It was… empty.

He paid his fifty rupees and walked out into the rain, the phantom cheer of a liberated digital stadium still ringing in his ears.

He opened his eyes and made one, simple pass. Not to his striker. Not for a goal. Just a short, gentle roll to his left back. A pass of friendship, not ambition.

He double-clicked.

It read: for a split second, then… [FREED] .