Grant had already decided.
He was going to resign.
The decision hadn't come suddenly. It had been building slowly over the past two days, piece by piece, like pressure collecting inside something that was about to crack. At first, he tried to ignore it. He told himself it was temporary, that things like this happened in companies all the time. But now, standing in front of his screen with the resignation email half-written, he couldn't convince himself anymore.
This place didn't value his work.
That realization was simple, but it hit harder than anything else.
The company wasn't short on money. It wasn't short on opportunities either. But where that money was going—that was the real problem. Bright, colorful projects with shallow mechanics were getting full support. Projects designed to be safe, easy to understand, easy to sell.
And his game?
It was treated like a risk.
Something unnecessary.
Something that could be sacrificed.
Grant leaned back slightly in his chair and stared at the screen. The email cursor blinked steadily, waiting.
All it needed was one click.
One action, and everything would change.
Around him, the office had returned to its usual rhythm. People were working again. The earlier tension from the board meeting had faded on the surface. Conversations had resumed. Keyboards were active. But underneath that normal appearance, something had shifted.
Everyone knew what had happened.
And everyone knew what it meant.
Arthur had already tried to stop him earlier.
"Think about it again," he had said, leaning against Grant's desk. "Leaving now… it's not just about them. It's about you too."
Grant hadn't argued.
Because Arthur wasn't wrong.
But staying didn't feel right either.
That was the problem.
His team trusted him. They believed in the project. They believed that if they kept working, something good would come out of it. But none of them trusted the system above them. No one trusted the manager anymore. No one believed that their effort would be recognized or rewarded.
And when that kind of trust disappears, everything starts to collapse.
Grant exhaled slowly.
He reached for his phone, almost without thinking.
At that exact moment, a notification appeared.
A message from his bank.
He frowned slightly and opened it.
Then paused.
Payment Due. Credit card outstanding.
The amount wasn't small.
For a few seconds, he just stared at the screen.
Then reality settled in.
If he resigned now, there would be no salary. No backup. No time to adjust. Whatever anger or frustration he felt—it wouldn't change that fact.
Grant lowered the phone slowly.
For a moment, he didn't move.
The resignation email was still open in front of him.
But now, it didn't feel as simple as before.
Before he could think further, another notification appeared.
This time, it was from social media.
A trending post from the company.
Grant tapped on it.
The video loaded.
And in the next second, his expression changed.
It was his game.
Or at least, it was something built from it.
The core concept was unmistakable. The structure, the gameplay loop, even certain design choices—it was all there. But everything else had been changed.
The tone was lighter.
The visuals were brighter.
The atmosphere was completely different.
Where his version focused on tension, this one focused on comfort. Where his game forced players to think, this one removed that weight entirely.
It had been simplified.
Packaged.
Made safe.
Grant's fingers tightened slightly around his phone.
"They didn't even…" he muttered, but didn't finish the sentence.
Arthur walked over, noticing his expression.
"What happened?"
Grant didn't speak. He just turned the phone toward him.
Arthur watched the video silently.
After a few seconds, his jaw tightened.
"They copied it."
Grant shook his head.
"No," he said quietly. "They didn't copy it."
A small pause.
"They took it."
There was no credit. No mention. No reference to the original team.
Just a clean announcement.
As if it had always belonged to someone else.
Behind them, a few others had started watching as well. No one said anything, but the atmosphere changed immediately. The frustration that had been sitting quietly inside the team started to surface.
Then the video switched.
A live interview.
Their manager.
He sat comfortably under bright studio lighting, speaking with confidence.
"…this project represents a forward-looking direction for the company," he was saying. "We are focusing on experiences that can reach a wider audience."
Grant felt something tighten in his chest.
"This concept," the manager continued, "was developed under my direction."
For a moment, everything went silent.
Then—
Grant placed his phone on the table harder than necessary.
The sound wasn't loud, but it carried across the room.
Arthur looked at him carefully.
"Grant…"
But Grant didn't respond.
He was trying to process it.
Budget cut.
Team reduced.
Best members reassigned.
And now—
This.
It wasn't just unfair.
It was deliberate.
Grant leaned back slightly and looked up at the ceiling.
For a brief moment, something unfamiliar crept in.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something else.
Helplessness.
Because the situation was clear.
His current team didn't have enough capacity anymore.
Not after everything that had been taken away.
Even if they worked day and night, even if they pushed themselves beyond limits—they wouldn't be able to finish their version before the company released the simplified one.
And once that happened—
It would be over.
The original idea would disappear.
And no one would ever know.
The room stayed quiet.
No one had an answer.
No one even knew what to say.
Grant closed his eyes for a moment.
Then suddenly—
A memory surfaced.
Clear.
Unexpected.
A name.
Adar.
Grant's eyes opened slowly.
College days came back in fragments.
Late nights in labs.
Arguments over mechanics.
Competing to build better systems.
Working together, then trying to outdo each other.
Back then, they had been among the best in their university.
Everyone knew it.
But after graduation—
Life changed.
Paths separated.
Contact faded.
It had been more than five years.
Grant picked up his phone again.
Scrolled through his contacts.
Found the name.
Adar.
His thumb hovered over it.
He didn't press it.
What would he even say?
After all this time?
Calling out of nowhere?
Asking for help?
It didn't feel easy.
For the first time that day, Grant hesitated.
Not because he didn't know what to do—
But because he knew exactly what it meant.
He lowered the phone slightly.
Then turned his head.
"Sophie."
She looked up from her screen.
She had been watching everything quietly.
"What should I do?"
The question was simple.
No weight in the tone.
No drama.
Just honest.
Sophie held his gaze for a moment.
Then answered.
"If you're confident…"
She paused slightly.
"Then call him."
Grant looked back at his phone.
At the name on the screen.
Five years.
No contact.
No conversation.
And now—
Everything depended on this one decision.
His project.
His team.
His future.
His thumb moved slowly toward the call button.
And stopped.
The room was quiet again.
But this time, it felt different.
Not tense.
Not heavy.
Just… waiting.
Because this wasn't about pressure anymore.
It was about choice.
One call—
Could change everything.
End of Chapter
you've made it this far, you already know—this isn't just a simple story anymore.
Things are about to change, and the real journey is only just beginning.
Grant's next move won't just affect his team… it might change everything.
Some decisions build careers, and some decisions build empires.
This is one of those moments.
If you're enjoying the story so far, don't just read and leave.
Your support actually decides how far this story can go.
Drop a Power Stone if you liked the chapter.
Add this story to your library so you don't miss what comes next.
Because from here on… it only gets bigger.
If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to drop a Power Stone and add it to your library—it really helps the story grow.