CHAPTER 191: FIRST BIG GAME OF THE YEAR.

Philadelphia smelled like ambition and freshly brewed coffee.

Lukas stood on the 14th floor of the newly unveiled Facebook headquarters in the heart of Philly’s tech corridor. The office was alive with a mechanical pulse—monitors flickering with real-time data, developers in branded hoodies sliding across wheeled chairs, and logistics managers talking into earpieces. This wasn’t a campus operation anymore. It was a war room.

And tomorrow, he has his first match of the year.

Not just any match. A ranked NCAA battle in front of packed bleachers and national coverage. Lukas had barely slept between final practices, strategic meetings, and aligning servers for the public Facebook rollout.

"You look like you belong in two worlds," Henry said as he entered, tossing Lukas a protein bar. "One foot in the tech throne, the other on the court."

"That’s how kings build empires," Lukas smirked.

"Beta deployment at 4 p.m., press embargo lifts 6 p.m. sharp," Henry continued. "Are you sure you can handle game night right after this?"

"I’ll go straight from here to the stadium," Lukas replied. "Bella and Annie will be watching. I don’t miss them."

In a private suite at The Logan, one of Philadelphia’s luxury hotels, Annie stretched across the velvet couch, her laptop open but forgotten. Bella was pacing, arms folded, phone pressed to her ear.

"Yes, Mr. Nguyen, the furniture has to arrive before the baby shower. No excuses. We paid double for a reason."

She hung up and sighed. Annie smiled, gently patting the spot beside her. "Come sit. You’re more wired than Lukas today."

"He’s in two wars at once," Bella murmured, finally sitting. "I don’t know how he does it."

"Because he does it for us."

They both paused at that. It was true. Behind the press releases, the media glare, and viral headlines, Lukas had never stopped putting them first. Whether it was picking out nursery details or canceling a boardroom clash to take them to dinner, they knew he carried their lives inside his.

Back at the headquarters, Lukas reviewed the final deployment module. Yaho patched in from Tokyo.

"Servers holding," she reported. "Tokyo, Jakarta, Berlin, and Cairo are synced. Facebook goes live globally in 14 hours."

"Perfect," Lukas replied. "Keep me posted. I’m off to make history twice tomorrow."

Launch Day.

The clock struck 6 p.m. The press embargo lifted. The digital doors of Facebook swung open to the public—beyond campus, beyond borders.

Lukas sat in his corner office, a steaming espresso at his elbow, his eyes fixed on the giant monitor showing user data.

Nothing.

The graph remained still. No spike. No climb. Just a straight line.

Henry came in, slow.

"We’re... live, right?"

Yaho’s voice crackled through the speakers. "Confirmed. All systems are up. Pages are indexed. Emails sent. Servers idling."

"Why is no one signing up?" Lukas asked, standing.

Henry opened a new dashboard. Zero registrations. Zero page impressions. Not a single click.

"Maybe there’s a DNS lag—"

"No," Lukas cut in. "We tested that."

An hour passed. Then another.

It was a brutal, echoing kind of silence—the kind that didn’t feel technical. It felt indifferent.

The world had simply... not noticed.

In the hotel suite, Annie and Bella watched the screen refresh. Nothing changed. Their excitement dimmed.

Bella finally shut the laptop. "It’s not catching."

Annie rubbed her temples. "He’s going to feel this."

At 9:17 p.m., Lukas stepped out onto the balcony alone. Below, the lights of Philadelphia glimmered like shattered glass. He leaned on the railing, face unreadable.

Henry joined him.

"It’s not over," he said.

"It’s worse," Lukas replied. "It never began."

He took a long breath. His phone buzzed. A message from Annie:

"Still proud of you. We’re here."

Then Bella:

"You win the game tomorrow, and we’ll fix this together."

Lukas closed his eyes. Then opened them again—sharper. Harder.

"Alright," he said. "Tomorrow, I win. Then we make them care."

He turned back inside. If no one was coming to Facebook’s door, he’d build a door that forced them to.

This wasn’t failure. It was a pause. And Lukas had never paused for long.

The sun rose slowly and sharply over Philadelphia, catching on the mirrored windows of the Facebook headquarters—a newly finished, three-story brick-and-glass building nestled in the innovation district. Inside, the place was quiet, but humming beneath that silence was something close to sacred tension. Lukas Martin stood by the main console, palms pressed on the cold aluminum table, his eyes fixed on the large wall-mounted screen.

The Facebook platform was live.

He had clicked the button himself.

But there was nothing.

No engagement. No user signups. No ripple. No buzz.

The billion-dollar idea he had stolen from the future now sat there like a dead link, untouched and unloved.

Lukas didn’t move.

The room behind him was filled with designers, engineers, interns, and the last of his handpicked prodigies, quietly pretending not to watch his face. The silence turned cold. Roy leaned against a wall like an unmovable shadow. Jay sipped on coffee without the usual sarcasm.

Henry finally broke the silence, stepping beside him. "We seeded everything. College invites, school email chains. People know. Maybe it just needs a few hours to catch."

