Jack walked down the corridor. Even after washing his face, he still felt groggy. The dive had been long, and the battles grueling. But it was all worth it. They’d beaten the Breach, earned legendary gear, and somehow, they’d managed to take down the Slayer.

  After a night like that, everyone agreed that today would be a rest day.

  He started down the stairs, wondering if his mom was making pancakes. He could already picture the day ahead—a jog, a stop at his favorite café, maybe call up Rob and hang out for a bit.

  When he scanned the room, the grogginess was gone. So were the good mood and the plans.

  His mother was crying. She sat on the couch beside his father, whose voice was low and tremulous, as if each word hurt to say. He sat slouched forward, looking small and old. Jack had never seen him like that.

  He froze on the stairs, his heart thudding. He didn’t know what had happened, but it had to be serious. A death in the family, maybe—some relative in Portugal.

  They hadn’t seen him yet. He stepped down one more stair, quieter this time.

  “What are we going to do, José?” his mother whispered, her voice barely holding together.

  “I… I’ll go back to the bank,” his father said. “Ask for a meeting with the manager. Maybe I can get them to reconsider.”

  The words sounded paper-thin, like they’d tear if you touched them.

  Bank? Are we in some sort of financial trouble? Or maybe they’re just borrowing money to buy plane tickets and attend a funeral in Portugal.

  Jack’s knuckles whitened around the railing. He hesitated. Then he spoke, voice uncertain. “Mom? Dad?”

  They both jolted upright. His mother quickly wiped her face. “It’s nothing, Jack. Don’t worry about it,” she said.

  “How can it be nothing? You were sobbing.”

  He rushed down the last few steps and closed the gap between them. He dropped to his knees beside her. “What’s going on?”

  Maria looked to José, her eyes pleading. He took her hand, held it gently, and turned to Jack. His lips parted, but the words caught.

  “Jack… son…” He swallowed hard. “I’m dying.”

  Dying? Jack blinked at him, unsure if he’d heard him right. But the serious lines in his father’s face told him he hadn’t misheard.

  “Dying? What… what do you mean, you’re dying?”

  “I’m sick, Jack,” José said quietly. “It’s cancer. Lung cancer.”

  Jack shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense! You don’t even smoke! You never have!”

  José sighed, his expression tired. “I know.”

  Jack pressed his hands to the sides of his head. “But there are treatments for that now, right? Like… good ones. We’ve got the tech now.”

  José gave a reluctant nod. “Yes. There are.”

  “Then why are you saying you’re dying?” Jack asked sharply.

  José hesitated. “Because… those treatments are out of question for me.”

  “What does that even mean?” Jack’s voice cracked.

  “It’s metastasized,” José said. “The cancer’s already spread.”

  “They still treat that, Dad! Isn’t there a new procedure now? Gene therapy? Bio-nanites or—whatever else they use? It can remove even spread cancer! Why don’t you do that treatment, Dad?”

  José looked down at the floor.

  “Dad?”

  “I-” His dad tried to speak, but the words just wouldn’t form.

  His mother spoke for him. “It’s not that there’s no treatment, honey. It’s just that the insurance won’t cover it, and we can’t afford it.”

  Jack’s stomach twisted. He fought the urge to panic.“What?”

  José’s voice was brittle now. “They denied the claim. Said I missed my annual checkup. It gave the cancer time to spread… and now the procedure is considered ‘elective’—too expensive for the plan. They won’t pay for it.”

  Maria spoke—her voice trembling, but sharp with fury. “We’ve paid those vultures every single year. Never missed a payment. And now, because of one missed checkup, they wash their hands of him? Just like that?” Her fingers clenched around José’s. “I hope they rot.”

  Jack stared at them both. “So that’s it? Just because of one checkup, they said no?”

  José nodded slowly.

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  Jack’s gaze darted between them. “How much does the treatment cost?”

  José hesitated again. “Half a million credits.”

  Jack’s jaw dropped.

  Half a million. It didn’t even sound real. The house was worth about 120 grand. The van might fetch five grand, tops.

  “What if you asked for a loan?” Jack asked quickly.

  His father shook his head. “I already did. I offered the house, the car—everything—as collateral. The bank refused. Said I was too old, too much of a risk. Not enough projected lifespan.”

  “The ungrateful, bloodsucking—”, she started the sentence with anger, but she couldn’t finish it. The fire in her couldn’t quench the sadness beneath it.

  Jack’s mouth went dry. “Then maybe I could ask for the loan. I’m young. I’ve got a clean slate.”

  “I don’t think that’ll work,” José said gently.

  “Why not?”

  His father hesitated.

  Jack suddenly couldn’t breathe. He tried to suck in a breath, but it caught halfway. The room felt smaller somehow. “Because I don’t have a steady income…” he said quietly, finishing the thought himself.

  José nodded.

  A dozen thoughts crashed into each other—none of them useful. Jack looked down, unable to meet his father's eyes. His stomach churned.

  All those times Jack had quit jobs on a whim, just because he didn’t feel like working. The lectures his father gave him about responsibility, about pulling his weight, all came back not as memories but as mistakes. And every one of them felt like it had led here.

  Now the bill had come due, but it wasn’t his future on the line. It was his father’s.

  His thoughts spun in circles—shame, helplessness, frustration—none of it useful, none of it helping.

  Then something steadier pushed through the noise.

