He wasn't there for nostalgia. He was there for the tables.

“Told you,” his father said, smiling. “The high scores aren't just numbers.”

Leo saw him—his father—a silhouette standing on the far side of the table, hands hovering over phantom flippers.

The screen cracked like glass. A ladder of light descended from the ceiling of the arcade.

His father had left him a cryptic note before vanishing: "The high scores aren't just numbers. Find the Sorcerer's Lair. Beat the true final boss. I'll be on the other side."

Leo slid a token—one of his father's old, brass-colored ones—into the virtual cabinet. The screen blazed to life.

They weren't balls. They were marbles of pure light.

Leo flipped. His father flipped. The balls converged, hit the Event Horizon ramp in perfect sync—and instead of draining, they exploded into a supernova of leaderboard entries.

“Now!” his father shouted.

“You have to hit the ramp with both our balls at the same time,” his father’s voice whispered, dry and distant. “One from your timeline. One from mine.”

Leo caught one. It burned with the word: .

Leo flipped. The silver ball shot up a ramp shaped like a dragon’s spine. Targets lit: , Iron Man , Wolverine . Each hit triggered a "Team-Up" jackpot. But this wasn't the standard game. The table shivered . The flippers felt heavier. On the third multiball, the screen glitched—and the ball split into three physical orbs that rolled out of the cabinet and onto the dusty arcade floor.

Leo looked down. The physical light-marble from the Sorcerer’s Lair was still in his pocket. He placed it on the launch lane. The FX2 cabinet recognized it. Two balls launched: the comet and the Earth-616 orb.

Leo lost his first ball at the "Orbital Cannon" mini-game. The second ball at "Pacific Rim Rampage." One ball left. His heart hammered.