Probability's Price

5 - The Unseen Tally

Chapter 5: The Unseen Tally

The distant, urgent wail of the ambulance siren faded into the hum of the campus. But Nicolás Ferrer didn’t hear it. Not really. He was too busy floating. Putri’s head was still resting on his shoulder, her hand nestled in his, and the soft glow of the botanical gardens around them felt like a spotlight on their perfectly orchestrated moment.

“I had such a great time tonight, Nicolás,” Putri murmured, her voice a warm sigh against his neck.

“Me too,” he managed, his own voice a little rough with emotion and the sheer, overwhelming giddiness of his success. He squeezed her hand gently. This was it. Officially. They were a couple. And he knew, with every fibre of his being, that his power had guided them here, every step of the way. From the ‘accidental’ bump, to the ‘coincidental’ study session, to the shooting star and the unseen love song. His internal hum was a full-body vibration, a joyous, triumphant roar.

He felt the familiar, gentle tug as they began to walk again, leading them down a less-traveled, dimly lit path that felt wonderfully private. It was a subtle nudge, just enough to ensure they avoided a rowdy group of students spilling out of the nearby dorms, their laughter and shouts too loud for this perfect, intimate moment.

“Alright, Platypus,” he whispered under his breath, a conspiratorial grin playing on his lips, “Phase Three: Official Boyfriend, totally nailed. What’s next, an all-expenses-paid trip to the moon? Or maybe just… perfect concert tickets?” He chuckled, feeling a delicious sense of invincibility.

Over the next few days, Nicolás embraced his new normal. He and Putri were inseparable, their relationship blossoming with an ease that felt almost surreal. Every date, every hangout, every shared moment felt imbued with a special kind of magic. The restaurant always had an open table, the movie tickets were always perfectly available, the weather was always just right. Nicolás attributed it all to his increasingly precise probabilistic touch, a skill he was honing with casual, almost unconscious effort. The hum in his mind was a constant, comfortable presence, a low thrumming engine of serendipity.

“Hey, did you hear about the ‘Crimson Zenith’ concert next month?” Putri asked him one afternoon, scrolling through her phone in the student lounge. “They just announced a surprise show. I heard tickets sold out in like, five minutes flat. Everyone’s so bummed.”

Nicolás’s ears perked up. Crimson Zenith. Putri had mentioned them once, saying they were her absolute favorite band. He felt the hum in his chest, a subtle, insistent thrum that presented itself whenever a desire, particularly one involving Putri, surfaced. This was a challenge. A beautiful, high-stakes challenge for his newfound abilities.

“Crimson Zenith, huh?” he said, trying to sound casual, as if he hadn’t just had a surge of internal adrenaline. “Yeah, I heard they’re pretty good. Sold out, you say? That’s rough.” He leaned back, closing his eyes for a split second, feeling for the thread. Crimson Zenith. Sold out. For us. Tickets. Two of them. Good seats. Conveniently available. He pictured the concert, the roaring crowd, Putri’s delighted smile. The hum intensified, almost buzzing in his eardrums.

“Totally rough! I mean, I love them so much, but I knew I’d never get tickets anyway. My luck with stuff like that is usually abysmal,” Putri sighed, tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “Don’t even get me started on the time I waited in line for six hours for a limited edition vinyl and they sold out right before I got to the front.”

Nicolás opened his eyes, a mischievous glint in them. “Well, you never know, right? Sometimes the universe just… throws you a bone.”

Later that evening, Nicolás was ‘browsing’ online ticket resale sites, but not really. He was just waiting. The hum was there, a low vibration, telling him to be patient. And then, as if on cue, a notification popped up on a lesser-known ticket exchange forum: Two premium tickets for Crimson Zenith, Section B, Row 5, just posted! Price error – significant discount!

Nicolás stared at the screen, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Oh, you beautiful, magnificent bastard, Universe,” he whispered. He clicked faster than lightning, fingers flying. Within minutes, the tickets were his. The price error was so significant it felt like he’d stolen them.

“You are NOT going to believe this!” he exclaimed, bursting into Putri’s dorm room the next day, holding up his phone dramatically.

Putri looked up from her textbook, startled. “What? Did Professor Davies cancel our next lecture? Don’t tell me he cancelled it, I just finished reading Chapter 12!”

“Better!” Nicolás practically bounced with excitement. “Crimson Zenith! We’re going! I got tickets! Two of them! And they’re like, ridiculously good seats!”

Putri’s jaw dropped. “What?! No way! But… they were sold out! How did you even…?” She jumped up, snatching his phone to look at the confirmation. Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, Nicolás! Section B, Row 5?! These are amazing! How did you even manage this? This is insane!”

“Pure, unadulterated luck, I guess!” Nicolás said, beaming, trying to feign an air of humble disbelief. “I just happened to be on the right site at the right time. Probably someone cancelled last minute, or had an extra pair. Total fluke!” He gave an internal nod to Platypus. Total fluke, alright. A perfectly orchestrated fluke.

Putri threw her arms around him, a joyful squeal escaping her lips. “You are the best! This is the best surprise ever! Oh my god, I can’t believe it!”

The concert night arrived, charged with electric anticipation. Nicolás felt his power humming, a powerful, almost palpable energy that radiated from him. He wasn't just wishing for good luck; he was commanding it.

They arrived at the venue, a massive stadium usually notorious for its long lines and chaotic entrances. But for them, it was smooth sailing. They glided through security, found their way to their seats with uncanny ease, and even managed to snag a couple of limited edition Crimson Zenith t-shirts without waiting in line, as the vendor booth seemed inexplicably empty right when they passed it.