  His father.

  Memories rushed in. Riding on his father’s shoulders as a boy, gripping his forehead and laughing because it felt as if he could see the whole world from up there. The day his dad surprised him with a guitar, one Jack had pointed out in a store window weeks earlier and never expected actually to get. That night, they both jumped off the couch and hugged, shouting in victory when their team won the championship after years of losses. And so many weekends in the backyard with his dad at the grill, flipping burgers, telling terrible dad jokes.

  He couldn’t let him die. Not like this. Not over something like money.

  He stood up and started pacing, steps uneven, thoughts coming faster than he could process them.

  He thought of his cousin—he had a stable job, good credit—but he was still paying off his mortgage. The bank wouldn’t go for it. Maybe the family could pitch in. Maybe they could run a fundraiser, post online, and find someone generous.

  But half a million?

  That was beyond anyone they knew.

  Could they sell the house? No—still not enough. Apply for a medical grant? Too slow. Appeal the claim? His dad said they’d already tried.

  There had to be something.

  José’s voice cut through the noise. “Come here, son. Sit with us.” Jack felt his father’s calloused hand on his arm.

  Jack hesitated, then let himself be pulled in. His father guided him down to the sofa, between them. His mother shifted to make space, without a word. She leaned against his shoulder, tears still damp on her face. His father’s hand came to rest on his knee, tapping it lightly, rhythmically.

  For a moment, he felt as if he were a child again, flanked by the two people who had always held him up.

  “It’s OK, Jack. It’s not all hopeless. I’m driving to the bank tomorrow. See if we can appeal to the manager somehow. Maybe I can try another bank, too. We haven’t run out of options just yet.”

  Jack wanted to hold on to his father’s words. He wanted to believe that he had it all under control. But when he looked at his father, he knew that he was just putting on a brave front. He didn’t believe that any of those ideas would work. This man, whom he'd seen once lifting a broken washing machine into the van like it was nothing, and who stood tall through every setback. And now, he looked so fragile.

  Jack’s fists clenched. He couldn’t be the child anymore. This time, he wasn’t waiting for someone else to fix it. All the years of drifting, avoiding, letting things slide… they were done.

  There had to be a way.

  Jack straightened, drawing in a slow breath. “Dad?”

  “Yes, son?”

  “When you go to the bank—” Jack hesitated, then met his father’s eyes. “Even if they say no again… can you still ask how much they’d be willing to lend you?”

  His parents exchanged a look, eyebrows furrowed.

  “We can ask,” José said slowly. “But what would be the point?”

  “Just do it for me,” Jack said.

  He heard something different in his own voice. It sounded firmer and steadier. “I’m going to come up with the rest myself.”

  José stared at him, stunned. “Son, I… that’s half a million credits. I know your new job is going well, but...”

  “Just ask them,” Jack said. There was no shake in his voice—no room for argument.

  José held his gaze, then finally gave a quiet nod.

  Jack exhaled. “One more thing. I know this sounds weird… but I need to borrow four thousand credits.”

  José blinked. “What? Why? Are you—are you buying a car?”

  “No,” Jack said. “I need to buy a gaming capsule.”

  There was a pause.

  “A gaming capsule?” his father repeated, clearly baffled. “Son, that doesn’t—”

  “Please, Dad.”

  José turned to Maria, who had been silent until now.

  Her eyes were red, her expression tight. She looked from Jack to José, then back again. “Jack,” she said gently. “What are you doing?”

  José leaned forward. “We just told you we can’t even get a loan… and now you’re asking us for money?”

  Jack didn’t answer. Not yet. His mind was already moving, and the pieces were beginning to fall into place.

  He pulled out his phone and opened the Nexus website, scrolling quickly through the capsule catalog. He selected the top-rated model—the one optimized for long dives. It came bundled with two weeks of nutritional fluid, enough to keep him in-game without needing to eat. Jack added three more months’ worth, then checked the box for urgent delivery. It added another 200 credits to the total.

  At checkout, he turned the screen toward his father.

  “Can you approve the payment?”

  José furrowed his brow. “Jack… what’s going on? I don’t understand.”

  Jack met his eyes and didn’t look away. “Dad, I know I’ve let you down more than once, and I know this sounds crazy, but I’m going to come up with the money for your treatment. I have a plan. I just need time. And I need you to trust me.”

  José stared at him. Silent.

  Jack stood his ground. His hands trembled slightly, but he didn’t break eye contact.

  “Please, Dad,” he said, softer now. “Just this once... believe in me.”

  Something shifted in José’s face. A flicker of pain. Then warmth. Then that quiet strength Jack had always known him for. Finally, José nodded. “I believe you, son.”

  The words hit harder than Jack expected. He breathed in, deep, full, and nodded back, just once. Then he turned toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” his mother called after him.

  “I’m going back to work,” he said simply.

  “Jack, wait—at least eat something first,” Maria said softly. “You haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  But Jack was already climbing the stairs, two at a time. Back in his room, he grabbed the helmet. For a moment, he just stood there, holding it. The helmet his father had given him: a symbol of his faith in him.

  Two sentences echoed in his mind.

  I’m dying.

  I believe in you.

  He etched the words in his memory, burned them into his heart. Then, he pulled the interface down and lay back.

  And for the first time, he wasn’t diving for money, fun, fame, or for himself.

  This time, he was diving for his father.