After a few medical tests to make sure everything was well and good inside my cranium, I was free to go, along with the expected reminders to take it slow for a couple of weeks, change my unhealthy lifestyle, and be awesome as always—my doctors didn’t say that last one, but they should’ve.

Everyone I met from my room to the main entrance of the hospital where a company car waited was blessed with a polite greeting and a gracious farewell—from the nurses assigned to my floor, their tag-along interns, hard-working cleaning personnel who didn’t give a shit who I was, and, of course, the receptionist at the front desk. I also ran into Ronald, and he had a firm handshake to remember me; a brotherly hug might’ve been too much, but I did consider it.

“Take care, Mr. Herald, sir,” he said.

“Thank you for the help during the short time I stayed here.” I couldn’t come up with any specific helpful thing he did that wasn’t part of his job, so I settled with generic praise.

And thus, began the first day after being discharged from the hospital of Herald Stone, The Man who Changed After Experiencing a Near-Death—scratch that, it didn’t roll off the tongue quite right. I had to think of something more concise. And was it considered a near-death experience? The chance of dying was present; I did hit a metal dumbbell rack with my head. But I wasn’t dying. Not anywhere close.

Be it one way or the other, I was still going to tell people I had a close shave with death and, consequently, had an epiphany to change for the better—this was technically impossible because I was already perfect. Another item added to my bag of tricks.

I’ve seen inspirational speakers use their near-death experiences to connect with the crowd. I bet I could squeeze a ton of mileage out of my own ‘experience’. A welcome change of pace from my usual, and very much true, bread and butter story of rising from humble beginnings.

Herald Stone, The Changed Man After Nearly Dying—still too unwieldy. I’d eventually get it right.

“Everything seems to be proceeding smoothly,” I said. That sounded like a line an evil mastermind would say overseeing the progress of his plan to conquer the world. Great was the temptation to steeple my hands and form the triangle of scheming with my fingers while saying those words. Mustache-twirling would’ve been a fine touch too, but I was clean-shaven. Too melodramatic just for observing the ongoing renovation of the original Stone house.

Our quaint and modest bungalow had passed through three families since we moved out after the bank had foreclosed it. Those people had no love for the fruit of the hard work of Pops and Mum, leaving it in a decrepit state. Makes my blood boil…

Since money was far from a problem, we siblings agreed to buy back our old house and renovate it as a present for Mum—one of my Goals. It’d be expanded with a second floor and an attic added according to its original design that wasn’t followed because my newly-wed parents back then couldn’t afford their complete dream home.

Mum still didn’t know about this, and we were planning to surprise her when the whole family got together a couple of weeks from now.

“What do you think, Jimmy?”

Jimmy, the chauffeur of the company car sent to fetch me, turned the driver-side windows fully transparent. “I can’t believe they’re already painting it, sir. They sure do work fast.”

He could’ve just given me a stock response without looking out the window, perhaps a broad comment that it was going to be a beautiful house. Instead, he did look and pointed out something specific. Inconsequential to most people. Who cared about what their driver did? To me, this was a sign of a genuine person—genuine as opposed to…me. I did occasionally employ this trick to appear genuine. This was a good refresher.

“It was worth hiring the best developer in the city,” I said. There was no Herald Stone, Aspect of the Dutiful Son. I truly loved my mother. I’d spare no expenses for her.

“Sir, are you going to go down? I’ll park—”

“No need, Jimmy,” I said. My sister, Nelly, already talked to the foreman yesterday. She had sent me pictures of the interior. “I’m feeling light-headed from the painkillers.” The Man of the People wanted to take it slow for today.

“Do I drive you to your apartment to rest, sir?”

“Let’s first pass by the sites for the two new branches.”

Jimmy mapped our route on the projection that overlaid the side of the windshield. “Heavy traffic downtown, sir. We’ll take the Falcon Expressway and round the north end. Central Mallard Market first, then the one on Pintail Street?”

“Please.”

“Copy that.”

Plenty had changed in my childhood neighborhood. Houses became grander, no more potholes on the road, the sidewalk paved with decorative bricks. Trees and modern streetlights lined the middle and sides of the road, giving a proper middle-class suburb atmosphere—signs of Egret becoming a wealthy city. If someone dropped me here without telling me where I was, I wouldn’t realize I used to live in this area. Even the old town parish near our house was remodeled, now used by a different religious sect. I hated going to church because it cut into my playing time.

“Huh?” I quickly sat straight up. We passed a place I did recognize. “It’s still open?”

“Sir?”

“It’s the—never mind.” The convenience store, Kiwi-KwikStop, was still here. It appeared the same as the last time I saw it other than a fresh coat of paint and a new version of their mascot, Mr. Kwiky. “On second thought, Jimmy, can we turn left here?”

“Copy that. Are we still heading to Mallard Area?”

“Just some sightseeing detour.”

“Any specific place, sir? Starling Park up ahead is a popular tourist spot.”

I drummed my fingers on my knee. Jimmy slowed the car down. I leaned forward between the front seats to have a better view of the street. Using the convenience store as a landmark, I estimated where Vanguard Gaming should be. It was ages ago, but I used to bike through this street every single damn day to waste my life playing computer games. “It should be over there. I’m not sure what its name is now—oh, it’s still Vanguard Gaming?”

