Chapter 2: Small Bets and Big Smiles“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”Nicolás didn’t just hear the words; he felt them vibrate through the very core of his being. The impossible had just happened, not subtly, not ambiguously, but with the full, symphonic force of Freddie Mercury’s voice. His breath hitched, his fingers still splayed on the dashboard, as if trying to ascertain if the radio was real, if his car was real, if he was real.“No way,” he whispered again, the sound ragged. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a drum solo of sheer, unadulterated shock. The world outside, the campus garage, the late-morning light streaming through the windshield – it all felt like a backdrop, a stage set for the grand, ludicrous revelation that had just detonated in his brain. The internal hum was no longer a subtle thread; it was a live wire, tingling, buzzing, singing through every nerve ending.He sat there for a full minute, maybe two, listening to the entiret

Chapter 4: A Whisper of UnluckThe lingering scent of old paper and dust still hung in the air, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor fading around Nicolás as he clutched his phone. Putri's number. In his contacts. He felt a foolish grin stretch across his face, his chest swelling with a triumph that made the previous library incident, the student's falling books, seem like a cosmic price worth paying. Or maybe, he thought, it was just a random mishap, nothing to do with him at all. His internal hum was a vibrant, joyful symphony, oblivious to discordant notes elsewhere."Platypus," he mumbled to himself, striding out of the library, the setting sun painting the campus quad in hues of orange and purple. "We did it. Phase Two complete. I'm practically a smooth operator now. A probabilistic Romeo."His phone buzzed. A message from Putri."Hey Nicolás! Got a time for the study group yet? Leo and Sarah are free Thursday evening. Want to join?"Nicolás nearly fumbled his phone. Thursday eve

Chapter 4: A Whisper of UnluckThe lingering scent of old paper and dust still hung in the air, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor fading around Nicolás as he clutched his phone. Putri's number. In his contacts. He felt a foolish grin stretch across his face, his chest swelling with a triumph that made the previous library incident, the student's falling books, seem like a cosmic price worth paying. Or maybe, he thought, it was just a random mishap, nothing to do with him at all. His internal hum was a vibrant, joyful symphony, oblivious to discordant notes elsewhere."Platypus," he mumbled to himself, striding out of the library, the setting sun painting the campus quad in hues of orange and purple. "We did it. Phase Two complete. I'm practically a smooth operator now. A probabilistic Romeo."His phone buzzed. A message from Putri."Hey Nicolás! Got a time for the study group yet? Leo and Sarah are free Thursday evening. Want to join?"Nicolás nearly fumbled his phone. Thursday even

The silence was deafening, a vast, terrifying void where the jubilant symphony of his power used to hum. Nicolás Ferrer stared, unblinking, at the spiderweb of cracks blooming across Leo’s phone screen, the device now a dead, black mirror reflecting his own horror. His hands, which had felt like conduits of fortune just moments ago, now felt alien, cold, stained with an invisible, sickening grime.“Are you… are you serious right now?!” Leo’s voice, raw with disbelief, tore through the thick silence of the library. He gripped the shattered phone, his knuckles white. “My phone?! My brand new phone?! What the hell, Ferris?!” He looked from the useless device to Nicolás, his face a mask of utter bewilderment and burgeoning rage. “It just… it just died! For no reason! It was perfectly fine a second ago!”Nicolás couldn’t speak. The words were lodged somewhere in his throat, choked by the chilling clarity of what had just happened. He’d tried to help. He’d tried to manifest Leo’s pen, a sma

The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room hummed, a cruel, indifferent sound that grated against Nicolás Ferrer’s shattered nerves. He lay slumped on the cold tile floor, the muted chaos of emergency sirens and hushed voices swirling around him, a meaningless symphony of suffering. He could feel the residual psychic burn, a searing emptiness in his chest where his soul used to be, a chilling vacuum left by the impossible demand he had just screamed into the universe. Putri. Critically stable. The words were a fragile, desperate prayer.Strong hands gripped his arms, pulling him roughly to his feet.“Hey! Are you alright, son? You saw what happened, didn’t you? You gotta talk to us!” The voice of a police officer, gruff and insistent, cut through the fog of his despair.Nicolás merely shook his head, unable to form words. His entire being was a raw, exposed nerve, vibrating with the horrifying aftermath. He was bundled into a police cruiser, answering questions he didn't full