16 July 2080, Astra Metropolis
"The Employee of the Year is… Mr. Leo Archer!"
Applause thundered through the grand hall, sharp, echoing claps that bounced off the marble walls and glittering chandeliers of the Astra Metropolis Convention Palace. Warm light spilled across round tables draped in silver, and music rose in the background as cameras swiveled to a figure in the center row.
A broad man rose from his seat.
Leo Archer.
Early thirties. A bit overweight around the stomach and shoulders, but not in a way that invited ridicule, rather, it gave him a grounded, authoritative presence.
His suit strained slightly at the waist, but his posture remained precise, practiced. Short ice-blonde hair, parted neatly down the middle, added a sharp contrast to otherwise soft features. A clean-shaven face carried the kind of expression one perfected only after years in the corporate world, a polite, warm smile that conveyed gratitude without revealing anything real.
There was a quiet heaviness behind his eyes, the kind only someone overworked for far too long would recognize.
The men beside him immediately stood and clapped him on the back.
"Well done, Leo!"
"You're a beast, man!"
"Three years in a row… unbelievable."
Leo nodded, returning each compliment with a small, measured smile and a Thank you. The gesture was automatic, like muscle memory, smooth, polite, hollow.
He walked toward the stage, applause swelling around him like a perfectly timed soundtrack.
A spotlight locked onto him.
The anchor, an aging man in a crisp white suit, extended a shimmering glass award. Leo accepted it with both hands. The trophy was cold against his skin, almost startlingly so.
Employee of the Year: Leo Archer - Third Consecutive Year
He stared at the engraved letters longer than he meant to.
Three years of sacrifices. Three years of missed dinners, skipped vacations, abandoned dreams. Three years of late nights in empty rooms.
And yet, there was no spark of pride. Not even the faintest flutter of joy.
He forced himself toward the mic.
"Thank you," he began, his voice steady, trained. "I'm honored to receive this award again. But the credit goes to the team behind me. Their dedication and support..."
The rest of the speech rolled out smoothly, every word polished from repetition: dedication, growth, collaboration, responsibility. Words that sounded noble. Words that covered exhaustion like perfume over a wound.
Not once did he mention how drained he felt. How the achievements meant less each year. How the applause only deepened the emptiness inside him.
No one needed to know that.
When he finished, applause filled the hall again, enthusiastic but impersonal.
Leo returned to his seat, enduring another forty minutes of staged celebration. More handshakes. More photos. More toasts. Someone joked loudly about engraving his name on next year's award in advance.
Leo laughed along, but the sound felt foreign to his own ears.
Later, when the crowd thinned and the music faded, he slipped out the back exit, walked to the underground parking lot, and slid into his luxury sedan.
The drive home was silent.
In the basement of his apartment tower, he locked the car and headed toward the elevator. His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, a sleek device, cool and familiar in his hand.
The caller ID read: Aunt Emily.
A small, genuine smile touched his lips, rare, soft, almost fragile.
He picked up. "Hello, Emily."
"Hello, my child! How are you? How was the ceremony?"
Leo let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "It was… the same as last year. I got the award again."
A warm, familiar laugh filled his ear. "Third time in a row! I knew you'd do it. You always were a hardworking boy."
Leo lowered his gaze to the cold trophy in his hand. "Yeah… I guess."
"You don't sound happy," Emily said lightly, though worry crept into her tone.
He forced a small exhale, trying to sound casual. "It's… just been a long day. Long year, actually."
"I can hear it in your voice," she said gently. "You've been pushing yourself again, haven't you?"
Leo's fingers tightened around his phone. Her concern, her warmth, he wanted to see her in person, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out quietly.
"I miss you, Emily."
There was a short pause on the other side. "Leo… what's wrong? You sound tired. Should I come to Astra?"
"No, no," he said quickly, softening his tone. "Nothing's wrong. I just… miss you. It's been years. Once I am done with my recent project, I'll visit."
She hummed quietly, as if she didn't fully believe him but didn't want to push. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, her cooking, his childhood, a neighbor's new puppy. Ten minutes later, after wishing each other good night, they hung up.
He pressed the elevator button and waited. When the doors opened, he stepped inside and hit the button for the 25th floor. The ride up was silent except for the faint hum of machinery.
The elevator doors slid open.
There were only two apartments on the floor. He turned left, unlocked his door, and stepped inside.
His apartment was large, far larger than one man needed. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sprawling city below, Astra's neon lights flickering like a restless ocean. His footsteps echoed faintly across the polished wooden floor as he loosened his tie and draped his coat over a chair.
Yet despite the luxury, the place felt… cold.
The living room was immaculate but lifeless. A sleek sofa sat in perfect condition, untouched. A massive TV hung silently on the wall. A glass coffee table stood spotless, no magazines, no mugs, no mess. The curtains were half drawn, letting in a pale wash of blue city light that felt more alien than comforting.
The bedroom was the same story. Grey sheets, neatly tucked. A bedside table with nothing but a digital clock. Shelves filled with binders, reports, technical manuals, and nothing personal.
No photos. No souvenirs. No evidence of a life lived.
In one corner, a guitar leaned against the wall, brand new, strings unplayed. A boxed DSLR camera sat beside it, untouched since the day he bought it, still wrapped in its plastic seal. On the top shelf rested a dusty suitcase, tags still attached from a trip he never took.
He placed the new award in the glass cabinet, among seven others. Certificates. Trophies. Plaques.
All lined up like museum pieces.
Achievements without warmth. Success without celebration.
He stared at them for a moment, then exhaled.
His fridge was nearly empty, energy drinks, packaged meals, a half-used lemon. He grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass, walked back to the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa.
One click. The TV turned on.
His fingers navigated to MeTube.
The homepage loaded.
And there she was.
"Exploring the Emerald Crown Rainforest || My Most Dangerous Trip Yet!" by Mira Lane
Leo paused.
Mira Lane.
He had subscribed to her channel years ago. She wasn't like other influencers who faked perfection. Mira lived boldly. She traveled, explored, learned new things, made mistakes, laughed loudly, fell, got back up.
She lived the exact life Leo once promised himself he would try.
He clicked the video.
The screen burst into color. Towering trees drowned in morning mist. Sunlight slicing through emerald leaves. The roar of waterfalls. Strange animal calls echoing through the rainforest, the largest in the world.
Mira's voice filled the room, breathless and exhilarated.
"You guys… my heart is racing. This forest feels alive. Every step is like stepping into another world."
Her smile was real. Her fear was real. Her joy… painfully real.
Leo leaned forward unconsciously, the wine forgotten on the table. When the video ended, a tight ache settled beneath his sternum.
He went to her channel.
More videos he didn't see due to him being busy.
Hiking in Norway.
Learning Brazilian cooking.
Morning routine in Bali.
Skydiving for the first time.
A week in Italy.
Trying underwater photography.
Each thumbnail felt like a tiny window into a life overflowing with color and warmth. A life he once wanted for himself. A life he kept postponing.
He whispered, barely hearing himself, "I wanted that life…"
The confession felt heavy, too honest, too late.
Leo switched off the TV and leaned back into the silence. The room, usually too large, felt unbearably small.
"But… the time never came."
Outside, Astra Metropolis pulsed with neon light, alive, dazzling, indifferent.
Inside, Leo Archer's heart clenched once… then went still.
No drama. No last words. No audience.
A man everyone admired, but no one truly understood, died alone in a silent room, surrounded by achievements that meant nothing and dreams he had let slip through his fingers years before.