Chapter 40
ETHAN
My room looks like a bomb has exploded. Three monitors glow with different versions of my portfolio, cables snake across my desk like digital ivy, and I’ve consumed enough energy drinks to power a small city.
The upload deadline for final projects is in six hours, and I’ve checked the submission portal approximately forty-seven times to make sure Fault Line uploaded correctly.
“Still paranoid?” Troy pokes his head in, finding me hunched over my laptop.
“The file size seems off,” I mutter, refreshing the submission page again. “What if it corrupted during upload? What if the choice mechanism doesn’t trigger properly? What if—”
“What if you need to chill?” He tosses me a water bottle. “It’s uploaded. I watched you do it. Twice.”
“Three times,” I correct. “I deleted and re-uploaded to be sure.”
Troy rolls his eyes. “You’re worse than Freddie during his dissertation. At least he didn’t—”
My phone rings, the sound cutting through the room like a siren. Professor Long’s name flashes on the screen.
My blood turns to ice.
“Why is he calling?” I stare at the phone like it’s a live grenade. “The deadline isn’t for six hours. Oh god, what if something’s wrong with my submission? What if the file’s corrupted? What if—”
“Answer it,” Troy says. “Before you give yourself an aneurysm.”
My hands shake as I swipe to answer. “Professor Long?”
“Ethan?” His voice sounds... different. Not angry or concerned, but almost excited? “I’m glad I caught you. Are you free to talk?”
I glance at Troy, who’s now fully invested in my potential crisis. “Yeah, I can talk. Is everything okay? Did my submission—”
“Your submission is fine,” he assures me, and I nearly collapse with relief. “More than fine, actually. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Remember when I mentioned my brother works at Nebula Arcade?”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out strangled.
“Well, I may have sent him your beta build. The one with the choice mechanism.” He pauses, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Ethan, he’s been trying to reach me all day. He’s incredibly impressed.”
I sink onto my bed, legs suddenly unable to support me. Troy mouths ‘what’s happening?’ but I can’t form words to respond.
“But I haven’t even—grades aren’t finalized. The showcase is tomorrow. I don’t—”
“Sometimes exceptional work doesn’t need a grade,” Long says gently. “Your revision after the beta feedback, the way you transformed criticism into innovation... Marcus says it’s some of the most sophisticated early development he’s seen from a student.”
“Marcus?” I repeat dumbly, even though I know perfectly well who Marcus is.
“Marcus. Lead Creative Writer at Nebula. My brother.” There’s pride in his voice now. “He’d very much like to speak with you about opportunities after graduation.”
The room tilts. I grip my phone tighter, sure I’m hallucinating from too much caffeine and too little sleep.
“Opportunities?”
“They’re starting a new project. Something experimental. He thinks your choice mechanism would be perfect for what they’re developing.” Long chuckles. “I have to admit, I’ve been hoping for this since I saw your junior year project. But this revision? This proved you’re ready.”
Ready. The word echoes in my head. Ready for what?
“I can add him on this call right now if you’re willing to talk to him. No pressure—this isn’t a formal interview. He just wants to discuss your work, your vision. Maybe talk about what happens after you graduate.”
I look around my disaster zone of a room. At Greg thriving on the windowsill. At the sketches covering my walls. At three years of work leading to this moment.
“Yes,” I manage. “Yes, I want to talk to him.”
“Excellent. Oh, and Ethan?” Long’s voice softens.
“I know finals aren’t over yet, but I want you to know—regardless of what happens with Nebula, you should be proud.
The growth you’ve shown, especially this semester with the tutoring and the revision.
.. you’ve proven everyone wrong who doubted you could succeed in this field. ”
My throat feels tight. After years of Dad’s disappointment, of feeling like a failure for choosing games over football, hearing those words from someone I respect...
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“No need to thank me. You did the work. Now let me transfer you to Marcus. And, Ethan? Just be yourself. He’s already impressed.”
There’s a click, then silence. I stare at Troy, who’s practically vibrating with curiosity.
“Nebula Arcade wants to talk to me,” I say, the words feeling unreal.
“Holy shit! The Galaxynth people?”
Before I can respond, a new voice comes on the line. Deeper than Long’s, more casual.
“Ethan? This is Marcus. I have to tell you, I haven’t been this excited about a student project in years.”
And just like that, my entire world shifts.
The conversation that follows feels like a dream—Marcus asking about my inspiration, my vision for expanding the choice mechanism, what kinds of stories I want to tell. He mentions words like “junior creative writer” and “experimental project” and “real potential for growth.”
But I barely process the details because this is actually happening. Without my dad’s connections. Without football.
Just me and the work I created because someone believed I could do better.
“We should talk more formally after finals,” Marcus is saying. “But I wanted you to know we’re very interested. Peter speaks highly of you, and after playing your build... we’d love to have you on the team.”
“I—thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Thank you for creating something that surprised me. That’s rare these days.” He pauses. “Peter will send you the next steps, but for now, focus on finals. We’ll talk soon.”
The call ends. I sit there, phone still pressed to my ear, trying to process what just happened.
“Dude,” Troy says. “What did he say?”
“He said...” I trail off, still not believing it. “He said they want me.”
“Ethan!” Troy shouts loud enough to bring Freddie and Alfie running.
“What’s wrong?” Freddie appears in the doorway, looking ready to fight someone.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep. “Everything’s actually... perfect.”
As my roommates demand details, as the reality starts to sink in, all I can think about is telling Piper.
But first, I need to sit here for a minute and let it sink in.
I did it.
I actually fucking did it.