Ficorpio
Chapter 1
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[The opening goes hard, but don’t worry, guys. Read with confidence. Pure satisfaction ahead.]
…
At eight o’clock on the night of June tenth, Ethan Carter locked his bedroom door.
At the bottom of a sheet of scratch paper, he drew one last line in red pen and wrote down the total.
His worst score on any practice exam had been 602. His best had pushed past 680. Ms. Parker had once clapped him on the shoulder and told him he was a lock for a top-tier national university.
His phone buzzed three times in a row.
A message popped up in the class group chat. Logan Mercer had posted a nine-photo collage: the graduation party at Starlight, a private karaoke club. The VIP party suite was packed with at least a dozen people crammed onto leather couches. The table was buried under imported liquor and towering fruit platters. Logan sat dead center with Natalie Price tucked against him, his brand-new watch deliberately exposed beneath his cuff.
“Graduation party tonight. VIP suite at Starlight. I’m covering everything. If you’re not here yet, grab a ride over now. My treat.”
Natalie followed it with a voice message. Ethan tapped to play it. Her drawn-out tone was sweet in the most grating way possible.
“Ethan, are you coming? The answer key’s already out. Did you check yours yet? Don’t sit home alone brooding. Come have a drink and loosen up.”
The chat exploded after that.
“Checked mine already. Mental state destroyed. I’m drinking till I black out.”
“Logan, you beast. That room had to cost five figures.”
“Ethan, hurry up and come. If you don’t, who’s gonna sing ‘Start Over Again’ for us?”
The last message was a direct tag from Logan.
“Ethan, quit playing dead. I saved the mic just for you. You can stand center stage and I’ll film you a nice little keepsake.”
Ethan flipped his phone facedown on the desk.
From the living room came the slap of his father’s house slippers, then two knocks at the door.
“You done checking yet?”
Ethan clenched the sheet of paper in his hand and tried to keep his voice steady.
“Still working on it.”
“Your mom asked me to check. What kind of score range are you looking at this year?”
“Dad, I’ll tell you when I’m done.”
Silence stretched outside for a few seconds. Then his father’s footsteps retreated to the living room.
On the TV, a World Cup countdown special was playing. The commentator was shouting that the opening match would kick off tomorrow night: host nation Mexico versus South Africa.
Then, without warning—
Everything inside Ethan’s head went black for half a second.
[The Grandstanding System has successfully bound itself to you.]
[Detected: host’s projected national college entrance exam score has catastrophically collapsed, and life has hit rock bottom. Activation conditions satisfied.]
Ethan froze for two full seconds.
What the hell?
The lines of text kept flashing.
[System instructions: Complete social-death grandstanding tasks to receive the confirmed score and goal timings of the next 2026 World Cup match.]
[Core restriction: If you directly reveal the score to anyone for profit, the reward will be immediately revoked, and your penis will shrink by 10 centimeters.]
Ethan’s eyelid twitched.
Shrink?
Ten centimeters?
Are you actually serious?
[A beginner task has been issued.]
[Task content: At tonight’s graduation gathering, stand on top of a table, cover your left eye with your right hand in a “seal release” pose, face the entire class, and shout the following line.]
[Script: Seal released! The power slumbering within me for eighteen years has awakened. You mortals will all kneel at the feet of your king!]
[Task reward: Confirmed score and goal timings for the World Cup opening match.]
[Failure penalty: Random hair loss, 50%. Penis shrinks by 10 centimeters.]
[Task deadline: Tonight, 23:59.]
Ethan stared at the red text in his head for a full ten seconds.
Then, very calmly, he reached down and checked his crotch.
After that, he touched the top of his head too.
What was there to choose?
He stood so abruptly his chair scraped back across the floor.
He yanked open the closet, grabbed a jacket, and shoved it on.
“Dad, I’m heading out.”
His father’s voice turned heavier from the living room.
“At this hour? Where are you going?”
“Graduation thing with my classmates. Logan’s paying.”
Ethan didn’t say anything else. He shut the door behind him and went downstairs. The June night air was hot and damp, sticking to the back of his neck.
Deep in his mind, the blood-red countdown was still hanging there.
3 hours 47 minutes.
He opened his banking app and checked his balance.
2,036 dollars.
Three years’ worth of saved breakfast money and birthday cash.
The streetlight outside stretched his shadow long across the pavement. He stood at the gate of the apartment complex and let out a breath, then opened a rideshare app and typed in Starlight Karaoke Lounge.
335 points.
Seal released.
In front of his entire class.
This garbage system really had picked the perfect time and place.
Chapter 2
His ride pulled up. Ethan opened the back door and got in. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
“Heading to karaoke, huh? Night before the World Cup starts, the whole city’s packed. You young people really have energy.”
Ethan didn’t answer. He kept staring at the red text in his head.
Confirmed score for the opening match.
If this thing was real, two thousand bucks on an exact score bet would pay at least eight-to-one.
If it was fake…
He glanced down at his crotch, then reached up and touched his hair again.
