THE BILLIONAIRE REBATE SYSTEM

“You scratched the car.”

The manager’s voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, like a butcher deciding where to cut.

Derrick Wallance looked at the thin white line running across the Porsche’s jet-black hood. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t deep.

But it might as well have been a death sentence. “I—I didn’t mean to,” Derrick said. “Someone pushed me. I lost my balance.”

The manager smiled. Not kindly. “Intent doesn’t matter,” he replied. “That model is limited edition. Two million dollars. You’ll be paying for the repaint.”

Two million. Derrick felt the word slam into his chest. “That’s impossible,” Derrick said quickly. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

The manager’s smile widened. “That,” he said, “is not my problem.”

Around them, salespeople had gone quiet. A few customers lingered nearby, pretending to admire other cars while openly listening.

One of the saleswomen whispered, not quietly enough, “Why do people like this even come here?”

Another chuckled. “Probably just wanted photos.”

Derrick’s hands clenched. “I can work something out,” Derrick said. “Installments. Insurance. Anything. Please.”

The manager tilted his head. “You’re wearing last year’s jacket,” he said. “Your shoes are scuffed. You walked in here without an appointment.”

He leaned closer. “You couldn’t afford the logo on this car.”

A few people laughed. Derrick swallowed. “You don’t have to humiliate me.”

The manager straightened. “Humiliation is free. Repairs are not.”

That was when Derrick saw the hammer. It was leaning against a nearby display, used earlier by a technician adjusting a stand. Derrick stared at it.

The room felt suddenly very small. “Sir,” the manager said, “if you don’t cooperate, we’ll call the police.”

Derrick picked up the hammer. Gasps rippled through the showroom. “Put that down!” a salesperson shouted.

The manager froze. “Are you insane?”

Derrick looked at him. Really looked. Then he swung. CRASH.

The hammer slammed into the hood. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Alarms blared. Someone screamed. Derrick hit it again. And again.

When he finally stopped, the Porsche looked like it had been mauled by a wild animal. Silence followed, thick and stunned.

Derrick dropped the hammer. He turned to the manager. “Now,” Derrick said calmly, “can you sell me this car?”

The manager’s face turned purple. “You,  you’re finished! Security! Call the police!”

Derrick nodded. “Before that,” he said, “I’ll take ten.”

The laughter exploded. “Ten what?” the manager sneered.

“Ten cars,” Derrick replied. “This model.”

The manager burst out laughing. “Get him out.”

As security rushed forward, Derrick’s mind drifted, unwillingly, back to yesterday. “Get out of the way.”

The woman’s voice was sharp, impatient. Derrick blinked, swaying slightly. The streetlight above flickered. His head still rang. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You’re drunk,” she snapped. “You could get killed.”

Derrick squinted at her car, a luxury sedan, engine still running. Inside, a man sat slumped in the passenger seat. “He’s the one who’s drunk,” Derrick said.

The woman hesitated. “Can you help me get him home?”

Derrick should have said no. Instead, he opened the door. The man groaned. “Where… where are we?”

“Shut up,” the woman said. “You embarrassed yourself enough.”

Derrick helped carry the man inside a luxury apartment building. When they reached the door, the man suddenly laughed. “You’re a good kid,” the man slurred. “Here.”

He stuffed something into Derrick’s hand. A thick envelope. Derrick opened it later. Enough money to change his month.

Enough to make him smile for the first time in weeks. Until he saw her. Sophie. Sitting in the passenger seat. His girlfriend. No, his ex, apparently.

She stared at him like he was a stain. “You?” she said. “This is what you’re doing now? Carrying drunk men for tips?”

Derrick’s chest tightened. “Sophie… what is this?”

She laughed. “You still don’t get it?”

The tycoon sobered instantly. “You know him?”

“Unfortunately,” Sophie said. “My poor-phase mistake.”

The man stood. Then kicked Derrick in the stomach. “You touch my car,” the tycoon said coldly, “with hands that worthless?”

Derrick collapsed. Boots followed. Kicks. Pain. Someone laughed. Sophie didn’t stop them. Derrick lay there afterward, staring at the sky. “God,” he whispered, “if you’re real… this isn’t funny.”

That was when headlights filled his vision. “OH MY GOD!”

The scream snapped Derrick back to the present. A woman stumbled out of her car, shaking. “I—I didn’t see him,  I swear”

Darkness took him. Then—BEEP. [Host detected.]

Derrick gasped. [Critical injuries repaired.]

Pain vanished. His eyes snapped open. The woman screamed again. “You,  you were dead!”

Derrick sat up. Perfectly fine. “What the hell…?”

[Binding successful.]

A translucent blue screen hovered before his eyes. [Heavenly Rebate System Activated.]

“What?” Derrick whispered.

[Rule One: Any money spent on a woman will be rebated at 10x into host’s personal wealth.]

A black card materialized in his hand. [No spending limit.]

“This is a joke,” Derrick said. [Test recommended.]

The system highlighted the shaking woman. Her Porsche, damaged. Derrick stood. “How much to fix your car?” he asked.

She blinked. “F-five hundred thousand…”

Derrick handed her the card. “Fix it.”

The payment went through. His phone buzzed. +$5,000,000. Derrick laughed. Then laughed harder. Then stopped. Because it was real. “Sir! Stop resisting!”

Security yanked Derrick’s arms back. The manager sneered. “You’ll never set foot here again.”

Derrick looked at the girl beside him, the driver from yesterday. She clutched her bag nervously. “Wait here,” Derrick said.

He tapped the black card on the counter. “I’m buying ten.”

The system pulsed. [Transaction complete.]

Phones buzzed. Accounts refreshed. The manager froze. “What… what is this?”

Derrick smiled. “For the record,” he said softly, “I don’t like being humiliated.”

The system chimed again. [Rebate successful: +$280,000,000.]

Derrick met the manager’s eyes. “And this,” he added, “is just the beginning.”