THE DESTINY REBOOT SYSTEM

The Bitter Truth

Eliot stood on the sidewalk, the Bregali’s polished body shining behind him like a promise. He stared down the street toward his apartment building—the same building where the walls peeled like old paint, where rats scurried at night, and where the neighbors argued like clockwork every morning.

He couldn’t bring that car there.

No. That place didn’t match who he was anymore—or what he was becoming.

He slipped his phone from his pocket and whispered, “System, I need a house.”

The screen lit up immediately.

[“Searching real estate agents in your area…”]

Then:

[ “Contacting Mr. Emmanuel G. Wilkins. Reputation: Trusted. Experience: 20+ years. Connection: Relevant.”]

Before Eliot could ask what "relevant" meant, a new text dropped onto his screen with a location pin and time.

The office smelled of polished wood and expensive air freshener. Eliot stepped inside, a little unsure, eyes adjusting to the soft lighting. A receptionist glanced up, smiled widely.

“Mr. Eliot Reyes?” she asked.

He nodded.

“He’s been expecting you. Right this way.”

She led him to a glass-walled office with shelves full of shiny property magazines and plaques. The man behind the desk stood up with a warm grin as Eliot stepped in.

“Ah, Mr. Reyes. Come in, come in!”

Eliot blinked. That face.

He knew that face.

A little older, grey hair streaking the temples, but the sharp nose and tired eyes were unmistakable.

“Marcus’s… father?” Eliot said without thinking.

The man paused mid-step, then laughed.

“You’ve got a good memory.” He extended his hand. “Emmanuel Wilkins. But I suppose you already know that.”

Eliot shook his hand, unsure how to feel.

“Have a seat,” Emmanuel said, pulling out a chair. “Would you like some coffee? Not that corner-shop kind.”

Eliot hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

Minutes later, a steaming cup was placed in front of him. One sip—and his eyes widened.

It was smooth, warm, sweet, and almost… silky?

“This is coffee?” he asked, half-joking.

Emmanuel chuckled. “Told you. Real things are different.”

For the next hour, they looked through houses—photos, videos, virtual tours. Eliot wasn’t looking for something huge or flashy. He wanted quiet. Comfort. Maybe a view.

And when he pointed to one—a two-story house with wide windows and a garden that looked like peace itself—Emmanuel smiled.

“Good choice. New area, good security. Perfect for someone like you.”

“I’ll take it,” Eliot said.

“Just like that?” Emmanuel raised a brow.

Eliot pulled out his phone, tapped his screen twice.

“Transaction complete,” the system pinged.

Moments later, Emmanuel's office printer came to life—papers sliding out neatly.

“You’re something else,” the man muttered.

He handed Eliot the keys and the documents with a proud smile.

But just as Eliot was about to leave, Emmanuel paused.

“You know, my son’s getting married in a few weeks.”

Eliot blinked. “Marcus?”

“Yes.” Emmanuel reached into a drawer and pulled out a white and gold card. “Would mean a lot if you came. You’ve got that… presence. And, well, people want to see successful faces these days.”

Eliot accepted the card, unsure what to say.

Meanwhile…

Marcus stood across the street from Lana’s place, holding the wedding card in his sweaty palm. He had rehearsed the words over and over, but none of them felt right.

Lana opened the door, surprised to see him.

“Marcus?”

He held up the card. “Hey… I came to give you this.”

She took it slowly, reading the gold letters. Her face froze.

“You’re getting married?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” she snapped, stepping outside. “What happened to us?”

“It’s my dad, Lana. He arranged it. Said it’s time I ‘grew up’ and married someone from his business circle. The girl’s dad and mine go way back—”

“So you’re just… doing it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not.” Her voice cracked. “We were together. I trusted you. I defended you in public. And now you hand me a wedding invite like this?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly.

“But you are.” Her eyes were wet now. “You used me. Now you’re throwing me away like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true.” Marcus stepped closer. “I love you. I still do.”

“Then don’t marry her.”

He opened his mouth… but no words came out.

“I thought Eliot was being bitter,” she whispered. “But he was right. You’re weak. You don’t fight for what matters.”

“Lana, please—”

She stepped back.

“No. Go. Go marry your father’s business deal.”

She turned, slammed the door behind her.

Marcus stood there, numb, the card still warm from her fingers.

Back at Eliot’s new house, he walked through the living room slowly, brushing his fingers over the smooth counter, the soft curtains, the clean tile.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the golden card Emmanuel had handed him.

He knew drama was coming.

But he also knew one thing for sure.

He wasn’t the same boy who ate cold noodles in a cramped apartment.

And whatever this system was… it hadn’t just changed his life.

It had changed him.