The phone vibrated against the rickety wooden table, its cracked screen lighting up the dim room.He stared at it for a second too long, dread pooling in his chest before he even answered.“Hello?” His voice came out thin.There was a pause on the other end. Too long.“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.The words were flat, practiced. Like she’d said them out loud before, maybe in front of a mirror. Maybe to someone else in form of a rehearsal.He swallowed hard, sweat already pooling like beads of his forehead. “W-What do you mean?”“I mean us. This relationship.” Her sigh crackled through the speaker. “I’m tired, Mark. I want to move on.”Panic rushed in, hot and suffocating. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. “Wait—wait, please. We can fix this. I-I can do better. I will do better.”Silence followed again. Then, irritation. “You’ve been saying that for two years, Mark. Two years.”“I know, but listen to me,” he said quickly, words tumbling ove

Mark finished cleaning the last table of the evening, the hum of conversation in the restaurant dimming as the night wound down. Plates had been stacked, glasses wiped thoroughly, and the scent of fried food and roasted meat lingered faintly in the air. He hung up his apron and exhaled, rubbing the stiffness from his shoulders. Another long day was done. He had completed the quest, though he barely understood how. The system’s confirmation still burned faintly in his vision, ghostlike, impossible to ignore.He stepped outside into the night. The streets were slick with leftover rain from earlier in the evening, the light of the streetlamps glinting on the puddles in fragmented golds and silvers. Cars moved past in quiet streams, and the occasional honk broke the otherwise muted rhythm of the city. Mark adjusted the strap of his bag and began walking toward the bus stop, his mind replaying the events at the restaurant. Every detail of Mr. Paul’s reactions, every hesitation and assu

Mark walked without direction, letting the city decide where his feet would take him.Cars passed him in a steady stream, their tires hissing against wet asphalt, people sealed away in warm interiors, insulated from the world. Mark remained outside it all, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, his thoughts drifting between disbelief and cautious wonder.A hundred million.The number still did not feel real.Every few minutes, his fingers brushed against his phone, an unconscious habit, as if the balance might vanish if he did not keep checking. It did not. The digits stayed firm and unmoving, quietly reshaping the rules of his existence.Yet despite it all, despite the system, the wealth, the strange calm settling into his bones, he felt oddly hollow.He crossed a familiar street and slowed without realizing it.Across the road, standing beneath the awning of a closed bookstore, was Susan.She was holding a paper cup with both hands, shoulders tucked in against the cold, h

The rain did not fall gently.It came down in sheets, relentless and cold, drenching Mark to the bone as he stood beneath a flickering streetlight, watching water race along the gutters like everything he had left was being carried away with it.His phone was dead.His account was empty.His apartment was gone.His life was drowning in debts.There was nowhere left to go.The thought settled heavily in his chest, pressing down until breathing felt like work. He wiped rain from his face with the back of his hand, but it kept coming, mixing with the warmth gathering behind his eyes. He did not bother to stop it this time.He just let it pour, wash over him.He had nowhere to go, no one to call for help, no one's to ask for or repay a favor. Even if he decided to take up loan from banks or several investment companies, he had no way to pay back, nothing to use as collateral or down payment. Then her name flashed into his mind, like a gentle whisper.Susan.The name settled quietly in, f