The Supreme God of Wealth

Chapter 2

The hospital finally loomed ahead, its sterile lights blurring through the sheets of driving rain. Adam burst through the emergency doors, gasping for air and dripping puddles onto the polished floor.

​"Help! My mother is coughing up blood!"

​Nurses rushed toward the gurney, but one paused just long enough to wrinkle her nose at his disheveled state. "Sir, you’re making a mess. You need to wait over there."

​They whisked his mother away, the double doors swinging shut and leaving Adam alone. He sank into a cold plastic chair in the lobby, shivering as the adrenaline began to fade.

​It had been a year since her pulmonary tuberculosis (TB) diagnosis. A year of watching her wither away while they drowned in a sea of unpaid medical bills. Now, he was at his breaking point.

​"Mr. Adam?"

​He jumped up, his clothes still damp and his eyes bloodshot from a mix of rain and silent tears. The doctor’s expression was grim.

​“Her condition has worsened. Pulmonary tuberculosis has spread to both lungs. We need aggressive treatment now. Drugs, oxygen support, maybe surgery. Without it, she has hours, maybe less.”

Tears burned tracks down Adam’s cheeks, but he wiped them away fast. “Do whatever it takes. Please.”

The doctor adjusted his glasses. “It’s going to cost around a hundred thousand dollars upfront for the initial round. Do you have insurance? A deposit, perhaps?”

​Adam’s mouth went bone-dry. His mind raced through the pathetic reality of his finances: eighty-two dollars in his checking account and a credit card that had been declined at a vending machine that morning. He slowly shook his head, the movement feeling like a death sentence.

​The doctor didn’t scold him. He didn’t even look disappointed. He simply gave a small, tired nod—the look of a man who had seen a thousand poor men lose their mothers—and walked away toward a patient whose life had a price tag they could actually afford.

​Numb, Adam wandered out of the emergency wing. The rain had eased into a drizzle that felt personal, like the sky was spitting on him. He pulled out his cracked phone and dialed his roommates, who were his only friends— or so he’d thought.

First call. “Hey, man, it’s Adam. Mom’s really bad. They need a hundred grand for treatment. Can you—”

“Busy. Later.” Click.

Second call. “Bro, please. I swear I’ll pay back the two thousand I owe. I just need—”

A harsh laugh cut him off. “Pay back? You’ve been saying that since freshman year. Tony and I cover your half of rent, your groceries half the time, even chipped in for your mom’s pills last month. And you still show up with your hand out? You’re a leech, Adam. A disgusting, fat leech. Find someone else to mooch off. Don’t call this number again.”

The line went dead.

Adam stared at the screen until it blurred. He shoved the phone in his pocket and started walking toward the restaurant where he cleaned tables. Maybe his boss would front him something. Maybe.

He didn’t see the white van until it was too late.

Tires screeched. Pain exploded across his hip, his ribs, his skull. The world flipped. Asphalt met his face. Rain pelted his open mouth. Blood mixed with water and ran into his eyes.

The van slammed into reverse, the engine screaming in a high-pitched whine before it gripped the asphalt and tore away into the gray curtain of rain. A hit and run.  

No one stopped. No one even slowed.

Adam lay there, chest heaving, vision tunneling. Every breath felt like knives. He heard the slow thrum of his blood in his ears.

[Ding!]

[Pulse: 133… 132… 131… 60… 45…]

[Blood Pressure: 160/100… 150/95… 140/90… 90/60… 80/40…]

[Oxygen Saturation: 98%… 97%… 96%… 85%… 70%…]

[Internal Bleeding Detected: Yes]

[Chance of survival: 2%… 1%…]

[Would you like to survive, Adam Carter?]

The words weren’t spoken out loud. They burned inside his skull, calm and clear.

“Yes,” he rasped. The word barely made it past his lips.

[Connecting to the Supreme God of Wealth System…]

[Pulse stabilizing: 80… 85… 90…]

[Blood Pressure: 120/80… 122/78… 118/76…]

[Oxygen Saturation: 92%… 94%… 96%…]

[Host bound: Adam Carter]

[Welcome to the Supreme God of Wealth System, where true power is measured in zeros.]

A blinding white light swallowed everything.

When Adam opened his eyes again, he was in a hospital bed. White walls. Beeping monitors. No pain. He lifted his arm—the bruises were gone. He touched his side; there were no cracked ribs. He sat up fast.

A woman in a white coat walked in. Mid-thirties, sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled back tight. She checked the chart, then looked at him with mild surprise.

“You’re awake. And remarkably intact.” She offered a small smile. “I’m Dr. Anjela. You were brought in after a hit-and-run. Witnesses said the car didn’t even slow down. Yet here you are. No fractures, no internal damage. You’re being discharged as soon as paperwork clears.”

Adam blinked. “Same hospital? PK?”

