“Bankrupt?” Lucas Harper and Charles Harper stared at their father, stunned.

  “Dad, has it come to this?” Lucas asked.

  Charles Harper pressed urgently, “Dad, when Neural Helmets first hit the market, they rocked the tech industry too. But Tiger Shark Group survived and grew stronger. We can adapt to the virtual world this time—”

  “No chance,” Gregory Harper interrupted, his voice frail. “This isn’t like the Neural Helmet rollout. Back then, licensing gave us time to adjust. But now… the Blue Star Alliance flooded the globe with free Neural Helmets overnight. The virtual world crushed everything. Our stock has been plummeting for weeks. Even with the trading halt, once it resumes, our market cap will drop below a trillion. Banks are freezing our assets, demanding repayment.”

  “Below a trillion?” Lucas paled.

  “The family trust’s 8.2% stake in the Group is barely worth ten billion now. Insolvent,” Gregory said flatly. “And our other investments? Mostly in tech—all worthless. The trust’s value has collapsed from nine hundred billion to less than two hundred billion.”

  “But… how?” Charles stammered, his lavish lifestyle crumbling before him.

  “The virtual world is an unstoppable tide,” Gregory sighed. “The Blue Star Alliance didn’t care who drowned. Tiger Shark Group will survive, but our family’s stake… it’s gone.”

  He turned to his sons. “Your assets are shielded. Live quietly. Without the Group, we’re nobodies now.”

  Silence hung heavy.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Gone? Just… gone?” Charles trembled, glaring at his father. “You gave Lucas five billion over the years! Me? Only two. It’s unfair!”

  “Unfair?” Gregory’s voice sharpened. “First, Lucas is older—trust distributions began at 22. Second, he earned more through investments. Third, I spent billions covering your messes! You have no right to complain.”

  “But I’ll have nothing!” Charles shouted.

  “I’m bankrupt too!” Gregory roared, pointing to the door. “Get out!”

  Charles stormed off, leaving Lucas alone with their father.

  “Cut him off,” Gregory ordered. “Not a single credit. Let him starve if he must.”

  “Understood,” Lucas replied.

  In his office, Charles smashed everything in sight. “You heartless old man!” he seethed, then barked into his wrist device: “Get here. Now.”

  Ten minutes later, a frazzled advisor rushed in. “Sir, I was in the game—”

  “How much is left?” Charles demanded.

  “Cash reserves: 120 million. Investments? Most are angel funds or dead tech startups. Maybe… 100 million if liquidated.”

  “Five billion down to this?” Charles’s face whitened. “And monthly expenses?”

  “Twenty million. We’ll burn through cash in six months.”

  “Six months…” Charles slumped into his chair, gripping his hair. “What do I do?”

  Virtual World, Combat Training Ground

  Ethan Gray had no time to dwell on the Harpers. He stood in a lush canyon, spear in hand, facing three bandits.

  The first lunged—a flash of steel. Ethan’s spear darted like a viper, piercing the bandit’s throat. The others charged. A sidestep, two precise strikes. Hearts and skulls punctured. The bandits dissolved.

  “Base Combat Rating 800? Too easy.” Ethan smirked.

  A voice boomed behind him: “Not bad, kid.”

  Ethan turned. A muscular, younger version of Vincent Hale—his legendary mentor—stood grinning.

  “Master Hale?” Ethan blinked.

  “Surprised?” Vincent laughed. “Guess what happens when a washed-up old man gets a second youth?”

  “The world’s been waiting to see your prime,” Ethan said, awed. Vincent had dominated the World Combat Championship at 45. At 30? Unstoppable.

  “Prime’s overrated,” Vincent waved. “Focus on now. Seventy billion competitors. Half a year and even pros like it’ll be obsolete. But this…” He spread his arms. “This is our golden age. Don’t waste it.”

  Ethan nodded, adrenaline surging.

  “Oh, and kid—” Vincent added. “What’s your rank? Hit Celestial yet?”