“Yes, sir. Should I park the car?”

“Please and thank you,” I said. I had no expectations of meeting the old gang in this place. I hadn’t kept up with them after my family was forced to move out of Egret, and I had no idea where everyone was now. Yet I was still interested in checking the place. Pay my respects for old time’s sake. “I…I’ll just have a look around.” Was I becoming sentimental?

“Sir, will you need—?”

“I can manage on my own.” It would’ve been laughable if I fell once again because of my dizziness. But if I did meet anyone I knew, I didn’t want to look like a snobbish social climber with an attendant tailing him. “Thank you, Jimmy.” As always, formal expression of gratitude along with the first name.

Vanguard Gaming wasn’t a PC Café anymore. As empires rose and fell throughout history, the era of gaming with PCs long passed, overtaken by various models of WeeCees, and it too ceded its throne to VR helms.

Through it all, Vanguard Gaming survived. And thrived.

The formerly grubby shop with a couple of dozen computer units crammed in a sardine can had been renovated and expanded, taking over the stores to its left and right to increase its area. Its main business became selling WeeCees and VR helms to keep up with the times, with space dedicated to renting them out to gamers.

Who would’ve known Jefferson’s dad was this good at managing a business? That stout old man just watched foreign soap operas on a small tv behind the counter all day. Or maybe Jefferson himself had taken over?

A bunch of kids entered the store, yelling at each other about MCO. That made me smile. Little shits walking the same path I had. Some things just don’t change.

“Excuse me, sir?” A brunette woman with a messy bob cut came up to me. Her small upturned nose gave her a hint of impishness, and her buck teeth that I noticed when she spoke—more like a rabbit’s front incisors rather than a pronounced overbite—just added to her air of mischievousness. She adjusted the bulky box wrapped in her arms and gave me a look over with furrowed brows.

“Good morning,” I automatically said out of reflex. “How may I help you?”

“The fuck?” She gave me an incredulous glare.

What’s wrong with this crazy woman? Picking a fight out of the blue. I deliberated on the right reply to a stranger cursing me out of left field when we locked eyes. She was conventionally attractive, I’ll give her that, her features giving her a novel pixie-like side, but appearances didn’t faze me. Never did. Something else gave me pause.

Her eyes…they were unsettling. Very unsettling.

She had extremely pale grey eyes. A very rare color, unless this was colored contacts. But, no. Not exactly her eyes that bothered me—it was their look.

It was like she’d seen all the sins of the world and had forsaken any hope for humanity. I wasn’t exaggerating. If someone told me she stole the eyes of Death itself, I’d believe them. The harbinger of the end times. Her eyes bore into my soul—good thing I didn’t have one.

“How may I help you?” she asked, repeating my words with a snarky tone.

“Huh? What?” I shook myself out of the endless void that was her eyes.

She shifted her cargo to show me the logo on the front of her shirt. Emblazoned across it was ‘Vanguard Gaming’. “Eyes up please, if you’re done reading.”

“I wasn’t ogling—"

She snorted in exasperation. “How may I help you, sir?” she said with an exaggerated emphasis on the word ‘sir’. “I work here, so that was supposed to be my line.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit dizzy and wasn’t thinking straight,” I truthfully said, tapping the bandages on my head. A guy with head injuries, surely that would elicit some sympathy.

She didn’t bother replying, nudging me away from the entrance with the box she carried. The doors automatically opened and she entered. I followed, my curiosity getting the better of me. If Jefferson still owned this place, perhaps I could make some passive-aggressive maneuvers to have this woman reprimanded without appearing as a dickish irate customer myself.

The once shabby PC café that seemed like a place for selling drugs became a proper and modern tech shop one could find in the business district of big cities. Heavily tinted glass walls separated a third of the floor space from the rest. Through the glass, I saw hints of people in resting pods wearing AU-VR Helms. The middle portion of the store had holographic projections of the main products for sale, VR Helms and WeeCees, with a few real models on pedestals. The last third of the shop to my left had the sales counter along with shelves stocked with electronic peripherals and accessories.

Beautiful…

My second home was more beautiful than the last time I saw it.

“Open this and sort them out on the shelves,” the woman with soulless eyes said to another employee, handing him the box she carried. She turned around and noticed me. Raising a brow, she said, “How may I help you, sir? That’s the third time I asked you that.”

“I’m just looking—”

“Looking for the manager?” She gestured to her chest. “I am—wait, where’s my nameplate? I swear I wasn’t pointing at my boobs.” Her embarrassed shimmy and the slight blush on her cheeks lessened the death glare of her abyssal eyes. “There we go,” she triumphantly said, fixing a silver tag on her shirt.

“No, I wasn’t looking for the manager. Huh, that’s your name?”

“Eclairs Fawn,” she said with her chin jutted out as if daring me to make fun of it. “First name food, last name an animal. And yes, it’s real. I usually don’t wear this because people get fixated on my peculiar name. However, if you can see below my name, there, my title, manager. Complain away.”

