Tribute System: I have quintillion coins

"I've got this," a man reassured himself with a quiet whisper, gently tapping his chest. He took a slow, calming breath before stepping into the cold, sterile BellRox Corporation building.

His arrival didn't go unnoticed. A hushed murmur from one of his colleagues signaled his presence, and an oppressive tension settled over the office, much like a thick fog. He was all too familiar with the reason behind the uneasy silence.

"Drake Chwe! In my office, now!" Their manager's voice reverberated through the room, shattering the stillness.

Reluctantly, Drake obeyed, his heart sinking as he entered the lion's den. He couldn't even find support or help as his colleagues averted their eyes, hoping to avoid being caught in the crossfire of their manager's sadistic games.

"Yes, sir," Drake responded, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

Inside the manager's office, a stark contrast to the bustling open workspace outside, cold fluorescent light illuminated the room. A dominating oak desk took center stage, and behind it sat Marcus Lee, a middle-aged man whose stern countenance set an intimidating tone.

Drake closed the door behind him, summoned his courage, and stood before Marcus's imposing desk.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Manager Lee leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into menacing slits.

"Hey Chwe, nice of you to finally join me. I was starting to wonder if you were deliberately shirking your responsibilities!"

Marcus's cruel smile hinted at his delight in finding fault.

Drake's shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on the ground. While Marcus's words weren't entirely accurate, there was some truth to the fact that he had been neglecting certain tasks.

"I didn't ask for all this extra work," he grumbled inwardly, his frustration growing. "You kept piling it on, and it got to the point where I couldn't keep up with my own stuff."

Though it felt unjust to endure this scolding, he chose to remain silent, aware that any defense would only stoke Marcus's cruelty.

"I'm sorry," Drake murmured, his voice barely audible.

"Huh? You're sorry?" Marcus snorted, and his verbal onslaught began, each word dripping with disdain. "Hey, Chwe, it's kind of amazing how you always seem to fall short. You're like the 'average Joe' on our otherwise talented team."

Drake gritted his teeth and responded, "I'm doing my best, sir."

Marcus chuckled darkly, leaning back in his leather chair.

"Your best, Chwe? Your best is pathetic. You've got to step it up or consider a career change."

Drake's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, but he held his tongue.

Meanwhile, Marcus observed Drake's reaction with satisfaction, nodding and grinning. "That's right, Chwe. Keep that silence. Maybe it'll spare you from more embarrassment today."

As Marcus continued his berating, Drake's thoughts began to drift. He stole a longing glance at the cityscape outside the window, feeling as though he were trapped in the heart of an urban jungle.

"Is this all there is to life?" Drake wondered, his gaze locked on the distant skyline that seemed so far from his grasp. "If only I didn't need money for my sister’s medical needs, I wouldn’t even bother stepping inside this company," he thought internally.

As the minutes dragged on, his mind wandered even further. "It would be so much simpler if my mom could lend a hand, but she's always wrapped up in gambling," he thought. "Still, I'm fortunate to have Merlyn, my girlfriend, my source of comfort."

"Drake Chwe! Are you listening?" Marcus's yell snapped Drake back to reality.

"Ah, right, he was scolding me," Drake thought inwardly. He immediately lowered his head in apology. "I'm sorry, what is it again, sir?" he asked.

"I will exclude you from receiving the monthly incentive," Marcus declared.

Drake dropped to his knees, shock on his face as he pleaded, "Why? Why, sir? I really need the money."

"If you need it, then work hard for it! I won't give bonuses to pushovers. You're an underperformer. How could the higher-ups approve your incentive?" Marcus said sternly.

"Isn't it a group incentive?" Drake asked.

"Are you questioning my decision when you're the one who hasn't been working hard?"

"I will work harder! Please don't do this to me," Drake begged.

"I'll reinstate the benefit when your performance improves," Marcus replied bluntly.

"But I need it. My sister! She's sick. I need to pay for her medical expenses. Please don't do this," Drake cried.