“This is amazing, Nicolás!” Putri shouted over the pre-show buzz, holding up her t-shirt. “Everything’s just… working out perfectly! It’s like magic!”

Nicolás grinned, a thrill coursing through him. “Yeah, it totally is! I told you, sometimes the universe just decides to be nice!”

Just as the lights began to dim, a muffled roar erupted from the main entrance area, followed by shouts and a panicked surge of people. Nicolás glanced over, confused.

“What was that?” Putri asked, craning her neck.

“Sounds like… some kind of commotion,” Nicolás muttered, a flicker of something uncomfortable in his mind. He focused the hum, just slightly, to ensure they wouldn’t be affected. Stay safe. Stay perfect.

A few minutes later, an announcement crackled over the PA system, barely audible over the growing chatter. “Attention, attendees! We apologize for the slight delay. A minor issue with a burst pipe near the main entrance has caused some disruption. Our team is handling it. Please remain calm and enjoy the show!”

Putri turned to Nicolás, wide-eyed. “A burst pipe? Wow, that sounds like a nightmare for anyone trying to get in!”

“Yeah, totally,” Nicolás agreed, but a slight frown creased his brow. He’d seen a few people looking drenched and distraught being escorted away. Rough break for them, I guess. He quickly pushed the thought aside. Not my problem. We’re here. We’re safe. The show’s starting! The hum re-centered itself, a warm, protective barrier.

The concert was everything Putri had dreamed of, and more. Their seats were incredible, the sound perfect. The band, as if guided by an unseen force, even played a rare, obscure B-side that Putri had often lamented never hearing live.

Halfway through the set, as the lead singer launched into their biggest hit, a shrill, piercing fire alarm blared through the stadium. The music cut out, and the emergency lights flickered on. A wave of collective panic swept through the crowd.

“What now?!” Putri exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Nicolás felt a jolt of annoyance. Seriously? Not now! Not during this song! He focused his power, pushing, commanding the situation. False alarm. Clear it up. Fast. No real danger. Just a minor glitch.

Within seconds, an announcement blared again, overriding the alarm. “False alarm! Repeat, false alarm! Technical glitch! Please remain in your seats. The show will resume momentarily!”

A collective sigh of relief swept through the crowd, quickly followed by groans of frustration. The band started playing again, but the energy had been briefly broken.

“Oh my god, that was terrifying!” Putri gasped, clutching his arm. “But thank god it was a false alarm! Imagine if we had to evacuate! That would have ruined everything.”

“Tell me about it,” Nicolás said, forcing a smile. He felt a faint prickle of unease. Two significant incidents, both causing widespread chaos or fear, both miraculously avoiding him and Putri. It was almost too coincidental. He pushed it down. No. This is just… the price of having amazing luck. Someone else has to have the bad luck to balance it out. That’s just how it works, right? His internal logic felt a little shaky, but the hum of his power was too sweet, too intoxicating to deny.

They left the concert buzzing, the high still coursing through them. Nicolás walked Putri back to her dorm, his arm around her, the night air cool and crisp against his skin.

“Seriously, Nicolás, tonight was perfect,” Putri said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Even with the weird stuff, it was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Nicolás felt a warm blush spread across his cheeks. “You’re amazing too, Putri.” He truly meant it. This power, all of it, felt worth it just for her smile.

As they passed the brightly lit common room of her dorm building, a large TV mounted on the wall caught Nicolás’s eye. The local news was on, showing a somber reporter standing outside a small, familiar-looking storefront.

“...the unexpected and sudden closure of ‘The Daily Grind’ coffee shop has left the local community in shock,” the reporter’s grave voice filled the quiet night. “Owner Maria Rodriguez, a beloved fixture in this neighborhood for over twenty years, expressed disbelief at the rapid downfall of her business, citing a mysterious series of unforeseen financial and structural failures that occurred seemingly overnight.”

The camera panned to a close-up of the shop owner, an older woman with kind, weary eyes, staring numbly at the ‘CLOSED’ sign on her window. Her face was etched with despair, utterly crushed.

Nicolás froze. The Daily Grind. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He knew that shop. He’d walked past it just a few days ago, on his way to the library, on a day he was feeling particularly low about his Microeconomics grade. He remembered seeing the owner, a cheerful woman who always had a smile for students, sweeping the sidewalk. He’d felt that familiar internal tug, that whisper of an urge. He hadn’t wished for anything specific from the shop, but he’d mentally willed for his own luck to improve, almost unconsciously drawing from the general well-being of his surroundings, letting his power find the easiest path. He’d seen the shop as a beacon of stability, of quiet, reliable success. He’d thought, Man, I wish I had her luck. Just a fraction of it.

And now… this.

Putri, noticing his sudden stillness, looked at the TV screen. “Oh, that’s so sad! I love The Daily Grind. Maria’s coffee is the best.” She sighed. “Poor woman. What a terrible stroke of bad luck.”

Nicolás didn’t respond. He just stared at the screen, at the distraught face of Maria Rodriguez. The hum in his mind, which had been a joyful symphony moments before, faltered. It became a low, discordant buzz, a chilling vibration that felt less like power and more like a warning.

He felt cold, despite the warmth of Putri’s hand in his. A cold seed of doubt, sharp and unwelcome, had just been planted in the fertile ground where only triumph used to bloom. He quickly changed the subject, forcing a casual tone, but the image of the ruined shop and the distraught owner lingered in his mind, a heavy, unsettling weight. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to be alone.