ghost.
I have really lost it.
I guess I just need to pull it together for the next three days.
Three days. Three days to prove I made the right choice with my life. Three days to show everyone—my dad, my professors, maybe even Piper if she shows up—that this is real.
Then, and only then, I'll figure out if some things can still be fixed.