John woke up to the worst sound imaginable—the shrill, aggressive screech of his alarm.

  His hand shot out, fumbling blindly until he slammed the snooze button. Silence returned, but the damage was done. He was awake, and his head was pounding.

  "Ugh... What the hell did I drink last night?" he groaned, rubbing his temples.

  John sighed and forced himself upright. His apartment was a mess—clothes on the floor, empty mana bar wrappers on the desk, and a pile of unopened letters that he was actively ignoring. The gray morning light filtering through the blinds only made everything feel more depressing. He checked his watch.

  8:37 AM.

  "Shit."

  He was late. Again. John bolted out of his apartment, barely managing to shove a stale mana biscuit in his mouth as he power-walked to work. He didn't even bother running this time. What was the point? He was already screwed.

  As he passed through the glass doors of Mana Alpha Corporation, Maya at the front desk didn't even bother to look up. She just gave him a slow shake of her head.

  "Really pushing it today, huh?" she muttered.

  John shot her a half-hearted salute as he trudged toward the elevator. Just as he reached for the button.The doors slid open, revealing Yves.

  "John! Wow, man, you look..." Yves paused, eyes flicking up and down, "...rough."

  "Thanks," John grumbled.

  Yves laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, don't sweat it. Not all of us can be morning people."

  John stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for his floor, and sighed. John barely had time to log in before it happened.One moment, he was booting up his mana-console, trying to focus on the swirling streams of energy he was supposed to regulate. The next, a familiar sharp voice cut through the air.

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  "John. My office. Now."

  He didn't even need to turn around. He knew exactly who it was. The walker.

  Ten minutes later, John was sitting in front of his boss, arms crossed as he listened to the inevitable speech.

  "You're unreliable. You're late again. Your performance has been lackluster" the boss droned on, using that same condescending tone he always did.

  John barely heard the rest. He had already accepted his fate. "So, that's it?" he interrupted.

  The boss frowned. "Excuse me?"

  "I'm fired?"

  His boss sighed, rubbing his temples. "Effective immediately. Get your shit and leave."

  John let out a long, slow breath. For a moment, he felt nothing. Just a quiet, eerie numbness. Then, finally, a single thought surface.

  Julien, his old friend—an architect from a wealthier background—had invited him. Despite their vastly different lives, there was always a mutual respect between them. Julien greeted John with an easy grin and a drink already in hand.

  "Come on, John! No brooding tonight. We drink, we sing, we suffer tomorrow!"

  John laughed. "You know just how to sell a plan."

  They drank, they laughed, and after a few rounds, they found themselves on the tiny karaoke stage, singing terribly off-key. The night blurred into a chaotic mix of bad dancing, shouted lyrics, and mana-infused cocktails that made everything glow.

  Somewhere in that haze, John tried to flirt with a woman way out of his league, failed spectacularly, and collapsed onto a couch. Things got... blurry after that.

  John kept drinking, kept laughing, kept moving. He danced—badly. He lost his jacket somewhere. At some point, someone convinced him to try a cocktail that made his vision glow for five full minutes. Then, in a moment of drunken stupidity, he spotted a beautiful woman standing by the bar. She was completely out of his league. Dressed in shimmering silver robes, sipping a cocktail with an air of elegance that screamed "important." John, in his infinite drunken wisdom, decided to shoot his shot.

  He stumbled over, cleared his throat, and declared with absolute confidence: "I love you."

  The woman raised an eyebrow. "...Do I know you?"

  "Not yet," John grinned, swaying slightly.

  She turned back to her drink. "You’re very drunk."

  "That’s debatable," John replied, just before tripping over his own feet.

  She sighed. "Good luck with that," she muttered before walking away.

  John groaned and flopped onto a nearby couch, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah... I’m killing it tonight," he mumbled to himself. Somehow, he made it home.

  He wasn’t sure how—maybe a cab, maybe teleportation, maybe sheer drunken willpower—but the next thing he knew, he was face-down on his own couch. His apartment was still a mess. The unopened letters were still on the table. Nothing had changed.Except now, he was unemployed.

  "...I'll figure it out tomorrow," he muttered.

  And then, just like that, he passed out.

  Alone.