A dev pulled up a slowed-down clip of the moment Xavier was running alone through the collapsing tunnel. The whole panel applauded like they were reviewing a stunt scene from a movie.

"He was sliding under falling debris like it was choreographed—"

"His pathing was too clean—"

"I swear he ran through a fire pillar and didn't flinch. Does he do this everyday?"

"Someone check if he's even human—"

Xavier shook his head, leaning back on the couch. Watching them try to justify the disaster they created was more entertaining than the event itself.

Then his phone buzzed.

A holo-call request.

Angel.

He accepted it.

Her projection blinked to life in front of him, sitting cross-legged on her bed at the Midnight Club's private room, hair messy in that effortless way that somehow always suited her. She was eating something—probably noodles—straight from the container, eyes fixed on him with a look that said she'd been waiting for this call.

"You done playing apocalypse simulator?" she asked, chewing slowly.

"Phase three ended," he said, dropping onto the couch. "I'm alive."

"Barely. I saw the clips. You got roasted, stabbed, blasted, thrown through a tunnel… and then walked into the evac zone like you were going on a morning stroll."

He shrugged. "It wasn't hard."

She stabbed her noodles again. "You know the entire galaxy thinks you're cheating."

"Well, I was technically an NPC who didn't need to do anything," he shrugged.

"I also think the devs rigged half of that shit." She narrowed her eyes. "The rogue player—what did he say before he shot himself?"

"'See you in Mode 3. But the funny thing is, the devs clearly mentioned that those who participated in the mode 2 won't be able to participate in the mode 3."

Angel stopped eating. "Cute. Dramatic. And suspicious as hell. Maybe a fanatic. You know celebrities sometimes have obsessive and crazy fans."

"Well, I am crazier and more obsessive, so I am not worried about that. But he was good." Xavier said quietly. "Too good."

"Yeah. I'm already tracking him." She tossed the empty container aside. "Don't worry. I'll find out who he is."

He watched her stretch her arms above her head, the blue neon from her room reflecting faintly across her skin. She glanced back at him, smirking a little.

"So," she said, "you gonna shower before you smell like sweat and VR death? Or you planning to pass out?"

He leaned his head back. "Maybe. After I check the ship parts."

Angel rolled her eyes. "You can do that after taking a bath. You look like you crawled out of a server fire."

"Probably did."

She stared at him, amused, then sighed.

"Fine. Go shower. I'll send updates in an hour."

"That's what you said a few hours ago."

"I have arranged some parts and the cargo is already out for delivery. But there are things you should know. This talk can wait."

He ended the call, the holo projection fading out. His room fell quiet again except for the noise of the city and the lingering thrill in his body from the full dive.

Phase 3 was over.

But something about the rogue's last words sat in his mind like a small weight that refused to move.

'Mode 3, huh.'

He pushed himself off the couch and headed toward the shower.

Steam still clung to his skin when he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung around his neck. He grabbed a pair of shorts and dropped onto the edge of the bed, opening his holo-tablet. If he was leaving the planet soon, he had to get serious about this space license shit.

Bare minimum, he needed the learning permit before the real one, because the last thing he wanted was to fly out of Earth's gravity and get arrested by some bored patrol drone for not knowing what half the buttons did.

He spent almost an hour going through models of jump cores, fuel cells, grav regulators, retro thrusters, autopilot protocols, docking procedures, manuals for emergency landings, star-navigation basics, and even the boring legal stuff about interplanetary transit lanes and toll junctions. Half of it made sense. Half of it made him wonder how the hell anyone flew a ship without crashing.

He was halfway into reading about compressed quantum batteries when his phone buzzed with a holo-call.

Angel.

He accepted it, leaning back against the headboard as her projection flickered into the room. She was sitting at her desk this time, screens glowing behind her, stacks of data floating over her shoulder like she'd torn down half the galaxy's logistics network in the last few hours.

"I sent you a file," Angel said, pushing her glasses up with her thumb. "Check it."

He opened it.

An invoice list unfolded in front of him — long, detailed, layered with categories and sub-categories and each part tagged with verification seals.

Angel kept talking while he scrolled. "Most of the parts are arranged or in transit. Some are being pulled from warehouses right now. A few are being shipped from off-world. There are some pieces I can't get quickly enough — maybe forty percent — so I prioritized the main replacements. Anything that affects flight safety or power cores or the engine backbone, I secured those first."

Xavier kept scrolling.

Then he stopped.

The number at the bottom almost made him choke.

"Hundred and fifty billion?" he asked, blinking hard. "For… parts?"

"And there are still a few invoices left," she said, not even looking guilty. "But every piece is genuine, and I picked the best variants available right now. No garbage, no knockoffs. And I had to call some favors I thought I'd never touch again. You have no idea how many strings I pulled tonight."

"I didn't." She crossed her arms, staring at him through the holo-feed. "This ship will keep you alive when you're out there. I'm not risking your ass with cheap scrap metal."

He sighed, rubbed the side of his face, then said, "Fine. I'll send the remaining hundred billion when everything arrives."

Her expression softened, just for a moment.

He opened another message window and forwarded the entire set of lists to Requiem with a short note.

"Parts secured. Deliveries incoming. Prepare the ship."

It didn't take Requiem long to reply.

"Understood. I will begin preparations."

Angel popped up midair before he could even pull his hands back.

"Oh — the team of mechanics is going too," she said. "A hundred fifty of the best ones I could get on short notice. They'll arrive with the cargo. These guys know what they're doing. Just tell Requiem not to boss them around. They hate that."

Xavier forwarded that message to Requiem too.

Requiem responded with a single line:

"Noted."

Angel kept talking after that — details, schedules, arrival windows, storage arrangements, customs clearance, transport drones — but Xavier's eyes were already half-lidded from the long day.

"Angel," he said, cutting in. "Enough. I'm done listening about space and ship parts for tonight. My head hurts."

She froze mid-sentence, blinking at him.

Her face dropped almost instantly. Sad and sulky. Like he'd just told her he didn't want her around anymore.

He stared at her for a second, then sighed softly. "The door's unlocked if you want to drop by."

She just stared at him with that look she sometimes had — the one she tried to hide, the one that cracked through her every time he let his guard down even a little.

Then she ended the call.

Xavier tossed the phone aside, slid down on the bed, and closed his eyes for what felt like only a few minutes.

Twenty minutes later, he felt the bed dip behind him.

He opened one eye.

Angel was already there — curled up against his back like she'd always belonged in that spot, wearing his oversized hoodie, hair half-tied, fingers cold.

When she noticed Xavier was awake, she swung her leg over him and then climbed onto him.

"I am here to collect my reward."