Morning began with the persistent ringing of the alarm clock, though Astar had no reason to wake up early. All the crucial steps toward his future freedom had nearly been completed: the business that had consumed his time and energy was practically sold. But the habit of controlling everything down to the smallest detail proved far stronger. Sunlight filtered through the half-closed blinds, painting golden streaks on the walls of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed his face, and looked into the mirror.

  In the reflection, he saw himself—a tall, well-groomed young man with an athletic build. His bright blue eyes contrasted with his black hair, which was tied in a careless bun at the back of his head. That hair always attracted attention. In the light, it shimmered with a strange violet hue, leading many to believe he either dyed it or used some unusual products. But the truth was different: that shade had been there since birth, as if it were some mysterious genetic anomaly. This peculiarity lent him an air of mystery.

  He was just past twenty, yet something distant and heavy was already visible in his gaze. Years of relentless work, forced upon him since childhood, had left their mark in his eyes, his habits, and a fatigue that never faded, even after rest.

  It seemed that freedom—the very thing he had longed for—was finally at his doorstep. Today, the deal that would free him from the role of a full-time business manager would take place. He would remain a shareholder, live off dividends, and finally feel like the master of his own life.

  "Alright, Astar, time to get ready…" he muttered to himself, rising from the bed.

  "Funny," he thought as he began making the bed. "I worked so much, I forgot how to rest."

  Astar circled the bed, smoothing out the sheets, his thoughts drifting back to those long hours at the office, the sleepless nights spent strategizing, and the risks he had taken upon himself.

  "Perhaps it couldn’t have been any other way," he mused. "I always loved competition, crushing my rivals. As a result, I earned myself a case of workaholism that snuffed out whatever fire was left in me. Maybe that’s for the best…”

  All his life, he had believed that money meant freedom. That if he just accumulated enough, happiness would follow. And now, after countless setbacks—but also moments of great luck—his goal was almost within reach.

  He cast a quick glance at his phone, where a list of tasks reminded him of yet another string of meetings, despite this being his final day. Even now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had to remain under control. But what annoyed him the most was something else entirely: the freedom he had fought so hard for still didn’t feel real.

  "Maybe the problem is me… It feels like I’ve spent my whole life doing the wrong thing," the thought flickered through his mind. "No matter… Once I sell the controlling stake, I’ll invest the money in reliable assets. With my other savings and investments, I’ll never have to work again. I’ll finally have time to find my purpose. I was lucky to get rich while still young—I need to hold on to that advantage for the sake of a peaceful future…"

  Astar sighed, gathered his thoughts, and headed for the kitchen. This day was supposed to be the start of a new life. Now, he would live for himself. But just as the thought crossed his mind, something strange began to stir in his consciousness—a barely perceptible noise. Before long, the whispering grew into incoherent murmurs, the words foreign, like echoes of a distant choir.

  "Shar-daar, kudis lur…"

  Before Astar could make sense of it, a sharp pain pierced his head. It struck like lightning, stabbing through his temples and spreading across his skull. The world around him froze. His body felt numb, his arms hung limply at his sides, and his legs buckled beneath him. It lasted only a moment, but the intensity nearly knocked him off his feet.

  "What the…" he rasped, grabbing onto the countertop to keep from collapsing. The voices vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. The pain subsided, leaving only a faint throbbing in his temples. His body obeyed him once more, and after taking a few deep breaths, Astar smirked and reached for the elegant pitcher.

  "Didn’t get enough sleep or what?" he muttered, pouring himself a glass of warm water. "What was the point of buying those overpriced mattresses and pillows if I still feel like crap in the morning? Ha-ha," he chuckled dryly, heading toward the bathroom.

  Astar lived alone and had long since gotten used to being his own conversation partner. The seriousness deeply ingrained in his character didn’t stop him from finding ironic moments in everyday life. And his sharp tongue, even when aimed at himself, was no worse than that of a seasoned cynic.

