The door shut behind him.
The narrow street outside swallowed him at once.
Life pressed in from every side. Children ran barefoot between houses, laughing as if danger was part of the game. Smoke from a grill drifted over the road, carrying the smell of pork barbecue and charcoal. A tricycle coughed near the corner. Someone was washing clothes in a plastic basin. Someone else was arguing about borrowed money. The air carried heat, gasoline, food, and noise.
Zedric walked fast, then faster.
His stomach complained about the unfinished meal.
His mother's voice still echoed in his head.
Think about Althea.
He grimaced.
"Yeah. Great timing, Ma."
At the tricycle terminal, one driver leaned back in his seat, towel around his neck, eyes half-closed.
Zedric approached. "Manong, mall."
The driver opened one eye. "Special?"
Zedric looked at the sky like heaven might sponsor him.
"How much?"
The driver named a price.
Zedric stared. "Manong, I said mall, not airport."
The driver shrugged. "Traffic."
"It's not traffic. It's robbery with a roof."
"Walk then."
Zedric climbed in. "Mall."
The driver smiled faintly and started the engine.
Twenty minutes later, Zedric reached the mall with less money, more sweat, and a growing sense that death penalties in Jupiter01 were easier than real-life appointments.
He paid the fare, stepped down, and jogged inside.
Cold air hit him.
The mall was bright, polished, and aggressively clean compared to the street outside. Glass walls reflected people walking in pairs and groups, carrying drinks, shopping bags, and faces that seemed to know where they were going.
Zedric searched quickly.
Food court.
Escalator.
Cinema entrance.
Clothing stores.
Then he saw her.
Althea sat on a corner bench near a closed boutique, wearing jeans and a plain shirt. No makeup. Hair tied loosely. A small sling bag rested on her lap. She did not look dressed for a date. She looked like someone who had come to buy something.
Still, she was beautiful.
Not loud beauty.
Not the kind that begged to be noticed.
The kind that made people look twice and then pretend they had not.
Zedric knew what people called him.
Lucky bastard.
Sometimes joking.
Sometimes not.
Looking at her now, he could not even argue.
Althea saw him before he reached her.
She did not smile.
That was bad.
Very bad.
"Hi," Zedric said, stopping in front of her, slightly breathless. "I have a strong explanation."
Althea looked up at him gently.
Too gently.
That was worse.
"You forgot," she said.
Not a question.
Zedric opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then nodded. "Yes."
Her eyes softened, but her posture stayed firm. That was Althea—kind enough to understand, stubborn enough not to excuse everything.
"How long were you playing?" she asked.
"Morning."
"Streaming?"
"Trying."
"Did it go well?"
Zedric gave a small smile. "Define well."
"Zedric."
The smile died.
He sat beside her, leaving a little space between them. "No. It went badly."
Althea looked ahead, watching people pass.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The mall noise surrounded them—footsteps, distant music, children asking for snacks, a cashier calling someone's order. Everything felt too normal for the weight gathering between them.
Althea's hands rested quietly on her bag.
"I waited," she said. "I told myself maybe traffic. Maybe you had to help at home. Maybe your phone died."
Zedric lowered his gaze.
"Then I realized I was making excuses for you again."
That one landed clean.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."
"I know."
He looked at her.
She finally turned to him. Her eyes were calm, but not weak. There was hurt there, held carefully, like something she refused to throw even if she had every right.
"You always say sorry," Althea said. "And I believe you. That's the problem."
Zedric swallowed.
"I don't mean to make you wait."
"But you still do."
His fingers curled against his knee.
Althea continued, voice gentle but piercing. "I am not asking you to stop playing. I know Jupiter01 matters to you, even when you pretend it doesn't. I know streaming is something you're trying to make work."
He almost laughed.
Trying.
That word was kind.
Too kind.
"But I need to know where I stand," she said. "Not in your jokes. Not when your mother reminds you. Not when you suddenly remember me because you're already late."
Zedric stared at the floor tiles.
They reflected the mall lights in broken lines.
Althea took a breath.
Then asked the question.
"Choose, Zedric."
His chest tightened.
She did not raise her voice. She did not cry. She did not make a scene. Somehow, that made it harder.
"Choose what kind of life you want," she said. "Do you want to keep chasing a stream you don't even seem happy doing? Do you want to stay as you are and hope everything fixes itself? Or do you want to build something real—with me, with your family, with yourself?"
Zedric felt the answer should have been simple.
Say her.
Say real life.
Say he would change.
Say the game was just a game.
But the words stuck.
Because Jupiter01 was no longer just a game. Not after the way memories followed him out of the Neuro-Dive. And streaming—pathetic as it looked—was still the only thing he had chosen for himself without asking permission.
He wanted Althea.
He wanted freedom.
He wanted peace.
He wanted to do whatever he wanted and somehow not lose anyone for it.
A stupid wish.
A childish one.
His silence stretched too long.
Althea watched him understand himself.
That hurt most.
"Althea," he started, voice quieter now. "I—"
She raised a hand gently.
"Don't."
He stopped.
She gave him a small smile, but it was tired. Not cruel. Not empty. Just worn down.
"If you answer now, you'll say what you think will stop me from leaving."
Zedric opened his mouth, but no defense came.
Althea looked down at her hands.
"I don't want a promise made in panic."
The words were soft.
Final.
Zedric felt colder than he should have in the mall air.
"So what are you saying?"
She looked at him again.
"I think we should call this off for a while."
His throat tightened.
"For a while?"
"Yes." Her voice trembled once, but she steadied it. "Not because I hate you. Not because I stopped caring. I just need space to think about our future. And you need space to decide if you actually want one with me."
Zedric tried to joke.
It rose by instinct, his usual escape.
Something like, Very dramatic for a mall bench.
But the words died before reaching his mouth.
For once, he listened.
Althea stood and adjusted the strap of her bag.
He stood too, slower.
"Can I walk you home?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Not today."
That was gentle.
That was worse.
She stepped closer and touched his arm lightly, a small kindness that almost broke him.
"Take care of yourself, Zedric."
Then she walked away.
He watched her disappear into the crowd.
No dramatic music.
No rain.
No battle panel.
No countdown.
Just mall lights, passing strangers, and the heavy silence of someone realizing he had been late to more than one date.
He bit his lips hard.
Sighed.
"Still bitter."