Ethan Black and Avery Brooks settled into a window-side table at PrimeBite, Ethan's upscale Westfield restaurant. He'd planned a quick lunch to thank Avery for her loyalty during the StarPulse parking lot showdown, not to deal with the Syndicate's server sabotage. The waiter, recognizing Ethan as the owner, kept it low-key—no VIP fanfare, just menus and a nod. Ethan liked it that way; being a $500M mogul didn't mean he needed a red carpet for burgers.
As they ordered—Ethan went for a truffle burger, Avery a vegan wrap—they chatted about life beyond StarPulse's TikTok empire. "So, you're into singing?" Ethan asked, catching Avery's offhand mention of her dream. "Like, pop star vibes? Taylor Swift level?"
Avery blushed, twirling her straw. "Kinda. I've always wanted to be a singer, but, y'know, streaming pays the bills. StarPulse isn't exactly Spotify." Her laugh was half-nervous, half-hopeful.
Before Ethan could dig deeper, his phone buzzed. Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest lit up with a new alert. He swiped it open, and a pop-up nearly made him choke on his water:
[Long-Term Challenge Issued]
Star-Maker: Transform Avery Brooks into a Top-Tier Pop Star. Deadline: 1 Year.
Rewards: 51% Ownership of NovaVibe Entertainment Group (Value: $30B)
Additional Rewards: 1,500 EXP, 800 Points
Failure Penalty: $3,000
Ethan's jaw dropped. Thirty billion dollars?! NovaVibe, one of America's top 10 entertainment giants, was a music and film juggernaut—think Universal Music crossed with Netflix. Owning 51% would give him total control, boosting his net worth from $500M to $15.5B overnight. Plus, 1,500 EXP and 800 points? That'd rocket his game level from Lv1 to Lv3, unlocking store items worth billions. The penalty? A measly $3,000—pocket lint for a guy with StarPulse and PrimeBite in his portfolio.
"Holy… jackpot," Ethan muttered, visions of Grammys and private jets dancing in his head. But making Avery a pop star? That was no TikTok dance challenge. The music industry was a shark tank—talent alone wouldn't cut it. StarPulse, worth $1B, was a minnow compared to NovaVibe's ocean. Avery needed a plan, and Ethan needed to outsmart the game.
[Accept Challenge?]
[Yes] [No]
Ethan didn't hesitate. Yes. A $15B prize was worth the risk, and $3,000 was chump change. He leaned back, mind racing. StarPulse's streaming muscle could launch Avery as a singing streamer, building her fanbase before a music label debut. Vanessa Steele's old resources—studio time, PR campaigns—were up for grabs post-probation. With Ethan's CEO clout, he could funnel them to Avery, turning her Twitch gigs into a springboard for stardom. Slow and steady, no rookie mistakes.
He glanced at Avery, who was nervously sipping her iced tea. "You serious about singing? Like, sell-out-arenas serious?"
Avery's eyes widened, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah, but… it's a pipe dream. I mean, I'm no Beyoncé." She laughed, but her voice held a spark of longing.
"Here's the deal," Ethan said, leaning in. "I'm betting on you. StarPulse will back you—full support. Start as a singing streamer, build a fanbase, then we'll pitch you to labels. You in?"
Avery's wrap nearly fell out of her hands. "Wait, what? You're serious? Like, StarPulse is gonna… make me a star?" Her voice hit a pitch that could've shattered glass.
"Dead serious," Ethan said, grinning. "But it's work. You'll train, stream, and hustle. Say yes, and we're all in."
Avery hesitated, then nodded, her face lighting up like a viral TikTok. "Yes! I'm in! I mean, holy crap, this is… wow." She fanned herself, half-laughing. "My chat's gonna freak—Avery's going pop star?!"
Ethan tapped Accept on the game:
[Long-Term Challenge Started: Transform Avery Brooks into a Top-Tier Pop Star. Deadline: 1 Year.]
"Keep streaming for now," he said. "Practice your vocals, and I'll get Claire to draft a plan—studio sessions, vocal coaches, the works. We'll make this legit."
Avery's eyes glistened. "Ethan… thank you. This is, like, my shot. I won't let you down." Her gratitude was raw, no filter, and Ethan felt a twinge of pride. This wasn't just about the $15B—it was about giving Avery her dream.
Their food arrived—burger for him, wrap for her—and they dug in, Ethan sketching out ideas between bites. "We'll start with covers on Twitch, maybe some originals. Go viral, then drop a single. Sound good?"
"Sounds like I need to quit napping," Avery joked, but her grin was all-in. Halfway through lunch, a voice interrupted. "Avery Brooks? No way!"
A lanky guy in a plaid shirt loomed over their table, his grin too eager. Avery squinted, recognition dawning slowly. "Uh… hi? You look familiar…"
The guy chuckled, unfazed. "Jake Riley, your old college classmate. Psych 101, back row, remember?" He plopped into a chair uninvited, scooting between Ethan and Avery like he owned the place. Avery's face clicked—Jake was the guy who'd doodled in her lecture notes, not exactly a close pal.
"Oh, Jake! Right," Avery said, polite but stiff. "Been a while."
"No kidding," Jake said, eyeing Ethan. "This your boyfriend?"
"Nah, just a friend," Ethan cut in, keeping it vague. His mind was still on Avery's pop star plan and the Syndicate's server sabotage. He didn't have time for Jake's frat-bro energy.
"Friend, huh?" Jake's shoulders relaxed, like he'd dodged a bullet. "Cool, cool. Thought I'd have to fight for a shot." He winked at Avery, who cringed internally, her wrap suddenly fascinating.
Ethan raised a brow, catching a weird vibe. Jake's grin was too slick, his watch too flashy for a "college buddy." The game's warning—Syndicate Agent Active—flashed in Ethan's head. Was Jake just a clingy classmate, or something worse? Ethan's phone buzzed again:
[Alert: Syndicate Agent Proximity Detected. Verify Identities.]
Ethan's gut tightened. He leaned toward Avery, voice low. "This guy legit, or is he giving creep vibes?"
Avery whispered back, "Barely knew him in college. He's… trying too hard." She glanced at Jake, who was now ranting about his "tech startup" and "big investor meetings."
Ethan smirked, playing it cool. "Jake, good to meet ya, but we're kinda busy. Catch up with Avery another time, yeah?"
Jake's grin faltered, but he stood, tossing a business card on the table. "Sure, man. Avery, hit me up—we'll grab coffee." He sauntered off, but Ethan clocked him lingering by the exit, typing furiously on his phone.
"That was weird," Avery muttered, pocketing the card. "He's, like, LinkedIn-level desperate."
"Or something else," Ethan said, eyes narrowing. The black SUV was still out there, and Jake's timing felt off. Ethan snapped a photo of Jake's card with his phone, sending it to the game's Verify Identity feature. Seconds later, a reply:
[Identity Check: Jake Riley, Alias Suspected. Syndicate Affiliate Probability: 78%. Proceed with Caution.]
Ethan's blood ran cold. Lunch was over. The Syndicate wasn't just in StarPulse—they were here. "Avery," he said, standing, "we're skipping dessert. Got a rat to catch."
As they headed for his Ferrari, the SUV's engine revved across the street. Jake slipped into an alley, phone to his ear. Ethan gripped the wheel, the game's stakes clearer than ever: $15B, a pop star, and a war with the Syndicate. "Game on," he muttered.