However, after staying at home for only a few days, Ethan once again found Thomas unbearable.
Every day, Thomas would bring a group of people over—neighbors, old friends from town, or childhood playmates. No matter who they were, Thomas would brag about his achievement proudly introduce them, always mentioning how Ethan had been featured in the Los Angeles Times.
Ethan could tolerate this for a day or two, maybe even three or four. But five days in a row? "Oh! How could anyone endure that for five days straight? Ethan, I really admire you!"
Evelyn surprised over the phone. "I wouldn't have survived even three! I'd have packed my things and run away already!"
Ethan hadn't seen Evelyn since coming home. The reason was simple: after being dragged around by her father to meet his so-called friends, she too had grown exhausted.
Since it was graduation season and many of her classmates were planning trips, Evelyn seized the chance to escape and travel with them. She only called home every few days to check in.
Linda had answered her call two days ago. Evelyn said she was in Seattle, about to see a Red Hearts performance with her classmates. But today, Ethan picked up the phone. The moment he did, his pent-up frustration burst out in complaints.
"I'm ready to run away too," Ethan whispered, covering the receiver as he leaned against the wall. He glanced around cautiously, then muttered, "I can't take it anymore. Thomas is too enthusiastic—he introduces me to his friends every single time. You know what? Most of the time I feel like a circus monkey. Whenever Thomas waves his hand, I have to smile and wave back like, 'Hey, hey, hey!'"
"No!" he corrected himself bitterly. "He's worse than a circus trainer—because at least they have bananas in their hands!"
"Pfft—hahaha~" Evelyn burst out laughing on the other end. The absurdly vivid metaphor left her nearly breathless with laughter.
"Oh—oh—oh—" She gasped, still laughing uncontrollably. It took a long while before she could calm down. "Ethan, run away! I support you! Don't you know Thomas's temper? He can talk about the same happy thing for a whole month! And he'll explain it from different angles, in different styles, with different details. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how he manages to talk so much!"
"Yes, yes, I know." Ethan nodded in sympathy. "I've already packed my things. If I weren't waiting for your call, I would have left long ago."
"Huh? Waiting for my call?" Evelyn asked, puzzled. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"Of course!" Ethan said. "The Snake Game we made should be considered a success, right? The total installed base has already exceeded 4,000 units, and even the Los Angeles Times reported on it. So, I was thinking—should we prepare some gifts for your teacher? And of course, we must also give a thank-you gift to Barbara."
America, Ethan believed, was a society built on favors—and favors could be used everywhere. Letters of recommendation for college, for example, were often more useful than test scores. For obvious reasons, vested interests would never let the media openly discuss such things.
That was why, in Ethan's view, it was necessary to celebrate the success of Snake Game with the people around them and to thank those who had helped along the way. Even if some hadn't done much—or didn't strictly need to be thanked—showing gratitude was still valuable. As long as they could get along with you, they would gladly share in your honor.
It might sound snobbish, but, Ethan thought, we're all adults. Better to be pragmatic. There was silence on the other end of the phone.
After a while, Evelyn laughed softly. "Ethan."
"Mm?"
"You're very thoughtful."
"Thanks."
"In that case," Evelyn continued, "let's wait until I come back in July to discuss it. Before I left earlier this month, I had already spoken to both my teacher and Barbara. They knew I was escaping because of family troubles, so they were very understanding.
At the same time, they were happy for my success. So yes—there must be a party. We'll go over the details when I return. And anyway, since the profit share hasn't come through yet, we can't exactly ask Thomas for money to buy gifts, can we? Even though he'd definitely give it."
"Alright, we'll talk about it later. I wish you a happy trip."
"Thanks. And I hope you manage to escape my dad soon."
After reaching an understanding with Evelyn, Ethan said his goodbyes to the family.
When word of his departure reached Thomas's ears, the middle-aged man was visibly reluctant to let him go. But Ethan was quicker than anyone else.
He got into the car, slammed the accelerator, and slipped away in a flash—almost driven mad from frustration. In the blink of an eye, the Chevrolet roared off toward San Francisco.
In fact, after Ethan had returned home, Linda had told him that during his absence, a man claiming to be the owner of an electronic supply company in San Francisco had often called, asking whether Ethan was around. Each time Thomas or Linda answered "No," the caller had sounded deeply disappointed.
He had repeatedly said that when Ethan came back, Ethan must be told that he was happy for him—and that he had prepared a gift.
After hearing this from Linda, Ethan did consider calling back. But Thomas was so popular, always dragging him to meet one group of uncles after another, that Ethan barely had the energy to think of anything else. So in the end, he let it slip from his mind.
That was why, when Ethan finally decided to run away from home again, his first stop was naturally Mr. FBi's shop.
Where else could he go? The lodging above the shop wasn't bad at all.
So when Ethan returned once more to San Francisco—a city he didn't particularly like—and appeared outside the electronics supply store, Mr. FBI, who had been slumped at the checkout counter doing nothing, suddenly sprang up.
He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then bolted out of the shop shouting, "Oh brother! Is this God pretending to be you? Why are you here?"