Lukas didn’t answer. His jaw was tight.

He had poured months of planning into this. He had formed a new team, secured servers, and coded every detail. He had skipped dinners, missed calls, and ignored sleep. All for what?

A homepage nobody clicked.

From the outside, it looked perfect. Sharp layout. Blue-and-white aesthetic. Clean typography. Social login design is light-years ahead. But inside him, the silence of that user graph stabbed deep.

He walked out of the control room and into the office balcony that overlooked the Schuylkill River. The cold air bit at his skin. He didn’t mind. He didn’t light a cigarette. He didn’t curse. He just stood there.

His phone buzzed. One text.

Annie: "We’re at the hotel. Bella says, Good luck for tomorrow."

He stared at it. The game.

The first match of the season. Tomorrow.

As if this launch wasn’t enough, he had to step into a stadium tomorrow and show the world he still belonged there too. The duality crushed against his ribs.

Annie. Bella. Their laughter had echoed through the suite this morning, trying to distract him from today’s pressure. They knew he was on edge.

He headed back inside.

"Shut it down for now," Lukas said quietly. "We’ll analyze traffic later. No PR push today."

Henry nodded. "You sure?"

"No." Lukas walked to the elevator. "But I’m done staring at a ghost."

Back at the hotel, Annie opened the door before he could knock. Her face told him she already knew it hadn’t gone well. Bella was curled up in her hoodie on the couch, watching cartoons with headphones in.

"You tried," Annie said, stepping close, wrapping her arms around him. "And you’ll try again. That’s the difference between people like you and the rest."

Lukas didn’t respond. He held her tighter than usual.

"Get some sleep," she whispered. "You’ve got another kind of battle tomorrow."

And so, Lukas Martin lay in silence that night, in a dark hotel room with the flicker of city light creeping through the curtains. A billion-dollar ghost haunted his browser tab. And outside, a stadium waited to see if the legend was still real.

One failure behind him. One fight ahead.

He closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would answer the rest.

The stadium was already full. It wasn’t just a game—it was a phenomenon. Fans packed every inch of the arena, their voices a thick cloud of noise that never fully faded, even between plays. Helicopters circled overhead. LED screens buzzed with live feeds and commentary.

Lukas Martin sat in the dim corridor beneath the field, lacing his boots. The hallway was cold, the floor damp with condensation, and the concrete walls seemed to hum with anticipation.

Then the speaker system cracked to life.

"TIME TO PLAY THE GAME."

Triple H’s theme thundered through the stadium—gritty, raw, and iconic. The guitar riff ripped through the noise, cutting a path through the crowd’s roar. Smoke machines fired off along the tunnel as green and white strobes danced on the ceiling. Every head in the crowd turned to the entrance tunnel.

He didn’t walk out right away.

Lukas sat still for a moment, letting the music wrap around him. This was no accident. He’d chosen that song himself. Because today wasn’t about hope, or unity, or progress.

It was about domination.

He stood. Black hoodie zipped to the top. Armbands tight. His eyes were cold and unblinking.

Roy was waiting outside the locker room, flanked by two security guards and a team trainer. Jay stood near the tunnel entrance, holding Lukas’ gloves.

"Are you good?" Jay asked.

Lukas nodded once.

The beat hit again—"It’s all about the game, and how you play it..."

He walked.

Out of the tunnel. Into the storm.

The sound was deafening. Chants. Screams. Cameras flashing like lightning. Fans reached over barricades just to brush the air near him.

He didn’t wave. He didn’t blink.

The opposing team had stopped warming up just to watch him enter.

Even they couldn’t deny the presence.

By the time Lukas reached the midfield line, the anthem had ended, but the echo remained. Opponents glanced at each other. The referees exchanged words. Commentators were already rewriting their headlines.

He stretched. Cracked his neck.

And then it began.

The opening whistle blew—and Lukas erupted.

It was like watching a storm get unleashed. He was faster, stronger, and more accurate than anyone else on the pitch. Not just playing to win—playing to burn.

The first assist came in the sixth minute. A no-look pass threaded between defenders like silk through a needle.

The first goal—twelfth minute. Half-volley, outside the box, upper ninety.

By halftime, it was 3–0.

He didn’t celebrate wildly. He didn’t even smile.

It wasn’t joy. It was a correction.

He was correcting history.

In the second half, the opposing captain tried to man-mark him. Lukas just shoved past him like a phantom.

The crowd started chanting again—"LU-KAS! LU-KAS!" —but it was different now. This wasn’t just adoration.

It was fear.

Final score: 6–1.

Three goals. Two assists. One destroyed defense.

As the final whistle blew, Lukas didn’t throw his arms up or fall to his knees.

He looked straight into the camera on the sideline. Just a look. That was enough.

And then he walked off the field.

Roy met him at the edge. Jay tossed him a towel.

Behind him, the stadium was still vibrating. Commentators scrambling. Phones overheating. Social media is erupting.

But Lukas didn’t say a word.

The game was over.

The world had just been reminded who he was.

Lukas then went back to his seat, but the crowd was not stopping soon.