"If you're against it, then leave. Find a job that tolerates your poor performance," Marcus retorted.

Drake was escorted out of Marcus Lee's office, and those waiting outside had clearly overheard the heated exchange. Some didn't bother to keep their hushed conversations concealed.

"This isn't the first time," one of them remarked.

"Yeah, I heard they cut his allowance a month ago," another chimed in.

"He totally deserved it. What's the point of giving him more money?"

"You're spot on, why did they even hire him here?"

Drake felt the urge to cry, but his eyes remained dry. "How much more will they take from me?" he muttered quietly as he returned to his desk.

He stared at the stack of papers that obstructed his computer monitor, a reminder of the tasks thrust upon him by his officemates who treated him like a pushover. However, he couldn't voice his grievances or make a scene; the fear of losing his job silenced him.

"Just work harder, Drake. Your diligence will pay off," he mumbled to himself.

Drake's coworkers averted their gazes, pretending not to notice his dejected form as he made his way to his desk. Whispers and stifled laughter lingered behind his back, adding to the weight of humiliation that Drake had borne for too long.

"I bet his bonus will end up in Marcus's pocket."

"What's shocking about that? Marcus has ten ghost employees. Where do you think their salary goes?"

Drake overheard these whispers, the words clear enough for him to grasp. He was well aware of these rumors, but lacking concrete evidence to challenge Marcus Lee, he remained silent.

"Who'd be crazy enough to challenge Marcus?" he muttered.

The office clock continued its inexorable march forward, marking the passage of another painful day in Drake's life. As it struck five, he gathered his belongings, longing for a moment of solace with his girlfriend, Merlyn Spenser. In the midst of his troubles, he craved her warmth and reassurance.

Drake approached the front desk of Bellrox Corp., expecting to find Merlyn there, but she was nowhere in sight. Puzzled, he turned to the other ladies on duty.

"Excuse me," Drake asked politely. "Is Merlyn around? I was hoping to catch her for a moment."

The two front desk colleagues exchanged sly glances before one of them, Gina, rolled her eyes and responded in a mocking tone, "Merlyn? Why are you looking for her? Are you sure Merlyn would want to see you?"

Drake frowned, not understanding the tone of Gina’s words. "I just wanted to talk to her. Is she in a meeting or something?"

The other lady, Jean, chimed in with a mocking smile. "Meeting? Why do you speak as if you have the right to talk to her?"

Drake felt a surge of frustration. "You know that she's my girlfriend."

Gina leaned in closer, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Boyfriend? How come Bellrox hired someone with a low IQ? Has she ever treated you like her boyfriend? Like here, in Bellrox?"

The smirking tone of the two colleagues was unnerving, and Drake's patience was wearing thin. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I'd appreciate it if you just told me if Merlyn is here or not."

Jean sighed dramatically. "Well, isn't someone getting defensive? Why are you venting your frustration at us, Merlyn’s dog?"

Drake clenched his fists, trying to keep his composure. "Fine, forget it. I'll find her myself."

He turned away from the front desk and dialed Merlyn’s number instead, but it only kept ringing. He texted and called Merlyn, but she wasn't responding. Worry gnawed at him; it was the first time she hadn't responded to him. He tried dialing Merlyn's number again, but a new call rang on his phone.

Recognition darkened Drake's expression as he saw the incoming call number.

Another surge of wariness coursed through him, his trembling hands pressing the call button.

"Hello?"

On the other end of the line, a somber voice spoke, delivering news that felt like a cruel twist of fate. "Drake, it's the hospital," the voice said. "It's Eleanor... she's taken a turn for the worse. The doctors say... they say she won't survive unless we perform an emergency surgery, but we need the money for it."

Drake's heart sank even further. Eleanor, his beloved sister and the one bright light in his life, was now hanging by a thread. The timing of this tragedy was almost too cruel to bear.

"How much... how much is the surgery going to cost?" he asked, his voice cracking with anguish.

"Ten million dollars," came the grim reply. "We need it urgently, Drake."