Ethan awoke to the muffled hum of city life filtering through his window, a symphony of people talking, distant horns, and the occasional bark of an enthusiastic dog.
The pale dawn light crept through the curtains, highlighting the chaos of his room—strewn clothes, empty cups, and a precarious stack of books threatening to topple.
"What time is it?" he muttered groggily, rubbing his eyes as though it might dislodge the dream-like haze lingering from the night before.
Sitting up, a cascade of memories rushed in, each more improbable than the last. His heart stuttered. Surely not. Surely that wasn't real.
His eyes darted to the phone on his nightstand, its dull screen holding all the secrets of his disbelief.
"It couldn't be real," he whispered, though his fingers betrayed him, snatching the device with the urgency of a man searching for proof of a miracle—or a nightmare.
The screen blinked to life, and there it was. It looked like an app. The same sleek interface from the night before, glowing with impossible authority: The Unlimited System.
The words themselves seemed to hum with quiet confidence as though daring him to doubt.
Ethan froze, the weight of possibility settling over him. His heart thudded in a rhythm, half panic, half thrill. A billion dollars. His mind hiccupped on the phrase. It sounded absurd. It was absurd.
"Alright," he said, his voice cracking like a child sneaking sweets. "Let's see if you're for real."
With trembling fingers, he navigated to an online shopping site. It felt surreal, this act of casual consumerism layered over existential crisis.
But Ethan, ever practical even in the face of the extraordinary, knew there was no better way to test the impossible than with the very mundane.
His finger hovered over the digital games section. Browsing felt strangely comforting, like returning to an old habit.
He began stacking his virtual cart with a recklessness born of years of restraint: collector's editions, obscure expansions, titles he'd sighed over in wistful longing but never dared to buy.
The total climbed. By the time he reached checkout, the screen displayed an outrageous number: $3,500.
Ethan stared at it, thumb hovering over the "purchase" button. He hesitated. This was madness.
"What if I'm wrong?" he muttered. The thought lingered like a shadow, cold and persistent. Then again, what was life without a little madness?
He took a deep breath, his lips quirking in a defiant grin. "Well, here goes nothing."
Ethan tapped the button. The loading icon began to spin, an unassuming circle that seemed to stretch eternity into mere seconds.
Ethan held his breath, his heart a thunderous drumbeat against the quiet of his room.
And then—it was done.
[Transaction successful.]
A soft chime broke the silence, and there it was—a confirmation email, sitting quietly at the top of Ethan's inbox as though it hadn't just upended his understanding of the world.
Everything had gone through without a hiccup. No errors. No alarms. Not even a disapproving glare from his bank. It was as if the universe had leaned in, winked, and said, "Go ahead, kid."
Ethan stared at the screen, his mind stumbling over itself like a clumsy child trying to piece it all together. $3,500 on games?
Just yesterday, that number would have been laughable—something he might whisper wistfully to himself before canceling the purchase with a resigned sigh.
But now? He'd done it with the ease of ordering a pizza.
For a long moment, he sat there, the phone balanced in his hand like it might suddenly burst into flames. "It's real," he whispered, the words coming out unevenly—part exhilaration, part creeping dread.
But Ethan had never been the kind to dip a toe into the water when a cannonball would do. If this system—this surreal, impossible thing—was as real as it seemed, then a few games weren't enough. He needed a real test.
Something absurd. Something… extravagant.
His fingers flew over the screen. Within moments, he'd found it: a custom-built gaming PC, sleek and gleaming, complete with a high-end chair and desk that practically screamed, This is the setup of your dreams.
The total? A cool $9,000.
Ethan felt his heart jump weirdly. Still, his finger lingered right above the "purchase" button, ready as if he were a risk-taker throwing the dice on a crazy, daredevil wager.
"Guess I'll come up with something to tell Mom and Dad afterward," he whispered to himself, a slight sly smile spreading on his face like he was already gearing up for the inevitable scolding.
The spinning wheel returned, a deceptively simple icon that now seemed to hold all the weight of the universe. Ethan's stomach twisted.
What if it failed? What if this was the moment the spell broke and reality snapped back into its usual, unyielding form? But then, with a soft ping, the screen lit up.
[Transaction successful]
For a second, Ethan could only stare. His breath hitched, and his pulse roared in his ears. "No way," he whispered. He set the phone down as though it were made of glass, leaning back into the chaos of his bed.
