The door bangs open and warm dorm air hits the booze on his breath. Sweat, instant noodles, a hint of wet laundry. Someone whistles.
"Jace Carter! Weren't you off to get lucky? Why are you back already?"
Max Dillon is shirtless, grinning over a cracked phone, biceps shining with the kind of gym sweat that screams I do push-ups instead of homework. Jace braces a hand on the doorframe with one palm and his forehead with the other. The pain climbs like a lit fuse. Door. Voice. Room number. Bedframe scratch. This is…
"Max?" His own voice sounds second-hand. "This is… Harborview University?"
"Where else?" Max squints. "You okay, man? You look like you got kissed by a truck."
A sheet of black glass breaks in his memory; cold air; a scaffolding shadow. The camera shouts rolling; the line is "Break and leap." He breaks the window, leaps, the rush in his ears like a stadium—then the airbag below is not below. It's left. A perfect meter. Enough to be nothing.
I died, he thinks in calm horror. I fell through the wrong square of sky and that was the whole mistake of my life.
"Hey! Jace! Don't go blank on me." Max's voice is close because Max has walked over, then he stops a meter away, hand up. The booze halts him. "Bro. Did she ditch you? Look, people come and go, but we keep the receipts. You're the department's campus hunk. Even your shadow gets attention. You got nothing to—"
Jace steps forward and hugs him.
"Whoa—hey—hey!" Max squeals, arms trapped. "What is this? A drama workshop? You drunk and broke again? If this is about the hundred I lent you last month—"
"It's not about the money," Jace says into his friend's shoulder, which feels exactly like it used to: solid, open, uncomplicated. He lets go. "Actually… it's always about money."
Max points at the sink. "Wash your face. You reek. Then tell me how the date bombed so fast."
The bathroom mirror is cruel under fluorescent light—its hum saws the air, steady, a heartbeat with a buzz. Same eyebrows, same jawline, a half-day shave. Nineteen. The exact year his life still fit in one backpack. Rust rings the faucet; the drain coughs when he twists it. He cups water, splashes. When he looks up again, the room behind him is the same—two bunks, posters, a fan rattling like a cicada—except for the thing hanging in the air in front of his face.
A panel. Translucent. Crisp white text stacked like a medical chart. Max keeps talking in the other room, oblivious.
[HOST] Jace Carter[AGE] 19[SPECIES] Primate[TALENT] Handsome[WELFARE] None[ATTRIBUTE POINTS] 0
System? The letters are there, reflected faintly in the mirror. He lifts a hand and the text ghosts through his fingers.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Newbie Gift Pack available. Open now?
"Open," he says, very softly.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Newbie Gift Pack opened.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Welfare unlocked: Level 1 Money Welfare[SYSTEM PROMPT] Welfare unlocked: Level 1 Cashback Welfare
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Level 1 Money Welfare: incoming money may critically increase ×2–×3 based on Talent.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Cap: $100,000 per day (no currency restriction).[SYSTEM PROMPT] Exclusions: system-derived money and borrowed money are not eligible.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Level 1 Cashback Welfare: spending may return ×0–×3 based on Talent.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Cap: $100,000 per day (no currency restriction).[SYSTEM PROMPT] Exclusions: system-derived money and borrowed money are not eligible.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Note: Attribute Points accrue over time and can be assigned to upgrade welfare.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Random Attribute Point awarded. Current Attribute Points: 1.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Upgrade menu: assign 1 Attribute Point to…• Money Welfare — Improves multiplier chance and ceiling on income events.• Cashback Welfare — Improves multiplier chance and ceiling on spend events.• Constitution Talent — Improves physical resilience.• Charm Talent — Improves charisma (requires significant values to be noticeable).• Art Talent — Improves artistic skill and inner cultivation.
"Thinking," Jace says through the door when Max checks on him.
He studies exclusions, the daily cap, the angle: not hunt income yet—spend deliberately and let cashback spin all day. Toothpaste, transit, a phone card, meals, textbooks. Ants move mountains.
Max knocks. "Decision time, CEO."
"Yeah," Jace says.
The menu settles into two glowing buttons. His finger rises, wavers above Money Welfare, then slides toward Cashback Welfare. He smiles, wolf-small—then holds, fingertip hovering for the touch that decides the day.