The Unwanted Son's Millionaire System

The dripping faucet in the Nite Owl's tiny bathroom wasn't just sound; it was a drumbeat against Ace's skull. Drip… drip… drip. Each drop synced perfectly with the cold blue numbers burning in the corner of his vision: 14:15… 14:14… His salvaged phone, connected to the cheap, flimsy charger he'd bled for, showed a pitiful 14%. A flickering ember of connection.

Wealth Consolidation. The System's demand felt like a punch. Sell your charger? Sell your room key? For a measly $2 and maybe $10 extra? His empty stomach twisted like a knot. He felt the few coins in his pocket – seventy-six cents. That's all he had left in the world. Copper and zinc. Useless.

He stared at the peeling wallpaper. Asset Seizure (Random). What did that mean? Would the System take his shoes? His shirt? Or something worse? Fear, colder than the motel air, crept into his bones. The System wasn't helping anymore. It felt like a hungry animal circling him.

Cleverness. Creativity. Toughness. The words felt like a sick joke now. He'd used them all – burned his fingers, risked his phone, begged, gambled – just to get off the street and into this smelly room. And now? The System wanted him to destroy his own lifelines for a few dollars.

No. The thought was hard and sharp in his mind. Not the charger. Not the key. The phone was his only link to the System's money. The key was his only shield against the cold street. Selling them felt like cutting off his own hand.

But he was starving. His body shook. Seventy-six cents wouldn't buy a cracker. He needed food. Real food. Something to stop the trembling and fill the hole inside him.

He pushed himself off the sagging bed. Every muscle ached, especially his hip where his dad had shoved him. He stuffed the coins, the charger, and the phone into his pockets. He left the room key on the wobbly nightstand. Leaving it felt dangerous, like walking out naked. But he had to try.

The hallway smelled like old cleaner and wet carpet. The office window was dark. Big Mike was gone.

Outside, a cold drizzle soaked him instantly. His thin shirt stuck to his skin. The old juice stain felt icy. He walked, head down, scanning the wet sidewalks. Discarded food? An open dumpster? Nothing. Just rain and empty streets. Signs glowed: 'LIQUOR', 'CHECK CASHING', 'PAWN KING' with its creepy cartoon lion.

Pawn. The word stuck in his head. A place for desperate people. Could he pawn the charger? Maybe get fifty cents? Seventy-six cents plus fifty cents… still barely over a dollar. Worthless. He needed food.

His stomach cramped hard, doubling him over. He leaned against a wet bus stop shelter, dizzy. Think. Resources. Ingenuity. The words felt broken.

A memory flashed: His dad yelling at the TV about stocks. "…find a greater fool! That's the game!" A greater fool. The ugly phrase echoed. Could he… sell the idea of the System? Sell its promise?

It was crazy. Dangerous. But the Basic Haggling skill in his mind nudged him. Perceived value. Find the crack.

He looked at the 'PAWN KING' sign. Not to pawn. To make a deal. A scary gamble. He pushed off the shelter and walked towards it, the rain plastering his hair flat. Every step hurt his hip, but he walked with grim purpose.

The bell over the pawn shop door jangled loudly. Inside was cramped and cluttered. Dusty glass counters held sad things: old watches, broken tools, outdated game consoles. The air smelled like dust, metal, mildew, and fake flowers. A big man with a shaved head and tattoos on his neck looked up from behind the counter. His name tag said 'Deke'. His small, dark eyes scanned Ace – wet clothes, desperate face, the faint juice stain. Suspicion hardened his face.

"Yeah?" Deke's voice was rough.

Ace walked to the counter, trying to stand straight, not look so weak. The Haggling skill whispered: He's defensive. He thinks you're worthless. Ace forced his hands flat on the cool glass. Inside, a dusty gold chain lay coiled.

"I need cash. Fast."

Deke snorted. "Join the club. Whatcha got? Gold? Guns? Something good?" He looked pointedly at Ace's empty hands.

"Better," Ace said, leaning in slightly. The skill nudged: Sound confident. Make him curious. "I have access. To something… special."