“Yes. Your mother’s still in ICU.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I need to see her.”

Dr. Anjela hesitated. “She’s critical. Without funding, we can only provide palliative care now.”

Adam’s stomach twisted, but he forced himself to stand. He needed the restroom and privacy.

He locked himself in the stall and sat on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands.

[Ding!]

A crisp chime rang inside his skull.

[Welcome, Adam Carter, to the Supreme God of Wealth System.]

Adam jerked upright so hard his knee banged the stall wall.

“What the hell—”

A translucent blue panel shimmered in front of his eyes, floating like a hologram no one else could see.

[Host: Adam Carter

[Age: 22

[Appearance Evaluation: Obese, unkempt, below-average facial symmetry

[Current Balance: $1,000,000,000,000

[Relationship Status: Single

[Societal Rank: Bottom Tier]

Adam stared. A trillion dollars.

He laughed once. It was a short, broken sound. “This is a joke. Right? Someone’s screwing with me.”

[The Supreme God of Wealth System is no joke, Host. You activated me the moment you chose survival. I cannot be removed until your death. Your account is already linked to every major financial network. Fingerprint, face, retina, any will authorize transactions. The displayed balance is your starting capital.]

The voice in his head was cold.

Adam pressed his palms to his eyes. “Okay. Okay. If this is real… my mom. She needs a hundred thousand for treatment.”

[Then spend it. Lavishly. The System rewards excess.]

Adam stumbled out of the stall, his knees still weak. He splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't feel like a god; he felt like a man about to be arrested for a prank he didn't commit.

He walked toward the billing desk, his wet sneakers squeaking loudly on the linoleum. Every squeak felt like it was announcing his poverty to the entire room.

The same receptionist who’d seen him sobbing earlier looked up. Her expression shifted from pity to sharp annoyance. “Sir, if you don't have the deposit, you can't be in this area.”

Adam swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was full of sand. “I… I’m ready to pay.”

She didn't even look at her screen. She just leaned back and crossed her arms. “Are you now? The amount hasn't changed, Mr. Adam. It’s still a hundred thousand for the surgery alone.”

“Do the whole thing,” Adam said, his voice trembling slightly. He was trying to channel the confidence of the voice in his head, but his hands were buried deep in his pockets to hide the shaking. “The surgery, the recovery… the best private suite. Whatever it takes for her to be safe.”

The receptionist snorted, the sound dripping with disdain. “Sure. And how will you be paying for this miracle? Cash? Or is there a hidden treasure in those pockets?”

The other receptionists exchanged smirks. One whispered loud enough for him to hear, “The stress finally snapped him. Poor guy thinks he's a millionaire.”

“Just scan it,” Adam whispered, stepping forward. His heart was hammering so hard it was painful. He felt like a fraud. 

The woman sighed, her expression twisted into a look of icy dismissiveness as she pulled up the payment interface. She grabbed his hand with a rough, impatient tug and pressed his thumb to the biometric pad—mostly just to prove him wrong and get him to leave.

Adam closed his eyes. 'Please work. Please don't let this be a dream.'

The monitor flickered. A golden loading bar raced across the screen.

[AUTHORIZING... TRANSACTION APPROVED.]

The silence that followed was stunned.

Adam opened one eye. The receptionist’s face was frozen. The smirk had been wiped clean, replaced by pure shock. She stared at the green "Success" icon, then at Adam’s drenched, cheap clothes, then back at the screen.

“The... the payment cleared.” Her voice cracked, hitting a high note of disbelief. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Full course... including the chief surgeon's consult and an immediate private room transfer. It’s... it’s processing.”

The other women crowded around, their eyes bulging. One actually dropped her coffee cup, the lid popping off as it hit the floor with a splash.

Adam didn't feel powerful. He felt lightheaded. The suffocating feelings of the last three years had just been lifted by a thumbprint.

“How?” one muttered, her voice trembling with suspicion. “He was helpless yesterday. Did he… did he find a benefactor?”

“Maybe a secret inheritance?” another hissed. They weren't laughing anymore. They were looking at him as if he were a dangerous stranger.

Adam didn't stay to hear the rest. He turned and ran toward the ICU.

He stood at the glass window, watching as the staff—who had treated him like an invisible nuisance—now scurried to prep his mother for the VIP wing. They moved her with the kind of care reserved only for the elite.

His chest felt tight. Not with panic this time, but with something he hadn’t felt in years: Hope.

[First transaction complete. You’ve taken your first step, Host.]

A strange warmth suddenly moved through Adam’s body. His shoulders straightened involuntarily. The exhaustion in his eyes seemed to clear, replaced by a strange energy. 

[Reward unlocked: +5 Charisma.]

[Bonus: $500,000 'Newbie' cashback deposited.]

Adam blinked as the notification flashed. He had spent a fortune to save his mother, and the System had just handed him double back.