The Borrowed Time System

Chapter 10- Public Performance

Derrick stood in front of the mirror in his luxury apartment bathroom, practicing smiles again. Not the desperate, toothy grimaces from before — he was trying for something that didn’t make children cry or employees reach for the panic button. The blue timer hovered persistently in his reflection.

Remaining Lifespan: 37 Days 4 Hours 22 Minutes

Tick… Tick… Tick…

The weekend volunteer event at the city food bank was scheduled for tomorrow. This time, he had gone all-in. He had personally called the local newspaper and a business magazine, tipping them off about “Horizon Dynamics’ Operations Manager giving back to the community.” He had even prepared a short speech about corporate responsibility.

If sincerity was the currency, then visibility would multiply the reward. At least that was the new theory.

Saturday morning arrived under gray skies. Derrick showed up at the food bank warehouse wearing jeans and a Horizon Dynamics polo — the first time in years he had dressed down for anything work-related. A small group of his employees had been “strongly encouraged” to attend as well. They stood awkwardly near the sorting tables, clearly wondering what alternate universe they had woken up in.

Photographers arrived shortly after. Derrick made sure he was positioned at the front, handing out canned goods with a carefully rehearsed warm expression.

“Great to be here supporting our local community,” he said loudly enough for the reporters to hear. “At Horizon Dynamics, we believe in lifting people up.”

One photographer snapped a picture. Derrick held the pose a second longer than necessary.

[Publicity stunt logged.]

The system’s evaluation came quickly:

Sincerity: 3.7%

Reward: +9 Hours

Penalty for calculated visibility: -1 Hour 30 Minutes

Net: +7 Hours 30 Minutes

Better than before, but still pathetic.

He pushed harder. He stayed longer than any other volunteer, personally carrying heavy boxes for elderly recipients and posing for selfies with smiling families. Each interaction was meticulously calculated. Every smile timed. Every kind word tested against the system’s invisible judgment.

His employees watched in stunned silence. Sarah whispered to Emily, “Is this a hostage video situation? Blink twice if you need help.”

By the afternoon, the local news had picked up the story. “Local Executive Trades Boardroom for Food Bank” read one headline. Derrick felt a surge of hope when the system awarded another small chunk of time.

Then Lena Brooks arrived.

She wasn’t part of the volunteer group. She had come independently, wearing simple clothes and a determined expression. When she saw Derrick posing for yet another photo while handing out groceries, her face hardened.

Their eyes met across the sorting line.

Derrick tried to approach her during a break. “Lena. I… wanted to apologize for what happened at the dinner. Properly.”

She crossed her arms. “Is this for the cameras too, Mr. Stones?”

[Insincere apology in progress.]

Rejected.

The system didn’t even bother with a time deduction this time. It simply displayed the word “Rejected” in red.

Derrick felt the rejection like a physical blow. Lena turned away and continued working quietly, helping an elderly woman pack her bag with genuine care. No cameras on her. No press release. Just quiet, steady kindness.

The contrast was brutal.

As the event wound down, Derrick sat on a plastic chair in the back, exhausted. One of the food bank coordinators approached him with a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much for your time today, Mr. Stones. The photos will help us raise more awareness.”

Derrick nodded mechanically. Inside, the system delivered its final verdict for the day:

Total time gained today: 1 Day 3 Hours

Time lost to insincerity and performance: 14 Hours

Net gain: 13 Hours

He had spent an entire exhausting Saturday and barely moved the needle.

Worse, the public performance had backfired in the office. On Monday, the employees treated his “new leaf” as a joke. When he tried to compliment someone’s work, they laughed nervously and waited for the punchline.

The system continued its commentary throughout the following week as Derrick doubled down on visible “good deeds”:

He approved several leave requests publicly → minor reward, but employees assumed it was a PR stunt.

He donated company funds to a local school → better time reward, but the system flagged it as “using other people’s resources for personal survival.”

He held a town hall meeting promising better working conditions → largest penalty yet when the system detected zero intention of following through.

By the end of the week, his net progress was dismal.

Remaining Lifespan: 35 Days 19 Hours

Derrick sat alone in his office on Friday night, lights dimmed, staring at the timer. The stone heart that had defined him for so long was being chipped away, not by grand gestures, but by the system’s merciless exposure of every fake move.

He was running out of ways to cheat.

And the system was patiently waiting for the moment he would finally stop trying.

Tick… Tick… Tick…

The sound no longer felt like a threat.

It felt like a teacher waiting for the student to finally understand the lesson.