Deke's eyebrows went up a tiny bit. "Access? To what? Your grandpa's stamp collection?" Sarcasm dripped.

"Information." The word felt thin. "Stock market information. Guaranteed. Moves fast." Ace tapped his temple. "Real-time."

Deke stared. Then a mean smile spread, showing a chipped tooth. "Kid, are you drunk? Or just dumb? Get lost before I call the cops." He started to turn away.

"BRZL!" Ace blurted out. Deke paused. "Brazelton Robotics. Yesterday, the stock dropped 45% on bad news—wrong news. Then it bounced back 120% in two hours and closed at $1.17. Check the charts. It really happened."

Deke turned back slowly, the smile gone. His eyes were cold now. He pulled out a fancy phone, fingers tapping fast. Ace watched, heart pounding. The blue timer pulsed: 13:30… 13:29… Deke's phone had 78% battery. Ace could almost feel it.

After a tense minute, Deke grunted. "Yeah, I saw the jump. Risky stuff. Gambler's junk." He locked eyes with Ace. "So? You got a magic eight-ball? Or are you just repeating what happened yesterday?"

"Neither," Ace said. The skill whispered: Make him want it. "I have a source. A… feed. Finds the panic before the rebound." He paused. "Like BRZL. Another one hits today. Soon."

Deke's eyes narrowed. Greed flickered. "Bullshit. If you knew that, you'd be rolling in cash. Not here smelling like a wet rat."

"Knowing isn't enough," Ace shot back, the skill feeding him cold truth wrapped in desperate logic. "You need money to play. I don't have it. You… maybe do." He waved a hand at the shop. "I need fifty bucks. Now. For the stock name. The buy price. The sell price. Simple."

Deke laughed, a harsh sound. "Fifty bucks? For a stock tip? You are stupid. Or desperate. Which?"

"Both," Ace admitted, surprising himself. The skill approved: Honesty can work. "Fifty bucks. For a shot at turning it into five hundred. A thousand. Or walk away. Your choice." He met Deke's stare, letting him see the exhaustion, the need, but also a flicker of desperate belief. "What's fifty bucks to you? A bad bet on some junk jewelry?" He nodded at a fake Rolex under the glass.

Silence hung thick. Only the buzz of lights and the rain on the roof. Deke studied Ace. The desperation was real. The info… maybe? The BRZL jump was real. Fifty bucks… for a guy who made money off other people's losses?

Deke pulled out a thick bunch of cash—mostly $20s and $10s. He took out two $20s and one $10, then held the money just out of reach. His eyes were cold and serious. "You give me the name." He jabbed a thick finger towards Ace. "You give me the price to buy in." Another jab. "You give me the price to sell out and if you're lying…" He didn't finish. The threat hung cold in the air.

Ace swallowed, throat dry. This was it. Betray the System? For fifty dollars and Deke's rage if it failed? The blue timer glowed: 13:00… 12:59… Asset Seizure loomed.

He took a breath. The Haggling skill offered nothing here. This was pure survival. "FLYR," he said, the name popping into his head – a drone company he'd seen on a bus ad. "FlyRight Industries. Price now… about $1.80." He guessed wildly. "It'll drop below $1.70 soon. Buy at $1.68. Sell before $2.20. Do it fast – within three hours." He forced absolute certainty into his voice.

Deke's eyes didn't blink. "FLYR. Buy $1.68. Sell $2.20. Three hours." He repeated it flatly. "Your 'source' better be legit, kid." He shoved the money forward. "Now scram."

Ace snatched the fifty dollars! The bills felt amazing – warm, solid, powerful. He stuffed them deep into his pocket with the coins. He turned and pushed out the door, the bell jangling like a taunt behind him.

The drizzle felt colder. He didn't care. Fifty dollars! He could eat! Real food! He hurried towards the greasy light of a 24-hour diner – 'Mabel's Griddle'. The smell of bacon and coffee hit him hard, making him stumble. He pushed inside.

Warmth fogged his glasses. The air was thick with sizzling grease, clattering plates, and tired people. A waitress with smudged makeup pointed to an empty booth. Ace slid in, the cracked vinyl cold through his wet jeans.