  "Well, Astar," he said to his reflection in the mirror, washing away the remnants of sleep. "Just one more step, and you’ll officially be a slacker. Congratulations, buddy. Now you’ll have all the time in the world to…." He paused for a moment. "Do whatever you want. Take a vacation, get a dog, or… even…" He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I’ll finally have time for a real relationship? With all the business dealings, I haven’t even thought about sex…"

  "Though, not a huge loss. It’s not like I ever had anything more than one-night stands anyway…" he muttered to himself, recalling his last few encounters.

  Astar smirked, turning toward the shower. This little morning monologue had become a sort of meditation for him. Living alone had always seemed convenient—silence, no obligations to anyone. But sometimes, he caught himself speaking aloud not just for the sake of amusement, but simply to break the eternal solitude. In those moments, even his own voice sounded unfamiliar.

  "Alright, we only live once," he said, turning on the shower. "Tonight, I need to celebrate properly. I didn’t start grinding back in the orphanage for nothing. Speaking of which, I really should finally reply to James..."

  He exhaled thoughtfully as he stepped under the warm stream of water. Despite his cynical outlook, there was always a spark inside him—an unquenchable feeling that something interesting could be waiting just around the corner. And though he kept telling himself that he wanted peace, deep inside, the old Astar still lurked—the one who thrived on competition, who loved the fight. That was the Astar who once pushed forward with everything he had, desperate to escape poverty and the harsh conditions of the orphanage.

  Astar finished his morning routine quickly. After showering, he applied his skincare, dried his hair, and neatly tied it into a bun at the back of his head.

  "A dog actually wouldn’t be a bad idea..." he mused aloud, stepping out of the bathroom and heading to his wardrobe. "I’d have to walk it, and who knows, maybe I’d meet some gorgeous woman? I used to be good with women... Back when I actually had free time…" He laughed, buttoning his shirt and tightening his tie.

  Looking at himself in the massive mirror, he let out an odd chuckle before shaking his head.

  "No, the tie is definitely too much today. No need to give the impression that I’m still in the game, ha-ha."

  Removing the accessory, he spun it between his fingers like a toy before casually tossing it aside—something uncharacteristic for him. Today was supposed to be special. He could feel it, even through the faint noise in his head, which had begun to bother him slightly but still lingered only at the edges of his consciousness.

  "Damn, am I really about to start doing nothing? Thank you, Universe!" Astar grinned, as if convincing himself that this was exactly what he had always wanted.

  He quickly threw on a light jacket and shut the door behind him. His footsteps echoed softly in the empty corridor as he made his way to the elevator. His fingers pressed the underground parking button out of habit, and he leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed.

  "You know, Astar, life has its jokes, but for us... we actually got a good shot," he said, looking at his reflection in the mirrored panel of the elevator. "So many guys from the orphanage just wanted to graduate high school, let alone own a nice apartment and a car. But you—ha, you…" He smirked, pausing in thought. "Luck played a big role, but I won’t downplay my own achievements either."

  As he reflected, a predatory smile crept onto his face. Memories surfaced—moments when he outmaneuvered competitors, snatched valuable clients from their grasp, or lured away their most promising employees.

  The elevator glided downward with a smooth jolt, and Astar tilted his head back, sinking into recollection. He vividly remembered his first “investment”—spending the last of his savings, painstakingly earned through side jobs at the orphanage, on Bitcoin. Back then, it felt like nothing more than a gamble, but fate had smiled on him, granting him an enormous starting capital. Astar had always considered it the universe’s compensation for the lousy parents who had abandoned him as an infant. No matter how he tried to think well of them, resentment and even anger always surfaced.

  Sometimes, he wondered who they were—but he always forced himself to stop. They had left him, and that meant they didn’t matter.

  "I should probably give something back to the universe," he continued, stepping out of the elevator and heading toward his car. "Maybe support an orphan fund? Or... open a dog shelter? Not like I need this much money anyway—I don’t even know what I’m going to do with myself..."