“That says manager, alright,” I said. Well, she got me there. This Eclairs woman was interesting. ‘Amusing’ might be the better word. It had been a rollercoaster ride interacting with her. Rather than be offended, I was, in a way, satisfied. Having unhinged people inside Vanguard Gaming was tradition. “I don’t have anything to complain about. I was going to say I’m just looking around.”

She raised a brow at me. After a couple of seconds, she shrugged. “Look around then. Ring the bell on the counter if you need help. It’s just me and a couple of other guys here, so we’re pretty swamped. Half my staff didn’t show up, ugh.” And she stomped away in a huff.

“Wait, Ms. Manager,” I called out. She might appreciate me not using her name. “Since you’re the manager, can you tell me who’s the owner of this store? Is it still Mr. Tuffin?” That was Jefferson’s family name if I remembered it correctly. I still hadn’t given up on getting back a bit on this crazy, devil-eyed, food-named, woman even though she was entertaining.

“Why do you ask?”

“I used to live around these parts and returned only recently. I wanted to visit my old friend, Jefferson. I haven’t met or talked to him for years.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know. Jefferson Tuffin sold Vanguard Gaming to us about seven years ago.”

“I see. Thank you. The owner now is your family, the Fawns?”

“No, the Bodersons.”

“Bodersons…Boady?”

“Boady?”

“Very huge guy,” I said, shaping in the air what I could recall of his size. “My name’s Herald. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of me from Boady, but we used to play here in Vanguard Gaming when it was still a PC Café. Of course, that was a decade and a half ago, so I’m not sure if—”

“Oh! You mean Derrick.” Eclairs snapped her fingers. “That was really a while back, huh? He did call himself Boady for a time.” She chuckled. “I do remember Derrick used to be ginormous.”

“Used to be?

“I saw him when I was a kid and thought he was a sofa chair. He’s pretty fit now. Lost about a hundred fifty pounds.”

“Boady? Fit?” My surprise was genuine. When I returned to Egret City, I expected to hear at least one of the people I knew had already bit the dust, and Boady was on the top of that list—sorry, Boady. “I can’t picture that. Boady, or Derrick…he bought this place from Jefferson?”

“And I’m managing it,” she said. “I’m his cousin.” I could see a slight resemblance. “I’m also part owner, although my share is small.” She put her hands on her hips. “That means, if you have complaints about the manager, you can direct them to me as well.”

“Judge, jury, and executioner?” I said with a smile. She got me there for the second time. I didn’t even show any aggressiveness, yet she knew what I planned to do.

“Exactly.”

“Where’s Boady now?” Even more than Jefferson, Paul, Manson, the old gang, I wanted to meet Boady again.

The last time I talked to him was when he bought my account in Nornyr Online before my family left Egret City. It was a very strong character, proven by its track record in all game content, including in PvP setting fighting whale accounts. The problem was it, itself, wasn’t a whale account. No items and perks bought with premium currency or real cash, no valuable meta gears. And it was a tank, so it had less demand than a DPS character. On top of all of that, no one uses a build like mine in the competitive scene, so…it had no value.

Boady shoved all of that aside and paid the price as if it was a high-end DPS account on the market. He tried to convince me it was worth something even though he knew that I knew he was lying through his teeth. I supposed that was his way of helping me out with my family’s struggles without it being an outright handout; I was too proud to receive charity from anyone. I wanted to do something for him in return now that I could repay severalfold. Herald Stone, The Man Who Never Forgets His Debts—again, too long.

“He’s in the Nahebani Federation—”

“For vacation? That doesn’t sound safe.”

“—with Reaching Hands.”

“Oh, wow. My picture of present Boady keeps changing,” was all I can say. Boady had me beat at being the Man of the People. I had to step up my game. More philanthropic acts—mental note for future Goals. Our company did have events and programs for corporate social responsibility bullshit, helping the poor and taking photos, but nothing as hardcore as going to a war-torn country for food aid programs. Man, I want photos doing that.

“Mister, um, Herald, right?” Eclairs asked. I nodded. “So, you’re Boady’s friend?” She tucked her short hair behind her ears and slightly bowed. “I’m really sorry for being a proper bitch—”

“No, you weren’t,” I interjected. Yes, you were. “I understand you’re tired and stressed, we’ve all been there.” Cue in a fake hearty laugh to show relatability. And what did she mean by a ‘proper bitch’? Compared to an improper one? Would an improper bitch cancel out the negatives and circle back to being a good person, or did it entail a worse person?

“When I saw you with your bandaged head, I thought you escaped from a psychiatric ward or something. And then you were looking all funny at the kids.”

“Oh, so that’s why you were acting suspicious of me,” I told her. Now, I truly didn’t know what to make of her. I did owe Boady, so I should be nice to his family. “That explains it, Ms. Manager. You’re doing a good job.”

Eclairs offered me an apologetic smile. “Well, if there’s anything I can help you with, just say it. I can recommend places to tour in the city since you haven’t been here for a long time.”

“There is something…” I turned to the displays in the middle of the store. “I’m thinking of buying an AU-VR Helm.”