It wasn't a trick. It wasn't some elaborate illusion or cruel joke. It was real. The system worked. Again.
"What in the world is happening?" he muttered.
He felt excited at this. But there was something else that he felt, too.
Disbelief, yes, but also fear. This was power. And it didn't feel like the kind you could hold without consequence.
Still, Ethan had never been one to shy away from the unknown. If this was real—if this was his life now—then there was no point in tiptoeing around it. Big things lay ahead, no doubt about it.
But for now? Small steps. No need to freak everyone out just yet.
Swinging his legs off the bed, he planted his feet on the floor with deliberate care as though testing whether it might vanish beneath him.
"First things first," he murmured, brushing down his shirt and squaring his shoulders. "Help Mom and Dad."
He cracked his door open, the hallway's soft light spilling onto him like a quiet welcome.
The familiar sounds of home drifted toward him—dishes clinking, his parents' voices humming gently from the kitchen.
For a moment, Ethan stood there, letting the warmth of it all wash over him, steadying the wild rush in his chest.
Whatever came next, he told himself, he'd face it. But for now, he had a family to look after.
Ethan stepped into the kitchen, the warm smell of eggs and bacon wrapping around him like a familiar old sweater.
His mother was at the stove, humming a tune he vaguely recognized, her movements quick and efficient, as though breakfast itself were a small dance.
His father sat at the table, the newspaper spread wide in front of him like a fortress, a pen tapping against the ads section. Aaron's face was set in a frown that seemed as permanent as the lines on a map.
"Morning," Ethan said, aiming for casual, though the flutter of nerves in his stomach betrayed him.
Aaron glanced up, his gaze softening just a fraction. "Morning," he replied, his voice warm but distant. He circled something in the paper with a firm scratch, then sighed and flipped the page.
Elise turned her head briefly, flashing Ethan a smile that was equal parts love and teasing. "Well, look who's up early," she said. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby," Ethan lied, thinking that if "baby" meant waking up every hour in existential dread, then yes, absolutely. "Smells good in here."
"It'll be ready in a bit," she said, her attention already back on the bacon. "Your siblings should be up soon."
And just as if she'd summoned them, Lily and Jacob stumbled into the kitchen, their pajamas slightly askew, their faces still wearing the remnants of sleep.
Lily collapsed into a chair with a yawn so wide it looked like she might swallow the table. Jacob made a direct line for the fridge, his eyes half-closed, but his mission was clear.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Ethan said, ruffling Lily's hair as he passed her. She swatted his hand away weakly, her glare about as threatening as a kitten's.
Jacob closed the fridge, a carton of juice in hand. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and asked, "What are we eating today, Mom?"
Elise shot him a glance. "It's the same menu, honey. Don't expect anything else."
Ethan pulled out his chair and slid in, glancing at his father. Aaron was circling another ad, the pen's movement almost fierce. The sight made something twist in Ethan's chest—admiration, pity, and guilt all tangled together.
'Don't worry, Dad,' he thought. 'I'll fix this. Soon.'
The weight of the promise settled over him like a mantle, heavier than he'd expected. His parents deserved better than this endless grind, the quiet stretching of every penny, the constant ache of "almost enough."
And now, improbably, impossibly, Ethan had the power to change it. If only he could explain it without sounding like a lunatic.
"By the way, Dad, I've stumbled across a solution to all our problems. Totally legitimate. No strings attached. Nothing weird. Promise," he imagined saying, and its absurdity almost made him laugh.
But the humor faded quickly, swallowed by the enormity of what lay ahead. The mission, the system, the sheer impossibility of explaining any of it—it all hovered just out of reach, waiting for the right moment to crash down.
Elise interrupted his spiraling thoughts by setting a plate in front of him. "Eat up," she said, patting his shoulder lightly. "You'll need your strength today."
Ethan nodded, managing a faint smile before picking up his fork. He took a bite, the flavors barely registering as his thoughts raced ahead.
The excitement from the morning's events still thrummed under his skin, but he forced himself to sit still, to be normal—just a boy eating breakfast in his kitchen.
As he glanced around the table at his mother's calm efficiency, his father's quiet determination, Lily's half-hearted grumpiness, and Jacob's single-minded pursuit of orange juice, he felt a sudden surge of something bittersweet.
His family was imperfect and ordinary, and yet they were everything. The stakes weren't just about survival anymore. They were about them—about giving them a life where hope outweighed worry.