"Uh… huh?" Ethan was baffled by the reaction. "Weren't you the one looking for me? Didn't you say you had a gift?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah—I've been looking for you!" Mr. FBi nodded so fast he looked. "When I first saw the Snake Game machines appear on the streets of San Francisco, I knew you must have succeeded and I wanted to celebrate with you. But every time I called, it was your aunt or uncle who answered. Later, when I saw the Los Angeles Times reporting on Snake Game, I finally understood why you were so busy—it's because your game has spread all across California! Maybe even to the whole world!
I called again to congratulate you, but they always told me you weren't home… At one point I even thought you had forgotten about me! But now—oh my God! You're here!"
Just watching him pant made Ethan feel exhausted. Without saying a word, Ethan waved his hand, got out of the car, and walked straight into the shop like he owned the place. He poured a glass of water, then held it out to Mr. FBi.
Instinctively, Mr. FBi reached for it. But before he could touch it, Ethan pulled the glass back and drank it all in one gulp.
The performance left Mr. FBi stunned.
Ethan shrugged. "You keep calling me 'brother,' but in the end you didn't trust me at all. Did you think I wouldn't want to deal with you once I got famous? Oh, how sad! I didn't expect you to think so poorly of me!"
He even put on a wounded expression. "No, no, no, brother—you know I didn't mean that!" Mr. FBi said quickly, rubbing his hands.
Ethan ignored him, and headed for the door.
"Wait! I was wrong! Let me apologize!" Mr. FBi shouted.
"Really?" Ethan stopped in his tracks.
"Really!" Mr. FBi said firmly.
"Alright then. To test your sincerity, I've decided something." Ethan's eyes narrowed. "I plan to stay in San Francisco for a while. I don't have a place to rent, so I'll just live here with you."
"Yes!" Mr. FBi agreed. "This place is your home! Stay as long as you like!"
He hadn't expected the guy to agree so easily. He had only been trying to trick him, but somehow it felt like he was the one being tricked.
As Ethan blinked at him in confusion, trying to spot a catch, Mr. FBi suddenly slapped his forehead.
"Oh right! I almost forgot—I prepared a gift for you!"
While talking, Mr. FBi invited Ethan back into the store and asked him to sit near the front. Then he disappeared into the warehouse. After some rummaging, he emerged holding a box.
It was a black wooden case with the Parker logo painted on it. Ethan accepted it, opened the lid, and the pure black insignia of the Century Series immediately made him smile.
"Wow~ thank you, I like it very much."
The gift touched Ethan. After all, the market price of this collectible Parker pen was $79.99. An ordinary person would have to save for a week without eating or drinking to afford it—yet Mr. FBi had just given it away so casually.
Too generous! But before Ethan could properly thank him, Mr. FBi pulled out another package—this one the size of a briefcase. After unwrapping it, he revealed a slightly smaller flaxen-colored wooden board. Around its edges, a lifelike snake had been carved, chasing its own tail.
In the center of the board was a sheet of white paper—clearly meant for writing.
The moment Ethan saw it, he felt something was wrong. And sure enough, when Mr. FBi slid the board toward him with a grin, gesturing invitingly to the pen…
"You gave me a special pen as a gift," Ethan muttered in disbelief. "Do you… want me to sign this for you?"
"Yeah~" Mr. FBi replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It's a testimony of friendship!"
"Fuck! You really are a dog!" He had thought he was shameless for tricking Mr. FBi earlier—but it turned out there was someone even more shameless than him! "So this is your so-called 'celebration'?"
"Of course! In my eyes, you're an artist! What's wrong with asking an artist for an autograph?" Mr. FBi replied, perfectly embodying shamelessness.
"If you really think I'm an artist, then why don't you collect my actual works?" Ethan snapped. "Shouldn't you put a Snake Game arcade cabinet right in front of me and ask me to sign that?"
But Mr. FBi only shrugged. "Oh brother, that's too expensive—twelve hundred dollars."
"Alright, alright, I give up! I, Ethan Jones, admit defeat! I'll sign it for you, okay? I'll sign it!"
He grabbed the pen and scrawled across the board. But Mr. FBi treated it like a priceless treasure. He carefully set it on a shelf, then displayed it proudly in the window behind the cashier.
"Now," he said with satisfaction, "I can finally tell people that my store was visited by a celebrity! Because the Snake Game was made with materials I provided!"
His ridiculously childish words made Ethan groan and shake his head.
"If you think I have celebrity effect, then your judgment is completely wrong. I'm just a game maker. You're just a supplier of materials. No one will care."
"Really? I don't think so." Mr. FBi beamed. "I believe you've already been noticed—because you have the ability."
Despite himself, Ethan's grin, Truthfully, though he had put up a tough front, he couldn't help but enjoy being admired this way.
No way! Isn't fame and fortune what people pursue all their lives?
Yet while Ethan Jones remained silent, quietly savoring the taste of fame and fortune, just as Mr. FBi had said, a story about him was already unfolding nearly thousands miles away in Skokie, Illinois.
---------------
Inside Magnavox's office, an old man in his sixties slowly lifted his head. His eyes burned with doubt and anger, his wrinkled lips barely moved, but the coldness in his voice filled the entire room—
"I want to know… is this the result of the investigation you've given me?"