The silence in Benny's All-Night Diner hung like a fog, thick and unyielding. Maddox's throat tightened as Elira's words echoed in his mind: "There're some things I can't have after all."
Her voice, soft yet laced with resignation, cut deeper than he'd expected. Her blue eyes, usually sharp as alpine ice, had dimmed—just a flicker, but enough to betray a wound she'd tried to hide.
The clink of her cutlery against the table, the way she set it down with deliberate care, felt like a gavel striking a verdict he didn't understand.
Maddox's mind raced, clawing through the fragmented memories of his predecessor for any clue to what she meant. Past encounters? Texts? Calls? Nothing surfaced.
Eric's emotional ledger, as far as Maddox could tell, held no debts to Elira. Yet her gaze, searching his face for something he couldn't give, told a different story. He wasn't the Eric she knew, and the gap between them, between who he was and who she remembered, yawned wider with every second.
He opened his mouth, grasping for words to bridge the silence, but they crumbled before they could form. What do you say to someone mourning a man you're pretending to be? The truth, that he was a stranger in Eric's skin wasn't an option. Not now, maybe not ever.
Elira's appetite had vanished. She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the rain-streaked window where the downpour had softened to a gentle drizzle, as if the sky itself was tiptoeing around their fractured moment.
The diner's dim lights cast her profile in shadow, her blonde hair catching the faint glow of the neon sign outside. She looked untouchable, the "ice queen" moniker the team whispered about suiting her now more than ever.
Maddox swallowed hard, the taste of ale sour on his tongue. "Umm…" He cleared his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet. "The rain's stopped. I gotta get going." He stood, fishing a folded strip of Terra (⊽) bills from his sodden coat and placing them gently on the table. "This should cover both meals."
Elira blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. "Yeah. Sure."
He turned to leave, the bell above the door jingling faintly as he pushed it open. The cool night air hit him, carrying the scent of wet earth and distant city smoke. But she followed, her voice stopped him cold.
"Why don't I drop you off?" Elira's tone was cool but steady, cutting through the quiet. "I drove. Sky Rail's a mess after weather like this."
Maddox hesitated, caught off guard. Say no, and he'd seem ungrateful, maybe even cruel after her vulnerability. Say yes, and he'd be trapped in a car with whatever unspoken history lingered between them. He glanced at her, her raincoat still dripping, her posture rigid but expectant. 'What's one more minefield tonight?'
"…Sure," he said after a beat. "Thanks."
---
The Astra 3rd Gen model purred through the rain-slick streets of North London, its luxury-grade hum a stark contrast to the modest salary Maddox knew a team nutritionist earned.
The interior was a study in opulence—custom-stitched leather seats, a panoramic AI dashboard glowing with soft blue holograms, and a polished emblem on the console: "KramdenCustom Works. Handcrafted."
Retail price? Easily ⊽180,000, maybe more with the subtle modifications he spotted—a retractable sunroof, enhanced sound dampening, and a steering wheel with biometric sensors. Way beyond Elira's pay grade.
Maddox didn't ask. Her business wasn't his, and the night had already unearthed too many questions he couldn't answer. He stole a glance at her as she drove, her grip on the wheel light but precise, her eyes fixed on the road.
Her face had reset to its default—neutral, professional, the "ice queen" mask firmly in place. It was a far cry from the unguarded moment in the diner, and that shift gnawed at him.
He wanted to ask what she'd meant, what promises the old Eric had made, but the words stuck in his throat. One wrong move, and he'd expose himself as an imposter.
The ride was suffocatingly quiet. Neon signs bled into puddles, their colors smearing across the wet asphalt like an artist's fever dream. The window wipers whispered rhythmically, a metronome to the tension between them.
Outside, North London's streets shimmered under streetlights, the city's pulse slowing as the late hour drained its energy. Maddox stared out his window, watching the world blur past—bars spilling laughter, Sky Rail stations glowing with stranded commuters, and the occasional noble's estates.
As they entered Ravensmead, the district's wealth became palpable. The streets widened, lined with manicured trees and high walls topped with discreet cameras. Estates here were fortresses of privilege, their residents noble-tier families who were part of England's football aristocracy.
Star Villa came into view, nestled in a cul-de-sac that radiated quiet power. Its minimalist design—clean stone facades, geometric glass windows, soft golden lighting—was Alina's handiwork, a reflection of her noble upbringing.