  His steps grew more confident as his gaze landed on his brand-new car. The glossy surface reflected the dim underground lights, as if beckoning him to take the wheel and revel in that feeling—the moment when all the effort, all the struggle, finally paid off. The sleek black body, the aerodynamic curves, the red brake calipers—every inch of the vehicle was a testament to his success.

  "Damn, you are a beauty," Astar smirked, addressing the car. "Not sure who’s more impressive—you or me. Though, let’s be real... it’s me. You’ve never had to hustle since childhood."

  Opening the door, he took a deep breath of the new leather scent, which seemed to whisper, “You did everything right”. Settling in, he ran his hand along the steering wheel, feeling the smoothness of the material beneath his fingertips. He started the engine, and the low, powerful hum echoed through the parking lot.

  "Perfect sound," he said, fastening his seatbelt. "Alright, let’s go. Today, your owner officially becomes a free man. Or at least pretends to, ha-ha."

  Speed, power, control—the car perfectly embodied everything he had pursued in life. Astar pulled out of the parking lot, merging into the city’s flow, but the thoughts of just how lucky he had been still lingered in his mind.

  "I’m grateful to you, fate," he murmured. "I don’t know how many more chances you’ll throw my way, but I’ll take every single one. Just one request—let the next one be about my purpose, ha-ha."

  Astar smoothly turned onto the wide avenue of the metropolis, where the glass walls of skyscrapers caught the morning sun, scattering its light into thousands of dazzling reflections. His car blended seamlessly into the stream of high-end vehicles, matching them in elegance and presence. He glanced at the navigation screen, setting the route to one of the city’s most prestigious buildings—a towering business skyscraper, packed with corporate offices, including his own.

  "One last visit to the old walls," he muttered, pressing lightly on the gas. "I’ll grab the files, sign the papers, and finally escape this rat race."

  Astar loved competition, but the corporate world had begun to consume him. The harder and more diligently he worked, the clearer it became—this wasn’t what he was meant to do. It felt as if he were living a life that wasn’t truly his.

  The traffic light turned green, and Astar confidently continued forward, taking in the streets passing by. The route was familiar, almost routine, but this time, he noticed every detail—the colorful café signs, the flashing billboards, the bright storefronts. In a way, all of it had become a part of his success. His company, like many others, had crafted the marketing strategies that breathed life into this city.

  "Marketing," he murmured with a thoughtful smile, "the art of convincing people to buy what they don’t need… Or sometimes, what they need more than they even realize."

  He let out a short chuckle, recalling the dozens of projects that had transformed his startup into a full-fledged company. In this world, being smart wasn’t enough—you had to be a predator. He remembered the moments when he had to ruthlessly cut staff, shut down underperforming departments, or turn away promising but risky clients. It had hardened him, dulling his thirst for exploration and adventure.

  "No wonder I called you 'Labyrinth,'" he said, as if addressing his creation. "Business really is a labyrinth. One wrong move, and you’re stuck—or worse… you lose everything."

  For a moment, Astar focused on the road, enjoying the smooth handling of his car. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t just hard work and cold calculation that had brought him success. Luck had been his constant companion, ever since that very first investment in cryptocurrency. That was what had given him an unexpectedly large starting capital, allowing him to experiment with a few projects—until the third one finally took off and started making serious money.

  "You think you’re special, a genius? No, Astar, you just got lucky," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Then again… luck without action and effort is worthless. I gave everything to make this work."

  Astar was well aware that he wasn’t some brilliant marketer or a top-tier professional. But he had a talent for hiring the right people—and, most importantly, for taking risks and making tough decisions.

  The sight of the skyscraper ahead made him sigh. Just a little longer, and he would be inside the headquarters—the building where every door held memories of challenges, late-night meetings, and strategic victories. Faces of employees who had started the journey with him flashed through his mind. Some had left, others had stayed. Did they feel the same loss of passion as he did? Or did they regret what they had to sacrifice for success?

