Ficorpio
Chapter 1
Pain split Ethan Brooks’s skull open.
His eyes flew open, and the harsh wash of white light made him squint on instinct.
There was no sharp antiseptic smell. No ambulance siren screaming in his ears.
Instead, there it was—the same cramped rental apartment. Peeling paint on the walls. A half-empty bottle of cheap baijiu on the table. A few screenshots of debt collection texts scattered beside it.
“I’m not dead?”
Ethan pushed himself upright, his head still swimming.
He remembered everything with brutal clarity.
July 20, 2026. The night of the 2026 FIFA World Cup Final.
He had shoved in every last cent he had, even taken on loan shark debt to bet on France winning it all. Then Spain had buried them with an extra-time winner.
He’d been left with over thirty thousand dollars in debt. His girlfriend had cleaned out the last of his savings and run off. His parents had called just to tell him what a failure he was. He’d gotten blind drunk, climbed onto his electric scooter, and slammed straight into a truck.
And right before he died, only one thought had been left in his head.
If only I could do it over.
His hand shook as he grabbed the smartphone off the table and lit the screen.
2:00 a.m.
June 13, 2026.
Below the date, a push notification blazed across the screen:
The 2026 FIFA World Cup kicks off tonight! Host nation Canada faces Bosnia, with the first group-stage match about to begin!
Ethan’s mind exploded.
He really had regressed.
He was back at the start of the World Cup.
June 13. The first round of the group stage had only just begun.
Every result from his last life. Every major upset. Every dark-horse run. Every twist of the tournament was carved into his memory with perfect clarity.
Ethan shot out of bed and fumbled into his mobile banking app.
Balance: $8,263.57.
Eight grand.
That was everything he had.
And by the end of the month, he still owed another thirty thousand in online loan debt.
In his last life, this was where it had started. This exact eight thousand. He had bet, lost, chased the loss, and bet again until he’d driven himself straight into the grave.
But this time was different.
This time, he had the memory of the entire tournament.
Ethan opened the sportsbook app on his phone and locked onto the 3:00 a.m. match.
Group B, Round One: Canada vs. Bosnia.
Canada, the host nation, had been hyped across the internet as a breakout team. Their squad value dwarfed Bosnia’s. They had home field. The betting line was so one-sided the odds sat at 1.3.
Everyone thought Canada was a lock.
But Ethan remembered exactly what happened.
The first major upset of that World Cup had been this match.
Bosnia sat deep, absorbed the pressure, and hit on the counter all game. In the seventy-eighth minute, they smashed in a world-class strike and beat the hosts 1–0.
That result had wrecked bettors overnight.
“You’re the one,” Ethan muttered.
His fingers trembled as he shoved the full eight thousand all-in on a Bosnia win.
Odds: 4.8.
Chapter 2
If he won, he’d walk away with nearly forty grand.
Then a message popped up on WeChat—well, now just another chat notification, but the name made his gaze turn cold.
Sophie Hayes.
“Ethan, are you out of your mind?”
“Did you bet on soccer again? How many times have I told you to stay away from that crap? That eight thousand is supposed to cover your rent!”
Ethan stared at the screen, expression hardening.
Sophie.
In his last life, when he’d hit rock bottom, she had taken the last of his money and run off with a trust-fund heir who drove a BMW.
And now she was acting like the worried, supportive girlfriend.
He typed back.
“I did. Put all of it on Bosnia.”
Her reply came almost instantly.
“Are you insane? Canada is the host nation! Do you even know what level Bosnia is on?”
“Are you trying to ruin your own life? If that eight thousand goes up in smoke, what are you going to live on?”
Then another message followed.
“Ethan, I’m warning you—if you lose the rent money, we’re done.”
Ethan looked at the screen and let out a cold, humorless laugh.
Break up?
Perfect.
The debt from his last life was about time he collected.
“Do whatever you want,” he replied.
After sending those three words, Ethan tossed his smartphone aside and pulled up the livestream.
At three in the morning, the match kicked off right on time.
