The "Golden Corner" was not the quiet sanctuary Ethan had experienced at midnight. In the late afternoon, it transformed into a frantic beehive. The bell above the door rang so frequently it sounded like a broken alarm, and the air was thick with the scent of damp coats, exhaust fumes from the street, and the sharp tang of cheap coffee.
Ethan stood behind the second register, his navy-blue uniform feeling stiff and unfamiliar. His hands were damp. Every time a customer approached, he felt that old, familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. But today, there was a difference. To his left, Maya was a whirlwind of efficiency. She scanned items with a rhythmic grace, joked with the regulars, and managed to keep an eye on Ethan all at once.
"Deep breaths, Ethan," she whispered during a three-second lull. "They're just hungry and tired. They're not looking at you; they're looking at their change."
She was right. As the hours ticked by, Ethan realized that most people were locked in their own private worlds. He began to find a rhythm. Scan, beep, bag, total. He was forced to speak—small phrases, "How are you today?", "Do you need a bag?", "Have a good evening"—and each time he did, the System gave a tiny, almost imperceptible thrum of approval.
[ Minor Social Integration in progress... ]
[ Experience Gained: +1 per customer ]
By 7:00 PM, the rush intensified. A group of rowdy teenagers, a tired nurse, and a construction worker with a mountain of energy drinks all passed through Ethan's line. His brain was on fire, calculating totals and navigating the clunky software of the register. But he didn't stumble. He felt Maya's presence like a warm anchor nearby. Once, when a particularly rude man complained about the price of milk, Maya stepped in with a sharp, defensive wit that made the man mutter an apology and leave quickly.
"Thanks," Ethan muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
"I've got your back," she said, giving him a quick, encouraging wink. "You're doing great, seriously. My dad is watching the security feed from the office, and he hasn't called down to yell at us yet. That's a gold medal in his book."
By the time their overlap shift ended at 9:00 PM, Ethan's legs felt like lead. He had survived his first day. Maya walked him to the door as the night shift worker, a quiet man named Greg, took over.
"See you tomorrow, teammate," Maya said, her voice soft in the cooling night air. She looked at him, her eyes lingering on his face for a second longer than usual. "You really do look different, you know? Stronger. Good night, Ethan."
The walk home was a reality check. The adrenaline of the workday faded, replaced by the crushing weight of his finances. As he reached the front steps of his apartment building, a figure emerged from the shadows of the porch.
It was Mr. Henderson, the landlord—a man who smelled of stale tobacco and lived by the calendar.
"Thorne," Henderson growled, not looking up from a clipboard. "Three days. That's all you've got. Your rent is $850, and I haven't seen a dime of the arrears yet. I've got a list of people wanting this unit. Don't make me call the locksmith on Friday."
Ethan felt his throat go dry. "$850. I know, Mr. Henderson. I just started a job today. I'll have it."
"Jobs don't pay in three days, kid. Have the cash or have your bags packed." Henderson stomped away, leaving a cloud of smoke and dread behind.
Ethan climbed the stairs to his room, feeling every year of his life in his joints. He sat on his bed, the silence of the room deafening. He had a job, yes. He had Maya's support and Isabella's interest. But the physical world demanded tribute.
He had $14 in his bank account. Even with the job, his first paycheck was weeks away.
"System," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I can't wait. I need to open a chest."
The three golden boxes appeared, shimmering with that ethereal, taunting light. He looked at the Box of Physicality—he wanted to be strong, to be handsome. He looked at the Box of Influence—he wanted to be able to talk his way out of anything.
But survival took precedence. He reached out and touched the Box of Fortune.
The box didn't explode with light. Instead, it dissolved into a shower of silver sparks that sank into the floor. A notification appeared, stark and cold.
[ THE BOX OF FORTUNE OPENED ]
[ Reward: Forgotten Assets Recovery ]
System found an abandoned digital wallet from 2019 linked to your old email.
[ Amount Recovered: $56.00 ]
[ Funds transferred to your primary bank account. ]
Ethan stared at his phone. The notification from his banking app popped up a second later.
New Balance: $70.22.
"Fifty-six dollars?" Ethan let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "That's it? I was expecting... I don't know, a miracle. Ten thousand? A hundred?"
< The System is a catalyst, not a lottery, Ethan, > the voice echoed, sounding more clinical than usual. < To grant you wealth you have not earned would corrupt the growth of your soul. You asked for fortune; the System provided a bridge. The rest is yours to build. >
Ethan leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He needed $850. He had $70. He had three days. Even with the job, he was $780 short. The math was a death sentence.
He looked at his hands. They were the hands of a man who had worked his first day, who had refined his skin, and who had made two friends. But as the clock on the wall ticked toward midnight, the "Romantic System" felt less like a fairy tale and more like a cruel, beautiful challenge.
He wasn't just fighting for love or confidence anymore. He was fighting for a roof over his head.
[ Current Status: Desperate ]
[ Remaining Chests: 2 ]
[ Days until Eviction: 3 ]
Ethan closed his eyes, his mind racing. He had two cards left to play—Physicality and Influence. But would either of them be enough to find $780 in seventy-two hours?