May 2025.
The sky was grey.
Not dystopian. Not dramatic.
Just… real.
No warping light, no time fractures.
No flying cities, no Thought Converters.
Just fluorescent lights. Cracked keyboards.
And the familiar, soul-draining chime of a corporate elevator.
“You’re late again, team leader.”
“Another meeting? Don’t expect much input.”
“Hey, what do you even do all day?”
Words.
Tiny knives, thrown with casual precision.
Moneytory stood in the break room.
Coffee cup in hand.
Heart... still.
Not angry.
Not humiliated.
He had faced gods of order.
He had fought against his own perfect clone.
And now, he was back—
where it all began.
But he wasn’t the same man anymore.
In the meeting room, the usual suspects waited.
Slackers.
Eye-rollers.
A CEO who didn’t know his name even after four years.
He sat down and opened his laptop.
Project proposal.
Reorganization plan.
Quarterly forecasts.
He knew what they were going to say.
“Too ambitious.”
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“Too much change.”
“No one wants responsibility.”
So instead of defending it...
He didn’t.
He just listened.
Let them talk. Let them dismiss.
And then he smiled. Genuinely.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t be responsible for this.
Because you’re not ready. Yet.”
Silence.
He didn’t yell.
He didn’t beg.
Just… truth.
“But I am. And I’ll prove it.”
He didn’t look for permission.
He stood and walked out.
Sometimes, progress doesn’t need a vote.
It needs motion.
That night, at home, the noise was heavier.
The in-laws argued over something he couldn’t hear.
The TV buzzed static.
His son was locked behind a door again.
And his wife… asleep, breathing slow, machines blinking in rhythm.
For a moment, he leaned against the wall, eyes shut.
Everything he’d seen in the time fractures—
it was easier than this.
Easier than being a husband who couldn't fix what mattered.
Easier than being a father with no answers.
He knocked on his son's door.
“It’s me.”
No answer.
“Listen. I don’t need you to be okay.
I just need you to know... I’m not giving up.”
He paused.
“We build the future. Every day. One hard thing at a time.”
The door stayed shut.
But he heard footsteps.
That was enough.
The next day, at work—
Moneytory didn’t wait for orders.
He met with external partners.
Pitched a new digital workflow.
Reassigned resources without approval.
And when the CEO summoned him, fuming—
“Who do you think you are?”
Moneytory stared straight at him.
“The guy fixing what you broke.”
The CEO laughed. Short, sharp.
“Fix it, then. But if you fail—”
“I won’t.”
He walked out.
Not victorious.
Not safe.
But finally in motion.
That week, one of the junior team members quietly asked him for feedback.
A second apologized for missing a deadline.
The third didn’t make a snide comment in the meeting.
Small cracks.
Small shifts.
“Just like a fractured world,” he thought.
“This one heals one decision at a time.”
He sat in the break room again.
Alone.
Quiet.
Coffee in hand.
And this time—
He smiled.
To be continued…