  "I’m probably no better myself," he muttered, turning on his blinker and pulling into the skyscraper’s parking lot. "Cold, calculating… but at least almost free."

  He parked in his usual spot and turned off the engine. The hum of the car faded, but the echoes of his thoughts still lingered in his head. Today might just be the most important day of his life.

  Astar had just reached for the door handle when his phone screen lit up with an incoming call. For a moment, he frowned, but when he saw the familiar name, he couldn’t help but smirk.

  "James," he murmured, answering the call. "Is this important? I’m a little busy."

  "Astaaar-os!" came a lively voice on the other end, drawing out his name in a teasing tone. "What, you’re too important to pick up calls from your only friend now? Or have you gotten so big that you’ve forgotten your roots? You’ve been ignoring me for a whole month!"

  Astar rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

  "I told you not to call me that," he said, irritation creeping into his voice, though he kept it controlled.

  "But why?" James continued in a mock-innocent tone. "That is your full name, after all. Remember? 'Astaros'—that’s what was written on the note when they found you and dumped you at that shitty orphanage. You should be proud, man! It’s such a unique name!"

  "Unique?" Astar’s grip on the phone tightened slightly. "It sounds ridiculous, James. I’ve been trying to forget it, and you keep bringing it up."

  "Oh, come on," James was clearly enjoying this. "Not my fault you’re so touchy. And honestly, if you think about it, Astaros sounds badass! I’m pretty sure I heard something similar in a video game once."

  "Exactly," Astar muttered, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind him. His voice dropped slightly, laced with mild irritation. "Apparently, my damn parents not only threw me away like trash but also decided to mock me on the way out."

  "Sorry, man," James’s tone softened, though there was still a hint of playful irony. "Didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I know this has always pissed you off. I just wanted to remind you—you built yourself from the ground up. Your worthless parents didn’t manage to ruin your life, not even with their genes."

  Astar stopped in front of the elevator, staring at the metal doors before him. He wanted to fire back with something sharp, but then he laughed.

  "You've been watching philosophy videos again, haven't you?" he said after a pause. "That really doesn’t suit you. Cut it out."

  "I know, I know. Too pretentious for our esteemed marketing guru," James interrupted cheerfully. "Anyway, how are you feeling? Ready to finally part with your creation? I assume you’ve been ignoring my calls because you’ve been deep in preparation for this big day?"

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "I'm ready," Astar replied curtly, looking at his reflection in the polished elevator surface. "But it's harder than I thought..."

  "Of course it’s harder," James’ voice carried an air of certainty. "You built this company like a fortress. You were both the architect and the lead stonemason. But, Astar, if you don’t let it go, you’ll just end up sitting inside that fortress until the walls start crumbling on their own. All these years, you’ve only had one-night stands, and the only friend you’ve got is me. It’s time to start living, not just working."

  Astar smirked, pressing the elevator button.

  "Should I be thanking you or the ancient philosophers whose wisdom you binge on the internet? Maybe you should start a business giving out free advice?"

  "Maybe I will—if you invest in my startup, ha-ha," James shot back. "Alright, good luck in there. And remember, tonight you owe me a drink! I won’t let you celebrate alone!"

  "I know, James. Thanks," Astar said quietly, just before the call ended.

  The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside, bracing himself for his last visit to the office that had once been his entire world.

  As the doors closed behind him, he was left alone in the quiet space, a solitude he had always found oddly pleasant in these brief moments between floors. The gentle hum of the elevator filled the cabin, and his gaze lingered on his reflection in the polished metal panels.

  "So, the big day has come," he murmured, rolling his shoulders. "Sign everything, hand it over… and start living for myself. Sounds great, but it still feels heavy."

  The elevator glided smoothly past another floor—then suddenly, something happened.

  A sharp pain stabbed through his temples, so sudden and intense that he winced, staggering back and catching himself against the wall.

  "Shit…" he exhaled, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The pain vanished as abruptly as it had come, but something else followed—a faint, barely perceptible sound, almost like words.