And for Ethan, that was reason enough.
After breakfast, Lily and Jacob tumbled into the living room, their laughter rising as the television sprang to life with the bright chaos of school holidays' morning cartoons.
They flopped onto the old couch, the cushions sagging in that familiar, welcoming way only years of family life could create. Ethan lingered in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, watching them.
He should have felt warmed by their easy joy, but instead, a quiet ache gnawed at him. Love and helplessness, he thought, were strange companions.
Lily's giggle cut through his thoughts, light as air. But he knew better. Kids had a peculiar way of sniffing out the things left unsaid—like cats sensing a storm long before the first raindrop falls.
The sound from the kitchen drew his gaze. His parents, Aaron and Elise, were at the table, speaking in low voices. Their movements had a kind of weariness about them, the kind that comes from carrying too many invisible burdens for too long.
"Mom. Dad," Ethan said, his voice sharper than he'd intended. It sliced through the cheerful din of the cartoons.
Both parents turned to him, startled, as though they'd momentarily forgotten he was there. "How much do we need for rent and bills this month? Exactly."
Elise blinked, then set her fork down with deliberate care. "What kind of question is that, Ethan?" she asked, her tone gentle but edged with caution. "Why would you need to know?"
Ethan shrugged, but the casualness didn't quite land. His words tumbled out like an overfull drawer spilling onto the floor. "I just… I know things are tight, and I'm working already, but maybe I can—"
"Ethan," Aaron interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "You're doing more than enough already. Classes, two jobs—you're twenty. That's plenty."
"Plenty," Ethan repeated, leaning back against the doorway. His lips pressed into a thin line. "It's not plenty when I can see it wearing you down. I'm not asking for permission to worry—I already do. I want to help fix it."
Aaron's expression softened, but his brow furrowed in that way parents do when they're trying to shield their children from truths too heavy for their shoulders.
Elise sighed, folding her hands on the table. "We're behind by $2,500 on rent," she said finally, her voice low. "And with utilities and groceries, maybe another $1,000."
Ethan's mind began slotting the numbers together quick and precisely. $3,500. Once, that figure would've seemed insurmountable. But now?
"I'll handle it," he said quietly.
Aaron froze mid-reach for his coffee. "What do you mean, 'handle it'?" His tone was equal parts disbelief and worry.
Ethan's face was calm but determined. "I mean, I've got it. Let me take care of it."
"Elise," Aaron said, turning to his wife with a faint, almost incredulous chuckle, "the boy's lost his mind."
Ethan crossed his arms, his jaw set. "I'm serious, Dad."
Aaron shook his head and said, "This isn't your job. You don't need to do it. I regret leaning on you before. We'll manage—"
"Manage?" Ethan cut him off, his voice rising. "Dad, you've been 'managing' for years. It's killing you. Let me help. It's my turn."
Before they could object, he grabbed his phone from his pocket, his fingers darting across the screen with skill. His thumb paused over the amount for a second, but then he doubled it—$7,000. Enough to cover the bills and maybe even give them a moment to breathe.
A soft buzz signaled the transaction's success. Ethan placed the phone on the table and leaned back, arms crossed. "Check your account."
Aaron and Elise exchanged wary glances before Aaron fished out his phone. His movements were slow, as though afraid of what he'd find. He caught his breath the moment he spotted the digits.
Like sunbeams piercing clouds, relief spread across his face. Elise peered over his shoulder, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Ethan," Aaron whispered, his voice barely audible. "How?"
"It's okay," Ethan said simply, his tone steady. "You don't need to know more."
Nobody spoke for a moment. The cartoon voices filled the silence like birdsong after a storm. Then Aaron exhaled a long, shuddering breath, and Elise wiped at her eyes, a soft, trembling smile on her lips.
Author's Note:
Hey everyone! Just a quick update: I've been going through all the feedback you've been giving me, and I want you to know that I'm editing this series to make it even better.
Your thoughts and suggestions have been super helpful in shaping the story, so thank you for sharing them! Every comment and piece of advice really means a lot and helps me improve.
If you're enjoying the series and want to see even more polished, top-quality chapters, I'd love your support. Please consider voting with Power Stones, sending gifts, and dropping some Golden Tickets my way.
All of that goes a long way in motivating me to bring you the best of the best!
Thanks so much for reading and sticking with me. Let's keep making this story amazing together!
Cheers,
Noah Caelum