2025-01-14 19:21:37Peter sat in the waiting room of St. Lucille Hospital, his legs bouncing uncontrollably. He couldn’t sit still. Every part of him wanted to burst through the doors and see his mother, to make sure she was okay.
The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, each second stretching longer than the last. Finally, a doctor pushed through the double doors, scanning the room. “Peter Donovan?” He shot to his feet so fast he nearly stumbled. “Yes!” The doctor approached, his face calm but exhausted. “I have bad news.” Peter’s stomach tightened. “What… what’s wrong?” The doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead before meeting Peter’s eyes. “Peter… I’m so sorry. Your mother has been diagnosed with stage-one primordial spinal cancer. It’s aggressive, and she needs immediate surgery.” The words slammed into Peter like a sledgehammer. His vision blurred, his pulse hammering in his ears. His chest tightened, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Cancer?” The word felt foreign in his mouth. “But… but she was doing fine. The medicine was helping—” His voice cracked. The doctor shook his head. “I know. But her condition has worsened faster than we expected.” The doctor hesitated. “Peter, the truth is… if she doesn’t get surgery within the next six hours, she might not survive the night. Her condition is deteriorating fast.” Peter clenched his fists. “Then do it! What are you waiting for?” The doctor sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Unfortunately, we can’t proceed.” “Why not?!” Peter’s voice cracked, panic creeping in. The doctor hesitated. “Peter… the surgery is very expensive. Your mother doesn’t have health insurance, and based on her financial history, the hospital won’t be able to move forward without payment upfront.” Peter’s breath hitched. “How much? I’ll pay for it. Just tell me how much it costs!” The doctor slowly pulled out a notepad, scribbled something down, and handed it to him. “I’m truly sorry.” Peter stared at the note, His heart stopped. His breath catching in his throat. His hands trembled as he read the figure: £100,000. The number might as well have been a death sentence. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into a chair, the note shaking in his trembling hands. One hundred thousand euros. Six hours. What the hell was he supposed to do? He had nothing. No savings. No credit. No way to get that kind of money. His vision blurred, panic consuming him. Peter’s mind spun, searching for options. Loans? No, their credit score was garbage. Friends? He had none rich enough. He was running out of time. Think, Peter, think! Then it hit him—his job. His boss. Suddenly his phone vibrated. A text from his boss: “Meet me in the office now.” It was like fate was giving him a sign. Their credit was too low for a loan. They had no rich friends. No family to help. But maybe… maybe his boss could. This was it. This was his only chance. Peter surged to his feet, shoving the note into his pocket, and stormed out of the hospital. His mother’s life was hanging by a thread. And he was running out of time. A hundred thousand euros. He had no idea how else to get that kind of money. He had just one shot. If this failed… His feet carried him forward, almost on instinct. When he stopped, he found himself staring at the same billboard he had passed that morning. “RISK NOTHING, GAIN NOTHING.” The glowing words seemed to mock him. Peter clenched his fists. This wasn’t about risk. This was about saving his mother. He shook off the thought and hurried toward Pizza Prizm, his workplace. …. Peter stormed into Pizza Prizm, dripping wet. He didn’t care. He pushed past the kitchen, heading straight for the manager’s office. He knocked—hard. “Come in,” came the deep, uninterested voice from inside. Peter pushed the door open. His boss, Mr. Caldwell, sat behind a cluttered desk, lazily sipping his coffee. He was a heavyset man in his late forties, his gut straining against the buttons of his shirt. His thinning hair was slicked back with too much gel, and his thick fingers tapped against the desk like he had all the time in the world. “Have a seat,” Caldwell said, not bothering to look up. Peter sat, barely holding himself together. “Sir, I was so glad to see your message because I actually—” Caldwell cut him off with a sigh and slid a folded paper across the desk. “Just shut up and take this.” Peter hesitated, then grabbed the paper and unfolded it. His eyes skimmed the words. Then his stomach dropped. "Notice of Pay Deduction: 70% due to improper customer relations." His hands started shaking. “What… what is this?!” Caldwell finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “It’s exactly what it says,” he replied flatly. “Starting this month, 70% of your paycheck will be deducted due to a complaint made against you.” Peter’s mouth went dry. “No. No, this has to be a mistake.” Caldwell raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I made a mistake?” Peter’s breath hitched. Calm down. Think. He swallowed. “Sir, this says I’m being punished for ‘improper customer relations’ during a delivery. That never happened!” Caldwell shrugged. “A man called earlier today, threatening to sue the company. Said you harassed him and his girlfriend during a delivery.” Peter’s stomach turned. Naomi. Her new boyfriend. “This is a lie,” Peter said, voice shaking with rage. Caldwell smirked. “Well, I don’t know what happened, but I do know one thing—the company isn’t interested in lawsuits. So, consider yourself lucky I didn’t fire you on the spot.” Peter gritted his teeth. Not now. Not when his mother’s life depended on this job. “I can’t accept this,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. “Sir, I was actually coming here to ask for a raise. Or even a loan.” Caldwell laughed. Loud. Cruel. The boss sighed and leaned back in his chair, adjusting his expensive-looking