He couldn’t afford to lose.
The door to the VIP party suite at Starlight Karaoke stood half open.
When Ethan Carter reached it, Logan Mercer was in the middle of a song, microphone in hand. Natalie Price was curled up beside him on the sofa, filming.
Ethan pushed the door open and walked in.
Logan spotted him first. He lowered the mic, smugness written all over his face. One look at Ethan’s expression, and he’d clearly decided Ethan’s exam estimate had crashed and burned.
“Ethan’s here!”
He waved grandly at the room. “Move over, guys. Make some space for our favorite future dropout.”
Laughter broke out from all over the couches.
Someone held out a drink.
Someone else clapped.
Natalie turned her phone toward Ethan, the corner of her mouth lifting in an exaggerated grin.
“Wow, Ethan, you actually came. I thought you’d be home crying over answer sheets tonight.”
Ethan swept his gaze around the room.
There were seventeen or eighteen people in the suite. A few of the ones he wasn’t close to had their heads down, pretending to look at their phones. Only the people around Logan were really egging this on.
Then his eyes landed in the corner.
Lily Bennett sat at the very edge of the sofa in a plain white T-shirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail. The lemonade in front of her hadn’t been touched. When the laughter rose, her brows drew together slightly.
[Task time remaining: 47 minutes.]
Damn it.
Forty-seven minutes left.
Ethan felt his scalp go numb.
Logan slid a glass of whiskey toward him.
“Don’t just stand there. Sit.”
“Drinks are on me tonight. Have as much as you want.”
He smirked. “So what if you bombed it? Worst case, you repeat senior year and retake the exam. My dad even said he could sponsor your tuition.”
Natalie covered her mouth as she laughed. “Logan, don’t say that. He’s obviously in a bad mood.”
Ethan didn’t sit. He kept one hand in his pocket and stood beside the coffee table, his gaze drifting over the fruit trays and glasses scattered across it. The mirrored surface reflected the spinning colored lights overhead.
Logan opened his mouth again.
“Come on, Ethan. Aren’t you usually the talkative one? What, cat got your tongue today?”
“Here, sing something. I already picked a song for you.”
He grinned wider. “Starting Over Again. Seemed appropriate.”
A few guys next to him immediately joined in.
“Sing one!”
“Come on, dropout anthem!”
Ethan picked up the drink from the table, took a sip, and set it back down.
“Logan,” he said, “what’d you estimate your score at?”
Logan leaned back against the sofa, one arm draped over Natalie’s shoulders.
“Five-eighty. Not amazing, not terrible. Good enough for one of those elite second-tier universities.”
“Nice.”
Logan lifted his chin. “What about you?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
He glanced at the countdown on his phone.
43 minutes.
The red numbers kept ticking down.
“Logan,” he said evenly, “do you really think I came tonight to take your charity?”
Logan’s smile faded a little. “Charity? What are you talking about? It’s just a class party.”
“Then let me put on a show.”
Before Logan could process what he meant, Ethan stepped onto the sofa—and then onto the coffee table.
The glass groaned under his weight.
Bottles rattled. Fruit plates shook.
Natalie shrieked and scrambled backward. “What the hell is wrong with you, Ethan?”
Logan shot to his feet. “What are you doing? If that table breaks, are you paying for it?”
The entire room went silent.
Every eye turned toward him.
Seven or eight phones came up at once, pointed straight at his face.
Lily stood up, lips parting. “Ethan, get down.”
[Time remaining: 41 minutes.]
Ethan stood in the dead center of the coffee table, the overhead lights pouring down on him.
He could feel his face burning. Sweat had already broken across his back.
Everyone was staring.
Seven or eight cameras aimed directly at him.
Logan stood there with his hands on his hips, looking at Ethan like he’d lost his mind.
“Fine,” Logan said with a laugh. “If you want to perform, then perform.”
“Just don’t smash the table.”
Ethan shut his eyes for a second.
Then he raised his right hand, spread his fingers, and covered his left eye.
The room went so quiet it was almost terrifying.
Natalie leaned in even closer with her phone, mouth half open, waiting for the joke.
“The seal…” Ethan said, voice low, dramatic, unbearable even to his own ears. “…is broken.”
The second the words left his mouth, Ethan felt like half his soul had flown out of his body.
Holy hell.
This was mortifying.
But he didn’t stop.
He forced every syllable out in that over-the-top, full-body cringe tone.
“The power that has slept within me for eighteen years has awakened. You mortals will all kneel before your king!”
Silence.
A full two seconds of it.
Then the room exploded.
Logan doubled over laughing, slapping the sofa so hard it popped. “Oh my God—Ethan, did bombing the exam actually make you insane?”
“‘The seal is broken’?”
“Look at yourself!”
Chapter 3
Natalie laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. She slid off the sofa and crouched on the floor clutching her stomach.
“Oh my God, send it to the group chat right now!”
“The whole grade has to see this. Dropout boy just had a full anime breakdown!”