The stadium in Toronto was packed to the rafters, a sea of red from end to end. Canadian fans were singing so loud it felt like the whole place was shaking.
In the opening ten minutes, Canada pressed hard across the entire field. Bosnia was pinned back in its own half, barely able to breathe.
The commentator kept shaking his head. “Bosnia’s under far too much pressure here. Canada’s home advantage is overwhelming. If this keeps up, conceding is only a matter of time.”
Then Sophie’s messages started blowing up his phone again.
“See? What did I tell you? Bosnia can’t hold out!”
“That eight grand is about to vanish! Ethan, you really are hopeless!”
“I must’ve been blind to ever date you!”
Ethan ignored every word and kept his eyes calmly fixed on the screen.
He knew the real show hadn’t started yet.
In the thirty-fifth minute, Bosnia’s striker broke down the wing and drew a foul. Canada’s defender was shown a yellow card.
In the fifty-seventh minute, Bosnia’s midfield threaded a perfect through ball. The striker went one-on-one with the keeper, only to be denied at the last second, sending a jolt of panic through the entire stadium.
Then came the seventy-eighth minute.
Bosnia won the ball high up the pitch.
A shot from outside the box—
Goal.
An absolute screamer.
1–0.
The whole stadium went dead silent.
The commentator was practically screaming. “It’s in! Bosnia has taken the lead! The host nation, Canada, is behind! The first major upset of this World Cup is here!”
Ethan’s hand clenched into a fist.
Hit.
He’d nailed it.
He glanced at his phone. Sophie’s messages had stopped ten minutes ago.
Chapter 3
Two minutes later, a new one finally came through, the disbelief practically dripping off the screen.
“It really went in?”
“Bosnia actually won?”
“Ethan, did you seriously just luck into this?”
He didn’t respond. He opened the sportsbook app instead.
Winnings settled: $39,664.
Eight thousand had turned into nearly forty.
His first bucket of gold.
And this was only the beginning.
Ethan’s eyes burned as he looked at the upcoming schedule.
Tomorrow—June 14, Group C, first round: Brazil vs. Morocco.
Another massive upset.
Brazil, the reigning Copa América champion, against Morocco, who had made the final four in the last World Cup.
Everyone thought Brazil was a lock. The odds were absurdly low.
But what was the real result?
Morocco would defend like lunatics and hold Brazil to a 0–0 draw. They’d even come close to stealing it outright.
The odds on that draw were as high as 6.5.
Ethan ran his tongue slowly over his teeth.
Roll forty thousand once, and it became two hundred and sixty grand.
And his sights were already set far beyond that.
The group stage. The knockouts. The semifinals. The final.
This entire World Cup was his personal ATM.
When Ethan woke up at ten the next morning, his phone was already exploding.
Sophie had sent more than twenty messages. They started with doubt, shifted into probing questions, and had now landed squarely on flattery.
“Ethan, you actually got it right?”
“How did you know Bosnia would win? Do you have some kind of inside information?”
“I was a little harsh earlier. Don’t take it to heart. I was only looking out for you.”
“Let’s go out for dinner tonight. I booked that hotpot place you like.”
Ethan swiped away her messages without a second thought and opened his mobile banking app.
More than thirty-nine thousand dollars was sitting there safely in his account.
He got up, washed up, went out for a bowl of beef noodles, and by the time he got back it was already noon.
When he opened a sports forum, the entire internet was arguing about Canada’s upset loss.
“The host nation lost its opener? What an embarrassment.”
“The rooftop’s already full. I just came down from it.”
“Any experts want to tell us what to bet next? Brazil vs. Morocco can’t possibly end in an upset too, right?”
“Brazil’s a sure thing. Morocco only got that far last time on luck. This year they’ll be exposed.”
Looking at the flood of “Brazil can’t lose” takes, Ethan smiled.
The more one-sided the public was, the higher the upset odds climbed.
And the higher the odds, the more money he’d make.
He opened the sportsbook app and pushed the full forty grand onto a draw.
Odds: 6.5.
The moment he placed the bet and backed out, Sophie Hayes called.