Derrick Stones paced the length of his spacious living room like a caged animal, the city lights of the skyline twinkling mockingly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was past midnight on another sleepless night, and the blue interface refused to grant him even a moment of peace.

Remaining Lifespan: 35 Days 14 Hours 09 Minutes

Tick… Tick… Tick…

The sound had become a constant companion, a metronome counting down the seconds of his borrowed existence. He had spent the last several days pushing every lever he knew how to pull — money, publicity, forced kindness — and the results were devastatingly mediocre. The system was not impressed by his efforts. If anything, it seemed amused by them.

He stopped pacing and opened his laptop again. This time, he tried a different approach: large-scale corporate change. He drafted an email to HR announcing a company-wide policy shift — a 10% salary increase for all non-executive staff, retroactive for the past quarter, framed as “recognizing the team’s hard work.”

He hovered over the send button for nearly ten minutes.

This has to work. Real money. Real impact. They’ll see I’m changing.

He hit send.

The next morning, the office buzzed with cautious excitement. Employees gathered in small groups, whispering in disbelief as the email circulated. For a few precious hours, Derrick felt something dangerously close to hope.

Then the system delivered its verdict during the morning stand-up meeting.

[Policy change logged.]

Positive impact potential: High

Sincerity Evaluation: 11%

Motivation: Primarily self-serving (lifespan extension)

Reward: +2 Days 14 Hours

Warning: Future reversal or insincere implementation will result in severe penalties.

Derrick nearly choked on his coffee. Two days and fourteen hours. For a policy that would cost the company hundreds of thousands. It was better than nothing, but the sincerity score stung more than any previous deduction.

In the conference room, Lena Brooks — who had been required to attend as part of her ongoing internship — watched him with narrowed eyes. She hadn’t spoken to him directly since the food bank event, but her presence alone felt like judgment.

After the meeting, Derrick cornered her near the elevators.

“Lena, about the policy change… I meant it. Things are going to be different.”

She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “Did you mean it, Mr. Stones? Or did the doctors tell you something that made you suddenly care about the people you’ve been crushing for years?”

The system flashed a new notification only he could see.

[Attempted reconciliation: Insincere.]

No reward.

Derrick’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t. But I know the man who cornered me at that dinner. And I don’t see him gone yet. I see him… performing.”

Her words cut deeper than the wine bottle ever had. She walked away without waiting for a response, leaving Derrick standing alone as employees subtly avoided his gaze.

The following days became a frenzy of calculated gestures. He personally reviewed and approved several overdue leave requests. He stayed late one night helping the cleaning crew (mostly for show, though the system gave him a tiny 45-minute boost for the physical effort). He even attended a team-building lunch and forced himself to listen to employee complaints without immediately dismissing them.

Each action earned him scraps of time — hours here, a day there — but the sincerity meter crawled upward at a glacial pace.

Current Sincerity: 14.7%

The system began offering occasional commentary that felt almost conversational:

[You are trying very hard to buy what cannot be purchased.]

[Interesting strategy. Ineffective, but interesting.]

By the middle of the week, the strain was showing. Derrick’s usual sharp appearance had softened around the edges. Dark circles formed under his eyes. His temper, once a finely honed weapon, now flared unpredictably when the ticking grew too loud.

During one particularly bad afternoon, he snapped at Marcus over a minor reporting error — the old Derrick resurfacing for just a moment.

The penalty was immediate and harsh.

-4 Days

Remaining Lifespan: 31 Days 22 Hours

The loss hit him like a physical blow. He locked himself in his office and stared at the wall for nearly an hour, the reality sinking in deeper than ever before. He couldn’t go back to who he was. But he didn’t yet know how to become someone new.

That evening, as rain lashed against the windows, Derrick sat at his desk with a glass of whiskey he barely touched. The system displayed a new section he hadn’t noticed before — a faint, locked log titled “Previous Hosts.”

It was blurred and inaccessible, but one line was partially visible:

Host #347 — Sincerity: 12% — Terminated

A chill ran down his spine.

He wasn’t the first. And he might not be the last.

The mystery of the Borrowed Time System loomed larger than his personal survival. Who created it? How many others had failed? And why had it chosen him — the man everyone already wished would disappear?

He whispered into the empty office, voice hoarse.

“What happens if I reach zero?”

No answer came. Only the steady, unrelenting tick.

31 Days 21 Hours 44 Minutes…

Derrick closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. The stone heart was fracturing faster now, but the pieces weren’t yet forming anything new.

He was learning — painfully, expensively, and far too slowly — that time could not be bought.

It could only be earned.