The next morning came quietly, like the city had decided to sleep in.Light spilled through the slanted blinds, soft and pale, touching the fresh stack of shopping bags by the couch — proof that yesterday hadn't been some collective fever dream.
Ethan stirred awake to the smell of coffee and something sweet frying on the stove. For one disorienting second, he thought he'd been transported to a parallel universe — one where his father actually cooked edible food.
Then he heard Tom muttering at the pan:"Okay, this time, no burning. Low heat. Gentle like… like flipping a tax form."
Ethan smiled into the pillow. "Talking to the pancakes again?"
Tom turned, spatula raised like a weapon. "These are redemption pancakes, son. You'll show some respect."
Ethan dragged himself upright, running a hand through his hair. The apartment was still small, still cluttered — but it felt different. Maybe because, for the first time in years, there wasn't a weight pressing on every breath. No bills waiting to ambush him, no delivery schedule looming over his head. Just… quiet.
The kind of quiet that didn't feel empty, but earned.
Hal's voice hummed gently in his head — softer now, almost considerate.
[Good morning, Ethan.]Sign-In Available.]
Ethan blinked, groggy. "Already?"
[Consistency builds trust. Proceed?]
He rubbed his eyes. "Sure, why not. What's next, free waffles?"
There was that faint digital chime again — like a note from another world.
[Signing in…]Day 3 Reward: Property Ownership – Residential.Location: Downtown Cleveland.Description: Two-bedroom luxury apartment, lake-facing.Status: Move-in ready.]
Ethan froze. The sound of the spatula hitting the floor broke his trance.
Tom turned, frowning. "You okay, champ?"
Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it. "Uh. How do you feel about… moving?"
Tom blinked. "Moving where?"
"Downtown."
His father squinted suspiciously. "We can't afford downtown, Ethan. They charge for oxygen there."
Ethan's phone buzzed. A new message flashed on-screen:[Digital Access Key Uploaded.][Address: 340 West Harbor Avenue, Unit 16B.]
He turned the screen for his father to see. "Apparently… we can."
They stood for a long minute in stunned silence. The pancake started smoking.
Tom was the first to speak. "All right. Either you joined a cult, or you just bought us a condo."
Ethan blinked. "Neither. I think the universe just keeps hitting 'upgrade.'"
His father grabbed a jacket, still skeptical. "Well, let's go see what delusion looks like in real estate form."
The drive downtown felt like entering another world. The closer they got to the lakefront, the more the city changed — cleaner streets, glass buildings gleaming in the winter sun, people walking tiny dogs in overpriced sweaters.
Ethan's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. The GPS kept flashing Arriving soon, but he still couldn't believe it. He wasn't supposed to arrive anywhere like this. People like him just passed through — deliveries made, tips missed, engines coughing their way back home.
Now, every turn brought them closer to something that felt impossible.
Tom leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. "What's the number again?"
"340 West Harbor."
"There."
They pulled up in front of a building that didn't look real. White stone and tinted glass, tall and symmetrical, reflecting the pale sky. A subtle bronze plaque by the entrance read: The Orion Residences.
The lobby alone could've paid their rent for a decade.
Tom whistled. "Son… this place has plants inside. Real ones. With leaves."
Ethan parked the car slowly, his heart thudding. He wasn't used to doormen and marble. The idea of walking into a place like this in his old sneakers made his palms sweat.
But when he held up his phone, a soft beep sounded — the door slid open, smooth as silk.
[Access granted. Welcome home, Ethan.]
Tom stopped mid-step. "Did the building just talk to us?"
Ethan swallowed. "Yeah. I think it did."
The lobby was bathed in warm light, quiet and clean, the kind of place that smelled faintly like lemon polish and comfort money.The receptionist — a young woman in a gray blazer — looked up as they entered.
"Mr. Miller?" she asked politely.
Ethan blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
She smiled like it was perfectly normal for delivery boys to own luxury apartments. "We were notified of your arrival. Here are your welcome documents." She slid a sleek envelope across the counter.
Tom leaned in and whispered, "Is this the part where they tell us it's a prank show?"
Ethan opened the envelope. Inside was a single black card embossed with his name and the building logo — 16B in small gold letters.