  "Shar-daar, kudis lur…"

  They seemed to drift from a great distance, as if someone were speaking inside his head. The language was foreign, something Astar had never heard before, but it was unmistakably structured, undeniably real.

  "What the…" he started, but fell silent, shaken by the sensation.

  The voices faded, leaving behind only the dull hum of the elevator and the heavy pounding of his own heartbeat.

  Astar straightened, pulling his hand away from the wall, and tried to laugh it off—to break the strange tension curling around him.

  "Great," he said to himself, forcing a casual tone. "That would be the joke of the year. A businessman at the peak of his career having his grand debut into schizophrenia. Perfect stand-up material, don’t you think?"

  He let out a short laugh, but even he could hear the hollowness in it. Shaking his head, he ran a hand over the back of his neck, as if trying to wipe away the unsettling memory.

  "No, no, you’re just overworked, Astar," he muttered, staring at his reflection. "No schizophrenia. Just accumulated stress… and maybe not the best sleep schedule."

  "This is a sign that I need to wrap everything up as soon as possible…" he thought.

  The elevator slowed, and the doors slid open, revealing a long corridor leading to his office. He hesitated for a few seconds before stepping out. The voices hadn’t returned, but a faint tension still lingered in his mind, like the aftertaste of something unsettling.

  Astar strode into the corridor, the cool air from the ventilation system brushing against his skin. Sunlight streamed through the massive glass panels, filling the space with a soft glow. The modern, stylish office reflected every facet of his success.

  Beyond the glass partitions, employees sat at their monitors—some focused on their tasks, others engaged in animated discussions, gesturing emphatically. As soon as they noticed him, conversations quieted, replaced by polite smiles. Some stood to give him a respectful nod, while others waved in greeting.

  "Good morning, Mr. Arden!" a young woman in a sharp business suit said as she passed by with a bright smile.

  "Morning," he replied with a composed nod, curving his lips into a light, approachable smile.

  He had taken this surname after leaving the orphanage—more accurately, it had been assigned to him by the state. Astar had always preferred to be addressed by his first name, but in the corporate setting, he didn’t mind the formality.

  He had barely taken a few more steps when a middle-aged man in an expensive suit emerged from around the corner. He stopped, bowed slightly, and said with deliberate politeness:

  “We will miss you, Mr. Arden. You were the best leader I’ve ever worked with.”

  “Thank you, Klein. I will miss you too,” Astar replied in a soft, friendly tone—one that could fool just about anyone.

  But in his mind, the words sounded different.

  "Miss me? Do you even believe that yourself? We’re all here for the money… And if you dig deep enough, we’re all chasing the same thing—freedom. Money is just the tool. This politeness… It’s just a game, and everyone in this building knows the rules. And we both know I wasn’t the best leader. I was good for the company, but not always good for the people."

  He continued down the corridor, pausing occasionally to return another warm farewell or acknowledge a compliment.

  “You were an inspiration to all of us, Mr. Arden,” one of the employees said, stopping him mid-step.

  “Glad to hear that having such a young boss didn’t bother you,” he replied, adding a touch of self-deprecating humor. Then, with a note of praise, he added, “I’m sure you have a bright future ahead of you!”

  "A bright future? Only if you can handle sleepless nights and constantly choose between your career and your life. Otherwise, you’ll burn out like most… Harsh competition demands the right kind of character."

  His smile remained perfectly in place, a mask he had worn for years. It didn’t take much effort—these people were his team, even if only temporarily. But the sheer artificiality of the moment made him feel almost physically sick.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. On the contrary, many of them were genuinely pleasant. But Astar was exhausted—not just physically, but mentally, drained by the very nature of it all. The fire that had once driven him to achieve was gone. So was his passion for marketing.

