Aiden's heart pounded in the dark, the screech of tires echoing in his skull. He was 16 again, standing in the gaming hall, his phone buzzing ignored as "Victory!" blazed on the screen. The crowd's cheers twisted into a hospital monitor's beep, sharp and relentless. His parents' car flipped in his mind's eye—metal crumpling, glass shattering, his mother's voice calling his name. He should've been there. He should've picked them up.
He bolted upright, drenched in sweat, his thin mattress creaking in the dim apartment. The clock read 3:17 a.m., its red glow cutting through the haze. His breath came in ragged gasps, the nightmare's claws lingering. Seven years, and the guilt still hunted him—because he'd chosen a tournament over their safety, because he'd failed Lily when she needed him most.
He swung his legs over the bed, rubbing his face, the dark circles under his eyes heavier in the mirror's faint reflection. The silence pressed in, broken only by Lily's soft breathing in the next room. Aiden stood, pacing to shake the ghosts, but they clung tight.
Seven years ago
The university gaming hall thrummed with life—screens flashing, keyboards clacking, Aiden's blood singing with focus. At 19, he was an engineering student, his mind a lattice of equations and strategies. The championship tournament was his stage, every move a brick in a perfect structure. His battlemage wove through enemies, traps snapping shut like blueprints coming alive.
"Close it out, Aiden!" his teammate shouted, voice nearly lost in the roar.
One calculated burst, and the enemy fell. "Victory!" lit the screen. Aiden stood, a rare grin breaking through, the crowd's cheers a wave he could ride forever.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Once, twice. He ignored it, high on the win, until the third vibration pulled him aside. The hospital's number glared back.
"Aiden Kim?" The nurse's voice was clipped, urgent. "There's been an accident. Your parents… you need to come now."
The world tilted. He ran, the taxi ride a blur of city lights and dread, his mind replaying the plan: he was supposed to pick them up, but the tournament ran long, and he'd texted them to drive instead. His fault.
The hospital reeked of antiseptic, cold and unyielding. In the waiting room, nine-year-old Lily sat alone, clutching their mother's purse, her face pale under fluorescent lights. She looked up, eyes brimming.
"Aiden," she choked, standing.
He crossed to her, pulling her into a hug, her small frame shaking against him. "I'm here, Lily," he whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."
Sorry for choosing the game. Sorry for leaving them. Sorry for breaking their family. The doctor's words—father gone, mother critical—hammered the guilt deeper, a weight he'd carry forever.
Present Day
Lily walked the school hallway, her secondhand backpack heavy with a dog-eared chemistry book. Her worn sneakers squeaked on the linoleum, drawing sneers from Mia's clique, their brand-name gear a silent taunt.
"Look, it's Thrift Shop Lily," Mia said, her laugh slicing through the air. "Got any new holes in that sweater?"
Lily's grip tightened, her cheeks warm, but she didn't flinch. Aiden's voice echoed from nights spent strategizing over cheap noodles: "Identify structural weaknesses." He'd meant game opponents, but it fit here too. She scanned Mia—her smugness, her need for a crowd, the way her eyes darted for validation.
Then Lily saw it: Mia's phone, screen cracked, a notification flashing about a missed club meeting. Vulnerability, exposed.
"I'd rather have holes than a broken phone," Lily said, voice even. "Missed another STEM club, Mia? Bet they loved that."
Mia's smirk faltered, her friends' giggles shifting targets. "Whatever, Lily," she snapped, but her step quickened.
Lily pressed forward, calm like Aiden before a clutch play. "I could help you prep for the next one. Chemistry's not hard if you focus."
Mia's posse hesitated, and she stormed off, momentum lost. Lily exhaled, a mix of triumph and ache. She wished Aiden could've seen her—his words, her victory. It wasn't a game, but it felt like one she'd won.
...
That night, Aiden and Marcus hunched over a corner table at the Golden Mouse, tablets glowing with League of the Ancient maps as they prepped for the tournament. The café was quiet, most players gone, leaving only the hum of PCs and their own low voices. Aiden's eyes stung from a long morning at SuprMart—$58.50 to keep Lily's school fees and allowance paid—but the strategy kept him sharp.
"If we bait their mage here," Marcus said, tracing a choke point, "you can drop your arcane net."
Aiden nodded, his mind half on the plan, half on the hospital visit earlier. Sarah's stillness, her rare eyelid flutter, had torn at him. Lily's chatter about school had been a balm, but guilt still gnawed—his fault she grew up too fast. "Yeah, control the flow, then hit hard."
They worked for an hour, then Marcus leaned back, stretching. "Ever think about what you'd do if this wasn't all… survival?"
Aiden blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Marcus's voice softened, a rare vulnerability showing. "I want a café someday. Not like this—a real place, where people come to build stuff, not just grind. Somewhere that lasts."
The words hit Aiden like a spark, stirring a buried dream. "I get that," he said quietly. "I wanted to build too—bridges, systems, real stuff. Engineering was supposed to be my way there."
"Still could be," Marcus said, his grin warm. "You're already architecting wins."
Aiden's throat tightened, a faint hope flickering through the weight. "Maybe. You too, man. A café sounds right."
Marcus chuckled, but his eyes held steady. "That's what we are—builders. Making something that sticks."
As they packed up, Aiden's gaze fell to his wallet, the faded photo inside—his parents, Lily, a younger him, all whole. The guilt was there, a permanent scar, but tonight it didn't crush him. Lily's strength, Marcus's dream—they were reminders he could still create, not just for survival, but for something more. The past was set, but the future was his to shape.