A plaque on a raised stone slab read:
"Star Villa. Established 126 A.E. Resident Class: Noble-Tier."
Maddox exhaled, the weight of the day settling into his bones. "I appreciate the ride," he said, unbuckling slowly. "Seriously."
Elira didn't look at him, her hands still on the wheel. "Don't mention it."
He hesitated, one hand on the door handle. The air felt charged, like the moment before a penalty kick. He stepped out, the chill brushing his skin, the scent of wet earth grounding him. As he closed the door, her voice stopped him again.
"…Eric," she said, her tone softer now, almost fragile.
He turned, meeting her gaze for the first time since the diner. Her eyes, no longer guarded, held a quiet intensity that made his chest ache.
"Back then… you told me I was the only person who ever saw you. The real you." Her words were deliberate, each one landing like a stone in still water. "You said no one else ever understood you better than I did."
Maddox's breath caught. Her words stirred nothing in his borrowed memories, but they carried a weight that pinned him in place. Confusion flickered across his face, and he cursed himself for letting it show. Elira's gaze faltered, a shadow of hurt passing through her eyes.
"Guess that wasn't real after all," she murmured, almost to herself. The engine hummed, the car turned, and Elira Voss vanished into the night, her taillights swallowed by the dark.
Maddox stood frozen, hands clenched at his sides, a pressure behind his eyes he couldn't name. "What the hell did you do, Eric?" The old Eric's ghost lingered, leaving debts Maddox couldn't pay. He muttered a curse under his breath, the word sharp against the quiet.
The guards at Star Villa's gate—two suited men with concealed sidearms and earpieces nodded respectfully. "Good evening, Mr. Maddox."
He gave a vague nod, his mind elsewhere, and walked through the gate. The smart sensors recognized him instantly, the glass doors sliding open with a quiet hiss.
---
Inside, Star Villa was a monument to Alina's taste—Marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting, a glass staircase curved like a sculpture, and the faint scent of citrus and cedar wafted from an automated diffuser.
Every inch screamed modest luxury, curated to reflect her noble status. To Maddox, it felt less like a home and more like a museum, each surface too perfect to touch.
He dropped his soaked jacket over a chair, ignoring the faint disapproval in the air. Aunty May, the housemaid, appeared from the kitchen, her apron immaculate despite the late hour. "Good evening, sir. Lady Alina's taking her bath. Shall I prepare something for you?"
"No, thanks, May," Maddox said, his voice rough. "Just… need to crash."
She nodded, her eyes kind but unintrusive, and retreated. Maddox let out a long breath, collapsing onto the living room sofa. The leather was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his thoughts. He stared at the ceiling, its smooth white surface offering no answers.
A soft flicker in the corner of his vision announced the system's activation, its holographic interface materializing like a ghost.
---
[System Notice]
[Media Pressure Event – Phase Two Active.
"Silvergate Manager Divides Coaching Staff" trending across Youth Leagues social circle.
Public Poll: 55% Blame Maddox | 32% Neutral | 13% Support Maddox.
Higher-Up Communication Expected: Within 24–48 Hours.
---
Maddox groaned, dragging a hand across his face. Now the coaching staff was fracturing, and the Youth Leagues' social circles were feasting on the drama. He could already picture the headlines: "Commoner Coach Crumbles Under Noble Scrutiny." And somewhere, Alina's father, Lord Marrowgate, was probably toasting to his downfall.
"Next time," he muttered, "let me reincarnate as a leaf. Free from worry and unperturbed." The sarcasm felt hollow, but it was all he had left tonight.
His thoughts drifted to Elira's words, her quiet accusation ringing in his ears. 'The only person who ever saw you.'
"What had Eric shared with her? A friendship? Something more?" The possibility twisted his gut, not out of jealousy but fear—fear of the secrets this body held, secrets that could unravel everything. And then there was Alina, upstairs, her distance growing with every passing day.
Outside, the rain began again, its pitter-patter a soft lament against the glass. Maddox closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. Tomorrow, he'd face the training ground, the staff, the media.
Tomorrow, he'd fight for his place in this world. But for now, he let exhaustion claim him, the sofa's cool leather a fleeting refuge in a life that was anything but simple.