  After selling the company, he didn’t plan to indulge in luxury or excess. He simply wanted a quiet, stable, and secure life. But above all—a free one. He already had a spacious apartment, a good car. His investments in cryptocurrency and stocks meant he wouldn’t have to work ever again, even after taxes. All that remained was to find himself—a luxury that had never been available to him since birth.

  "We’re all here for the money. They flatter me because they know I’m leaving behind a successful brand. They’re hoping the new owner will be as competent as I was—or better. This is just business etiquette, hypocrisy in its most refined form. It’s a shame we all have to smile and play along."

  "I wonder… is this a flaw in people, or in the system itself? Everyone dislikes this way of doing things, yet ironically, it works. Even this fake corporate culture somehow boosts a company’s revenue…" he mused, recalling the countless consultants he had once hired to craft a unique workplace culture.

  Reaching his office door, Astar hesitated for a moment. He glanced back, taking in the bright corridor one last time—the glass walls, the smiling faces. Then, with his usual polished smile, he placed his hand firmly on the door handle.

  With a quiet click, he stepped inside, and it was as if a switch flipped. Instantly, he shifted into work mode, focusing entirely on the task at hand.

  The day flew by so fast that Astar barely noticed the clock hands jumping from morning to noon, then creeping toward evening. He had only just poured himself a cup of coffee when the partners arrived—the very people with whom he would finalize the deal.

  The conversation was brief and businesslike. He had been through meetings like this dozens, if not hundreds, of times in his career. Everything followed the usual script: greetings, a quick review of key terms, then the customary exchange of pens for the signing. The papers lay spread out before him, their crisp pages rustling in a way that felt almost meditative.

  The final stroke of his pen, the last signature—and it was done.

  He was no longer the owner.

  Astar leaned back in his chair, watching as the partners smiled and nodded, each eager to express their gratitude.

  “You’re leaving behind a true legacy, Mr. Arden. A small startup growing into something of this scale—it’s all thanks to your leadership.”

  “We’ll do everything we can to continue your vision and strengthen the brand even further,” another added.

  Astar returned their words with a restrained smile and the usual polite phrases: "I’m sure you’ll do great." But inside, there was only emptiness—an odd, unplaceable void.

  When all the formalities were finally over, the partners left, and for the first time, he was alone.

  Scanning the office, Astar stood up and slowly began packing his things. Into his bag went a few framed photographs, a couple of personal notebooks, and a handful of souvenirs. He didn’t need much—most of the memories were already in his head.

  Finally, he closed his briefcase, picked it up, and stepped toward the door. The moment he exited his office, the entire floor erupted in loud applause. Employees, gathered in two rows, smiled, clapped, and called out:

  "Thank you, Mr. Arden! We’re going to miss you!"

  "Good luck! Can’t wait to see what projects you take on next!"

  "You’ll always be an inspiration to us!"

  He smiled, responding to each of them, offering words of gratitude, nodding in acknowledgment of their excited voices.

  But inside, it all felt foreign.

  "Applause, cheers… How much of it is genuine? Most of them are probably just relieved to have a new boss. Some might truly be grateful. I don’t have the energy to analyze it anymore… At least I’m no longer part of this show…"

  He didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he simply took a deep breath and kept walking toward the exit, accompanied by the fading noise of well-wishes and appreciation.

  The moment he stepped outside, the office buzz was replaced by the hum of the city. Streetlights had begun to flicker on, and the soft twilight wrapped around the metropolis.

  Astar paused for a moment, glancing back at the building where he had spent the last few years of his life. Despite the faint sadness weighing on his chest, he felt an odd sense of calm.

  "So, that’s it," he murmured to himself, then smiled. "Time to start living—because I’m finally free."

  He slid into his car and started the engine, listening to the familiar hum that always soothed him. Tossing his briefcase onto the passenger seat, he checked the time on his phone and immediately opened his messages.

  "James, I got held up a little. You still at the pub?" he muttered, recording a voice message.

  The reply came almost instantly.

  "Of course. Where else would I be? Waiting for you—our freshly minted free man!"

  Astar smirked, set his phone into the holder, and pulled onto the road.