Laughter came from every direction.
Somebody laughed until he coughed.
Someone else pounded the table.
One person had already started typing up a caption for social media.
Ethan jumped down from the table. When his feet hit the floor, his knees nearly gave.
[Beginner task complete.]
[Reward being issued.]
[2026 World Cup opening match: Mexico vs. South Africa.]
[Final score: Mexico 2 - 0 South Africa.]
[Goal timings: 9th minute, Mexico No. 10 scores with a left-foot finish; 67th minute, Mexico No. 7 scores on a breakaway.]
Ethan froze for a split second.
Damn.
It really paid out.
Logan was still laughing, phone in hand as he came over.
“Ethan, I got the whole thing on video. Want me to post it for you?”
He snorted. “I’ve already got the title: ‘College entrance exam loser has public mental breakdown.’”
Ethan pushed his phone aside and headed for the door.
“Logan.”
“What?”
“For tomorrow night’s opening match—which side are you betting on?”
Logan wiped tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.
“South Africa, obviously. Do you even know soccer?”
“Mexico’s home numbers are inflated. African teams dominate physically. You don’t get that?”
“Fine,” Ethan said. “Don’t change your mind.”
Logan barked a laugh. “Why would I? I’m putting ten grand on South Africa to win. You got the guts to match me?”
Ethan didn’t look back. He shoved the suite door open and stepped into the hallway.
Footsteps followed behind him.
Not Logan’s.
“Ethan.”
Lily had come after him.
She stopped in the hall under the cold white lights, still clutching the glass of lemonade she’d brought out with her. Her eyes were red around the edges.
Ethan turned to face her.
Her expression was serious. Not mocking. Not entertained. She was genuinely worried about him.
“Ethan… are you under too much pressure?”
“If you’re not okay, you don’t have to pretend.”
She tightened her grip on the cup. “What you just did in there… you don’t need to humiliate yourself just to make them laugh.”
Ethan looked at her reddened eyes and felt something press softly into his chest.
But he absolutely could not go soft now.
“Lily,” he said, “be honest. Was I cool or what?”
Her tears almost spilled.
She lifted the cup toward him, then pulled it back.
“Stop pretending.”
Ethan laughed, reached out, and lightly patted the top of her head before turning toward the elevator.
“Get home early, genius.”
“And watch the opening match tomorrow. Bet on Mexico.”
He leaned against the elevator wall and pulled out his phone, opening his banking app.
Balance: 2,036 dollars.
Then he looked again at the message burned into his mind.
Mexico 2, South Africa 0.
Ninth minute.
Sixty-seventh minute.
The prediction was terrifyingly precise.
If he bet right, the odds would be at least eight to ten times his money.
Two thousand could turn into sixteen or even twenty grand.
The elevator reached the first floor.
Ethan stepped out of the karaoke club and into the night.
He opened his map app and searched for the nearest sports betting shop.
The closest one was an eight-minute walk away.
The sports betting shop sat on the corner of an old street, its sign missing a couple of lit letters.
Through the glass door, Ethan could see walls covered in betting odds sheets and World Cup schedule posters. A TV behind the counter was running a pre-match analysis show.
He pushed the door open.
The bell chimed once.
A woman was sitting behind the counter.
She wore a red, fitted dress with a high slit that ran to mid-thigh, modern but styled with a sharp, old-school glamour. Her legs were crossed on a footstool under the counter, and a slim cigarette rested between the fingers of her left hand. When the smoke curled upward, she lifted her eyes and looked over at him.
She was the kind of beautiful that came with age and confidence.
Her makeup was precise without being heavy. Her lipstick was a deep red, the same family of color as the dress.
She looked at Ethan’s school jacket, then at his face.
Her red lips curved.
“Well, aren’t you a little young to be betting this late?”
“Tomorrow’s opener,” Ethan said.
“The opener? Mexico versus South Africa. Which side?”
Ethan walked up to the counter.
“Exact score. Mexico, two-nil. Two thousand.”
The hand holding the cigarette stopped in midair.
“Two thousand?”
“Yeah.”
“On exact score?”
“Yeah.”
“You do know if you miss the exact score, you don’t get a cent back.”
“I know.”
She brought the cigarette to her lips and took a drag.
The smoke drifted between them.
Then she leaned forward a little over the counter, revealing the clean line of her collarbone above the neckline.
“Kid, I’ve been in this business six years. I’ve seen plenty of students come in to bet.”
“Win, and they take their girlfriend out to dinner.”
“Lose, and they’re skipping breakfast.”
She tapped the countertop with one finger.
“That’s everything you’ve got, isn’t it?”
“More or less.”
“And you’re still putting all of it on exact score?”
She studied him. “So what is it? You crunched the numbers, or some random idiot fed you insider gossip?”
Ethan slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“What does it matter where I heard it? If you can print the ticket, print it.”
She tilted her head at him.
There was obvious curiosity in her gaze now, along with a trace of amusement.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Just finished the national college entrance exam?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you do?”