The boy who had snatched Evan's phone skidded across the floor after crashing into a solid wall of muscle. He was about to yell—until he looked up and saw who he had bumped into.
"What the hell is going on here?" boomed a voice that instantly silenced the crowd. "My customers are leaving. Care to explain before I toss you all out?"
The speaker was none other than the owner of Pixel Den. Standing six feet tall with a frame like a bodybuilder, he exuded the presence of a war-hardened general. His stern features, cold eyes, and rigid jaw made him look more like a tyrant than a manager.
"Hey, bro! I'll explain everything!" said the young man who had stopped the thief. He and his friend approached, while the thief looked increasingly nervous.
"Oh? James and Rey, too? You two came and didn't even drop by to say hi? That's harsh, bros. I actually had something to talk to you about," the owner said, his tone softening just a bit.
Despite his scary looks, the owner was known to be easygoing—but few dared to get close enough to realize it.
"I was right there when it all happened," James said, stepping forward. "Let me fill you in first before we get into other stuff."
The owner turned to the crowd. "Sorry for the disturbance, folks. Please carry on."
The murmuring audience dispersed, returning to their games and conversations.
"Now then," the owner said, cracking his knuckles with a thunderous pop. "Let's hear it. And be honest… or I'll get really unfriendly."
James wasted no time detailing how he and Rey were on their way up when they spotted a confused-looking boy—Evan. Levi, a sore loser looking for someone to blame after his defeat, accused the boy of distracting him. And when Evan said he had no money, Levi stole his phone and tried to run.
"Wait a second," the owner growled, narrowing his eyes at Levi. "Didn't I specifically ban betting here? And you're the guy who already owes us money, aren't you?"
"N-no, sir! He's lying!" Levi stammered, trying to save himself. "This kid owes me money, that's why I took the phone! That's it!"
Realizing what he'd just admitted, Levi went pale.
"So… you were betting," the owner said flatly and hoisted Levi up like a sack of potatoes.
"No, no! I meant—he made me lose points before, not in a bet!" Levi twisted his story again, now claiming he knew Evan from before.
"Do you really expect me to believe a random orphan could afford this kind of phone?" the owner asked, suspiciously inspecting the device.
"No, sir! I only met him today!" Evan finally spoke, his tone urgent. "He said I lost the game and snatched it!"
"Then tell me," the owner asked, eyes locked onto Evan's, "why do you have this phone if you're an orphan?"
"Sir," Evan said calmly, "my caretakers gave it to me so I wouldn't get lost. It's their son's spare phone. I'm new here… they just wanted me to be safe."
"Hmm… if you're telling the truth, I'll need to speak with them. No hard feelings—just doing my job."
Evan hesitated but then nodded. "Please don't scare them. They'll only worry."
"Give me the phone."
Evan unlocked it and handed it over. The owner scrolled through the contacts.
"What are their names?"
"Aunt Rosy and Uncle Jason."
Finding the names, the owner raised a brow. "Huh. Most kids hate their guardians. You even saved their contacts properly."
He stepped away and made the call, asking a flurry of precise questions. Meanwhile, Levi, still restrained, took the chance to bolt the moment eyes were off him. He slipped away downstairs unnoticed.
"Thank you for the info, ma'am. Sorry for the trouble," the owner said and hung up. He handed the phone back to Evan and looked around.
"…Where the hell is Levi?"
Everyone shrugged.
"Tch. Slipped away, huh?" the owner muttered, rubbing his temple. "Next time I see that brat, he's not walking out."
James clapped a hand on Evan's shoulder. "So? Are we good?"
The owner gave a nod. "Yeah. The kid's clear. But you—stay sharp. This city's no joke."
With that, he descended the stairs.
"Thanks for saving me… and sorry for all that," Evan said, gently stepping away from James's grip.
"No worries," James replied. "But seriously—how'd you fall for that lame trick? Rookie move, man."
"I really am new here," Evan explained. "Just arrived today. Never played a game in my life. Some kids from the orphanage told me about this place."
James blinked. "You've never played… anything?"
"Not once."
"Whoa," James said. "Name's James Zephyr, by the way. This guy's Rey Dragonstorm. Cool name, right? He used to be a noble and all."
"Do you have to tell him everything?" Rey groaned.
"Sorry, sorry," James chuckled.
"It's fine," Evan smiled. "I'm Evan Windstone. Got my surname, but… not my family."
The two shook hands, a silent bond forming between them.
"Well then," Rey said, grinning, "why don't you come play with us?"
"Yeah! I'll teach you. Come on," James encouraged.
"I… can't. I don't have money for games. I'm saving what I have for essentials."
"Don't worry about it. I've got enough funds to keep a whole team gaming for months."
"Still… why would you help me?" Evan asked, wary.
"Because I think we're the same," James said earnestly.
"…Wait, what?" Evan took a step back. "Bro, I'm not into that kind of stuff."
"What? No! Not that kind of same!" James flailed, realizing how his words sounded.
"You really don't know how to talk, do you?" Rey snorted.
"Crap, my bad! I just meant—we could be good friends, okay? I'm not… y'know!"
The three burst into laughter.
"Alright, but seriously—why friends? We just met," Evan asked, still a little suspicious.
"Because when I saw you staring at this place like a kid at Disneyland, I figured… maybe we could be friends. Train together. Compete. This guy's not into it," he said, nodding at Rey.
Evan looked at the hand James held out to him, uncertain but tempted.
"…So, what's your answer? Want to be friends and play with us?" James asked.
Evan hesitated.
"I…"
— To be continued —