  The pub in question was called Wunderbar, and it was far from the most prestigious place in the city. Tucked away on the outskirts, with wooden tables bearing the marks of time and dim, warm lighting, it was still perfect in his eyes. It was noisy yet cozy, and, most importantly, no one there played the endless game of trying to appear better than they were.

  His car glided smoothly through the city’s evening streets. The glow of digital billboards danced across the glass facades of towering buildings, while crowds of pedestrians wove along the sidewalks. Astar watched it all with a quiet detachment.

  "So, am I one of those people now—just enjoying life?" he mused aloud. "Guess I just need to figure out what actually makes me happy…"

  The road to the pub was familiar. He had driven it countless times with James when they were younger, discussing everything from startup ideas to which TV series was the best.

  "A place with a free atmosphere," Astar muttered, recalling the time James had laughed and said, "This place smells like freedom, beer, and beautiful women."

  As he pulled up in front of the familiar sign, a subtle warmth flickered in his chest.

  Stepping inside, he was greeted by the familiar scent—wood, malt, and something spicy, likely from the kitchen.

  In the far corner, at their usual table, James was already deep in conversation with two women. Tall, with green eyes and dark hair, James had always had a natural charm that drew women in. The moment he spotted Astar, he raised a hand and grinned widely.

  "So, our great Astar—officially a free man now?" he called out, sliding a chair back for him.

  "You mean unemployed?" Astar joked as he sat down.

  "No, no, free," James corrected with a smirk. "Here. This is for you." He pushed a pint of beer toward him. "To the next chapter of your life. So, tell me—how was it?"

  Astar picked up the glass but instead of answering, he turned to the two women with a charming smile, deliberately ignoring his friend.

  "How about you introduce me to these lovely ladies first?" he said smoothly. "Who knows—maybe tonight, I’ll find love along with my newfound freedom." He laughed playfully and gave them a flirtatious wink.

  Though Astar had never been in a serious relationship—always too busy—he had, much like James, been effortlessly good with women. Before work had consumed his life, they had often gone out and met new people together.

  James burst into laughter, clapping Astar on the shoulder.

  "Well, ladies, you heard him! My friend is officially a free man, and he’s got some open positions in his life!" He raised his pint in a mock toast.

  The women laughed, exchanging amused glances before one of them, a brunette with deep brown eyes, leaned in slightly closer.

  "So, you’re the famous Astar we’ve heard all about?"

  "And what exactly did this jester tell you about me?" Astar replied with a smile, nodding toward James.

  "That you're rich, successful, free, and maybe—just maybe—a little humble," she smirked.

  "But we’re still not entirely convinced about that last part," the other one, a blonde with adorable freckles, added playfully, making them all laugh again.

  The night took on new colors. The drinks kept flowing, jokes flew freely, and the conversations grew more lively. Astar, as if shedding the weight of his burdens, laughed, joked, and flirted. The relaxed atmosphere of the pub allowed him, even if just for a moment, to forget all his worries.

  From time to time, the headache and those strange voices returned, but Astar ignored them, drowning them out with more drinks.

  By midnight, James had disappeared somewhere with one of the women, leaving Astar alone at the table with the brunette. She was sharp, intriguing, and her infectious laughter awakened something long-forgotten in him.

  "I can walk you home if you’d like," she offered, tilting her head slightly, her deep brown eyes studying him.

  Astar smiled but shook his head.

  "You’re wonderful, but tonight, I need to be alone. It’s been… a strange day. Too much going on, too many emotions, and this damn headache won’t go away. Let’s meet tomorrow? I’m sure we can find something more romantic than this pub for a proper date."

  She furrowed her brows slightly but then nodded with an understanding smile.

  "Alright. But don’t forget to text me, or I’ll assume you ran away."

  "I won’t run, I promise," he said, standing up and walking her to the exit.

  He waited until she got into a taxi before ordering a driver for himself. He was drunk and had no intention of getting behind the wheel. He was finally free—he wasn’t about to ruin that with some stupid accident.