watch. “Peter, I don’t know what fantasy world you’re living in, but this is a business. You think I’m just handing out money?” He chuckled dryly. “Grow up.” Peter clenched his fists. “Sir, please. I wasn’t asking for charity—I was asking for a loan.” His boss scoffed. “A loan? For what? A sick relative? A debt to pay? I hear these sob stories every week. It’s not my problem.” “MY MOTHER is DYING!!!” Peter rose and yelled. The room went silent. Caldwell let out a slow sigh, like this conversation was a waste of his time. “I’m sorry about that, kid,” he said finally. “But your mother’s condition is not the company’s concern, neither is it mine” Peter’s jaw clenched. “You can’t be serious. You can't be that heartless.” Caldwell’s smirk returned. “I suggest you leave now.” “I’m not moving an inch until I get what I came here for.” Caldwell tilted his head. “Very well, then.” He picked up his office phone. “Security.” Peter’s heart pounded. His hands clenched into fists. “Sir, please. You can’t do this.” “Security, I need this man removed immediately.” The boss continued, completely unfazed. Seconds later, three men stormed in. “No!” Peter’s voice cracked. He lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the desk, desperation burning in his veins. “Just listen to me—” Two grabbed Peter by the arms. He struggled, but their grip was iron-tight. The boss adjusted his tie and smirked. “Your termination letter will be sent to your email. Oh, and Peter?” Peter’s chest heaved, his teeth clenched. “I do hope your mother gets better.” Red-hot fury exploded inside him. He didn’t even think before shouting— “YOU BASTARD! I WILL RUIN YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!”
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Chapter 65: Round 5
Pain.It was becoming a constant. A companion he never invited but could no longer shake.Peter’s head pulsed with it, a dull throb behind his temples that refused to ease, no matter how much he tried to steady his breathing. The world around him felt strangely off—too bright, too loud, too fast.Peter’s head was pounding.The ache had settled behind his eyes, a dull, unrelenting pressure that refused to fade. Every breath felt heavier, his body sluggish, his thoughts running in loops. The encounter in the restroom still clung to him, but he shoved it aside. He had to focus.The moment he and Logan stepped back into the Viewing Center, the grand display walls flickered to life. Screens stretched across the room, wrapping them in a high-definition arena of color and movement. The very air hummed with the weight of high-stakes betting.Peter barely registered it.His fingers twitched at his sides. His breathing was slow but uneven. The pain wasn’t fading—it was building. Growing sh
Chapter 64: The Restroom
Peter’s vision swam as he gripped the sink tighter, his knuckles turning white against the porcelain. The pain wasn’t fading—it was evolving. What had begun as a dull, relentless pounding was now a knife twisting behind his eyes, burrowing deeper into his skull like a parasite feeding on his thoughts. His breaths came slow and heavy, each inhale laced with nausea, each exhale trembling with the effort of control. He wasn’t sure if this was just the aftermath of Second Chance or something deeper. Something breaking inside him. It felt like his mind was splitting apart. Like his reality was fracturing. Two pasts. Two futures. Two versions of himself fighting for dominance. His body still remembered the crushing weight of defeat. But his mind clung to victory—the flawless counterplay, the rewinding of time itself, the win that shouldn’t have been possible. Both realities bled together. Neither willing to be forgotten. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the spiraling tho
Chapter 63: The bar
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Chapter 62: Scripted?
As the final wicket fell, as Australia erupted in celebration and England trudged off in defeat, Peter leaned back in his chair. He exhaled, slow and measured.Logan leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed, his smirk just shy of arrogance. The dim light of the viewing center caught the sharp angles of his face, the smooth glint of his whiskey glass as he tilted it slightly in his fingers. The ice clinked.“Are you kidding me?” Logan mused, shaking his head. “What a waste.”Peter didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly, as if savoring something unseen. The weight of the race still hummed in his bones, the echoes of the crowd, the pounding of hooves, the adrenaline-fueled final stretch—it was all still there, just beneath the surface.But Logan?Logan had no idea.Peter rolled his shoulders, stretching his fingers against the polished wood of the table. His body still felt heavy, like he’d been run over, his nerves raw from the strain of what had just happened—w
Chapter 61: The Gentleman’s Game
The fourth round began.Victory still clung to Peter like a second skin, its warmth settling deep into his bones, its thrill a heady rush of adrenaline coursing through his every thought. He had won. Finally. A foothold in this war. A breath of control in the chaos.The score stood at 2-1—Logan still in the lead. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.Because Peter had something far more valuable than a single win.A second chance. A guarantee.Second Chance had turned the tide in his favor, letting him rewrite his mistakes, glimpse beyond the present, bend fate to his will. But the side effects…A wailing storm inside his skull.A relentless pull, like a rubber band stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.A constant gnawing at the edges of his mind, whispering of consequences yet to come.Peter gritted his teeth and shoved it all aside. Pain was irrelevant. Doubt was irrelevant. Only the game mattered.The wheel spun.Click-click-click.The symbols blurred—football, b
