The last trophy needed a collectible on a rooftop he had walked past forty times, and it popped at 4:52 in the morning — a chime, a small grey square in the corner of the screen, ninety-six hours logged. He came off the couch with both fists up, alone in the apartment, still holding the controller. His shift on the helpdesk started at ten.

The group chat said congrats. A different chat, the one with the two he had actually played this with back in 2016, had gone quiet years before. He scrolled the completion screen a while — every box filled, nothing left in it that needed him — then opened the store and read reviews of the sequel until seven. He was not tired. There was simply nothing next.