  Inside, he felt a strange mixture of exhaustion and peace, as if this night marked the beginning of something new.

  The ride home was quick. His apartment, in a prestigious part of the city, greeted him with spacious, minimalist interiors wrapped in silence, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner.

  He headed straight for the shower, eager to wash away the weariness of the day and the lingering scent of the pub. The warm water relaxed him, and for a moment, he felt entirely disconnected from everything.

  After drying himself off with a plush white towel, he changed into fresh pajamas—white, soft, almost brand-new. He had always liked the feeling of clean clothes after a shower, as if they symbolized a fresh start.

  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he applied his night cream in slow, familiar motions, smoothing it over his face.

  "Tomorrow, I’ll wake up a new man," he murmured, meeting his own gaze. "No stress, no endless grind… I’ve finally earned what I always wanted—freedom. Kha-ha…" He chuckled, still under the light haze of alcohol.

  But then—something changed.

  Like a lightning strike, a searing pain shot through his temples. Astar gasped, gripping the sink to keep himself from falling.

  "Kgh! Damn it…" he hissed through clenched teeth, breathing heavily.

  And then it happened again.

  The strange voices—no longer whispers, no longer distant—spoke clearly, loudly, as if someone was right beside him, speaking in a language he didn’t understand.

  "Karahart… Shardur…"

  His head spun violently, as if he had been thrown onto a carousel spinning out of control. A wave of weakness crashed over him, and for a moment, he thought he would black out.

  "What the hell?!" he shouted, staring at his reflection in the mirror—only to freeze in horror.

  His body was glowing.

  It wasn’t just the voices—it was a full-blown hallucination.

  Panic surged through him. His trembling fingers reached for his phone, lying on the shelf next to the sink. He barely managed to unlock the screen.

  "James…" he exhaled, scrolling through his contacts. "You always say you know everything… Then tell me—what the hell is this?!"

  But before he could press the call button, everything stopped.

  The voices vanished. The pain disappeared, leaving behind only a crushing weight in his skull.

  Astar slumped onto the edge of the bathtub, still gripping his phone, the call to James never initiated.

  "It’s just exhaustion," he tried to convince himself, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a slow, deep breath. "No… I need to call emergency services. I need to— Damn it!"

  But he never got the chance.

  A dense fog clouded his vision, his surroundings blurring into indistinct shapes. His body felt distant, unresponsive. Sounds faded, colors dulled, and the world around him sank into an eerie darkness.

  "No… not this…" he whispered, feeling the last of his strength slip away.

  His hand, still clutching the phone, slid off his knee. His gaze remained fixed on the screen—on the name James, still glowing softly in the dim room.

  "The biggest joke of my life," the thought flickered in his mind. "Today, of all days—when I’m finally free..."

  He tried to fight it, tried to hold on to reality, but the darkness consumed him, dragging him down like an unstoppable current. A short, almost bitter chuckle escaped his throat.

  "And what was the point…? Did I waste my life after all?" he murmured, just before everything was swallowed by utter silence.

  The darkness enveloped his mind, erasing the glow of the bathroom lights, the hum of the air conditioner, and the faint scent of night cream. But in this soundless void, there was no end—just an abyss stretching infinitely in all directions.

  Then, deep within his consciousness, something flared—a tiny spark, bright yet cold.

  The voices that had once been distant whispers now surged back with unbearable force, as if screaming directly into his ears. He felt a strange, unsettling sensation at the center of his forehead, as though something was shifting, awakening.

  Something terrifying and incomprehensible was about to happen!

  But in the very last moment—by some inexplicable force—he suddenly understood the meaning of the final phrase he heard…

  And it said:

  "The power of the Multiversal Book of Memoria has run out. You can no longer remain safe… Forgive us, my son. We hope you will uncover the truth about—"

  The sentence cut off abruptly.

  And so did Astar’s consciousness.