The woman gestured toward the elevator. "Just tap that at the panel. Your unit is already prepared."
Ethan hesitated, then stepped forward, pressing the card against the elevator's reader. The doors opened soundlessly.
Tom whistled again. "You sure this isn't the afterlife?"
"If it is," Ethan muttered, "they have really good lighting."
The elevator ride was quiet except for the faint hum of music — classical, smooth, like something from a movie where people never worry about bills. Tom fidgeted, staring at his reflection in the mirrored walls.
"I feel like I should've worn a tie," he muttered.
"You don't own a tie."
"Exactly."
When the doors slid open, a corridor stretched before them — white walls, soft lighting, thick carpet muffling their steps. Every door they passed had the same minimalist silver number.
Ethan found 16B near the end. His card fit into a narrow slot beside the handle. The lock clicked open with a sound that felt… final.
Like the world shifting again, just slightly.
He looked at his father, hand trembling on the doorknob.
Tom gave a crooked smile. "After you, champ. You earned it."
Ethan pushed the door open.
The smell hit first — clean, faintly citrus, like a brand-new start.
Light poured in from the far end, spilling across polished wooden floors. The living room opened wide and airy, with glass walls facing Lake Erie — the water glinting like a sheet of silver under the pale winter sun.
He froze in the doorway.
Tom stepped in slowly, turning in a slow circle. "Son…" His voice trailed off. "This isn't an apartment. This is a dream with central heating."
Ethan exhaled shakily. The sound bounced softly off the high ceiling.
He took a few steps inside, eyes moving from the leather sofa to the open kitchen with marble counters, to the faint shimmer of dust in sunlight that looked like gold flakes suspended midair.
Every inch of it radiated belonging — not luxury for the sake of it, but comfort. Clean, quiet, and warm.
On the far wall, a digital frame flickered to life.
[Welcome Home, Ethan Miller.][Property ownership registered.][Utilities prepaid for five years.]
Tom rubbed the back of his neck. "Five years? We'll die of old age before we see a bill again."
Ethan laughed weakly. "Not funny. But… kind of."
They walked the apartment in silence.The bedrooms were simple but bright — each with soft gray walls, wide windows, and closets already stocked with hangers and neatly folded linens. The master bedroom overlooked the lake; the second one had a small reading nook by the window.
In the kitchen, every appliance gleamed — untouched, waiting. Ethan ran a finger along the countertop, feeling the cool marble, the smooth edges.
His father stood by the balcony doors, gazing at the skyline. "You know," he said softly, "I used to drive past places like this on my way home from the factory. Always wondered what it looked like inside."
Ethan swallowed. "Now we know."
Tom turned, eyes shining a little. "You did good, kid."
Ethan shook his head. "I didn't do anything."
"Sure you did. You kept going."
They ended up sitting side by side on the floor, backs against the couch, just watching the city outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows.The sun was setting — light bouncing off the water, painting the apartment in soft gold.
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally, Ethan broke the silence. "Feels too good to be real, doesn't it?"
Tom chuckled. "Son, I delivered mail for twenty years before the plant job. You learn not to question good news. You just sign the paper and enjoy the view."
Ethan smiled faintly. "That's… surprisingly wise."
Tom grinned. "Age and bad knees make philosophers out of all of us."
Hal's voice echoed quietly, almost like it didn't want to disturb the peace.
[New Environment Detected.][Emotional Equilibrium: High.][Optional Task: Share a meal in your new home.]
Ethan chuckled. "Hal wants us to eat dinner."
Tom looked around. "What, we supposed to order from the fancy restaurants now?"
"Apparently, yeah."
Tom stretched his legs. "As long as it's not sushi. I don't trust raw fish that costs more than my car."
Ethan laughed. "Deal."
They ordered takeout from their old favorite diner — the same one where the seats squeaked and the fries tasted like nostalgia.They ate right on the living room floor, plates balanced on moving boxes the system had conveniently stocked with basics.
The night air drifted through the cracked balcony door. The city lights shimmered, reflected on the lake below.
For once, Ethan didn't feel small in the world.He didn't feel like a delivery boy trying to keep up.
He felt — simply — home.