He ordered black coffee and the cheapest breakfast: two eggs, toast, greasy hash browns. $6.99. He counted out seven dollars from the fifty. The waitress took it without looking.

Alone, the weight of what he'd done crashed down. He'd gambled big. With Deke's money. With the System's anger. What if FLYR didn't jump? What if it crashed? Deke would find him. And the Asset Seizure… The coffee arrived, hot and bitter. He wrapped his hands around the mug, the heat stinging his burned fingers but warming his frozen bones. It felt real.

His phone buzzed. Battery: 19%. He pulled it out, hands shaking. A news alert.

A cold chill ran through him.

FLYR GROUNDED: FAA Safety Probe - Trading Halted!

Not a dip. A crash. Stopped dead. No rebound. Ever. Deke hadn't bought at $1.68. He'd bought higher… and lost everything he put in.

Ace stared at the cracked screen. The diner air felt thick and heavy. Deke wouldn't just be mad. He'd be out for blood. And Deke knew where he lived. The fifty dollars in his pocket suddenly felt like stolen diamonds, burning hot. He'd sold a lie. A dangerous, stupid lie. The System hadn't given him the tip; he'd made it up. And it blew up in his face.

He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. They tasted like dirt. He forced himself to chew, to swallow. His body needed it, even as panic screamed in his head. He had to get back to the motel. Hide. Hope Deke cooled off. Hope the System… The blue words flashed over his plate of greasy food.

[Wealth Consolidation Task: FAILED]

[Asset Seizure Protocol: Engaged]

[Randomizing...]

Ace froze, toast halfway to his mouth. The words pulsed, colder than ice. Asset Seizure. Random. What would it take? His money? His sight? Panic choked him. He gripped the sticky table.

[Seizure Target: Memory - "Leo's Laughter (Age 6)"]

[Extraction in Progress...]

Ace gasped. Not a thing. A memory. Leo's laughter? The real, happy sound from when Leo was little, before everything went bad? Before Ace became the unwanted son? One tiny piece of warmth in his cold past. The System was taking that?

Sudden, sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes, like ice picks. He cried out softly, pressing his burned hands hard against his forehead. Pictures flashed behind his closed eyes: Little Leo holding a crayon drawing… Leo jumping in leaves… Leo giggling like crazy because Ace made a silly face…

The laughter. He strained to hear it. That exact sound. It was… fading. Like an echo far away. He tried to hold onto the sound, the happy feeling it gave him back then. A rare moment of being just brothers.

It slipped away. Like water through his fingers. The sound got fuzzy… warped… then gone. Snuffed out. The pain in his head vanished, leaving a cold, empty spot where the memory had been.

He opened his eyes. The diner came back. Grease smell. Plate noise. His eggs looked cold and gross. He remembered Leo. Remembered drawing, jumping in leaves, making the silly face. He remembered Leo thought it was funny. But the sound of that specific, happy laugh? The real noise Leo made? It was… blank. A silent picture where the sound broke. He knew about it, but the feeling, the warmth, was ripped out. Just a hollow space remained.

A deep, freezing sadness washed over him, worse than hunger, colder than the alley. They hadn't taken a thing he owned. They'd taken a feeling. A tiny, precious piece of his own heart. A hot tear cut through the dirt on his cheek, heading towards the juice stain. He wiped it away angrily with his rough hand.

The blue box flashed once, uncaring.

[Penalty Executed.]

[Task Reset: Wealth Consolidation Still Active.]

[User Distress Detected. Stand By...]

The words hung there, cruel and final. The timer still glowed: 11:45… 11:44… Wealth Consolidation wasn't finished. It was starting over. Ace sat in the greasy diner booth. He had fifty dollars of dangerous money. He had a cold hole inside him where his little brother's laugh used to live. And the System's blue words watched him, always watching. He understood now. Fighting the System didn't just cost money or things. It cost pieces of himself. He picked up the cold, greasy toast. It tasted like nothing. The drip… drip… drip was back, echoing in the empty space inside his head.