The soft hum of a classroom fan droned on, doing little to ease the discomfort in the room. Zaky stared blankly at the blackboard, the equations written there blurring together. His mind wasn't in class—it hadn't been for most of the day. As the teacher's voice droned on about algebra, Zaky's thoughts drifted to something far beyond numbers. A red sports car. Sleek, shiny, powerful. He could imagine himself behind the wheel, feeling the smooth leather, the purr of the engine, and the envious stares of those who bullied him.

It was a stupid dream, he knew. A seventeen-year-old orphan with no family and no money—how could he ever afford something like that? Still, the thought stayed with him, wrapping itself around his mind like a warm daydream. It gave him hope, a reason to keep going, even though life at school and at the orphanage wasn't easy. He hated walking to and from school, his old shoes squeaking with every step, his wrinkled uniform making him an easy target for bullies. But one day, he vowed, they would see him differently.

The bell rang, jolting him from his fantasy. He blinked and shook his head, trying to focus as the other students noisily packed their bags and rushed for the door.

"Hey, beggar boy, walking home again?" A voice jeered from behind him. It was Faisal, one of the more persistent bullies at school.

Zaky clenched his fists but said nothing. He knew better than to engage. Words never helped—they only made things worse. Faisal and his friends laughed as they bumped shoulders with him on their way out, leaving him standing alone by his desk.

He exhaled slowly and slung his worn-out backpack over his shoulder. It was just another day to survive.

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the streets with a warm orange glow as Zaky made his way home. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the occasional group of students passing by. His orphanage wasn't far—just a 20-minute walk from school—but every step felt heavier today. The dream of owning a sports car kept resurfacing, filling his mind with both longing and frustration.

How do rich people do it? He thought bitterly. How do they make so much money so easily? Zaky wasn't lazy; he just didn't know where to start. The world of wealth seemed so distant, so far beyond his reach.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the hum of a motorcycle engine until it was too late.

It happened in an instant.

One moment, he was stepping off the curb to cross the street. The next, a motorcycle swerved around the corner at full speed, the rider shouting in alarm.

"Look out!"

Zaky barely had time to react before the front tire hit him square in the side, sending him sprawling onto the asphalt. His backpack flew off his shoulder, skidding across the road. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs, and pain flared through his side and leg as he tumbled onto the hard surface.

Everything felt surreal. The honking of cars, the startled yells from passersby—it all sounded distant, as though he were underwater. His mind tried to process what had just happened, but his body refused to respond. Pain came in waves, sharp and unrelenting, spreading from his ribs and knees.

The rider cursed under his breath as he scrambled off his bike. "Hey, kid! Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Zaky tried to answer, but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. His vision blurred as he stared up at the sky, the orange sunlight slowly fading into dusk. Everything was spinning. He could feel the rough asphalt beneath him, cold and unforgiving, as the world around him faded into a haze.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a stretcher inside an ambulance. His head throbbed, and the steady beeping of medical equipment filled his ears. His whole body felt heavy, like he was sinking into a pool of thick syrup. The paramedics were speaking in hushed tones, their faces blurred and distant.

"Minor injuries, but he hit his head pretty hard," one of them said. "We'll need to run some tests at the hospital."

Zaky wanted to say something—to tell them he was okay, that he didn't need to go to the hospital—but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. His eyelids felt like lead, dragging him back into unconsciousness.

The next time Zaky stirred, everything was dark and silent. He wasn't sure where he was—only that he was floating in an endless void, weightless and free. It was a strange, peaceful feeling, as if all the noise and pain of the world had disappeared.

Then he heard a voice.

"Zaky…"

The voice was smooth, calm, and oddly familiar, as though it had been waiting for him. Zaky's heart skipped a beat, though he wasn't sure why.

"Zaky, do you want to be rich?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Zaky tried to respond, but no sound came out. The voice continued, unwavering and clear.

"Do you want a sports car? Do you want the world to see you differently? I can help you. I can give you what you want."

Zaky's mind swirled with confusion and curiosity. Was this a dream? Or had he finally lost his mind from all the stress and longing?

"If you accept my offer, I will grant you access to the Wealth System." The voice paused for a moment, as if allowing Zaky to absorb the words. "The system will give you missions, and for every mission you complete, you will gain knowledge—knowledge about business, finance, and success. Step by step, you will become rich. Small business, medium business, large enterprise... it's all within your reach. But the missions will get harder, and the rewards will come at a price. Are you ready, Zaky?"

Zaky's heart raced. This had to be a dream, right? But the temptation was too strong to ignore. The memory of Faisal's mocking face flashed in his mind. The long walks home in worn-out shoes. The red sports car he could only imagine owning. Was this his chance to change everything?

"Yes," Zaky whispered into the darkness, barely aware that he had spoken aloud. "I want it."

"Good," the voice replied smoothly. "Then let the first mission begin."

Zaky's eyes shot open, and he found himself staring at the ceiling of a hospital room. His body ached, but the strange heaviness from before was gone. The voice... had it been real? He sat up slowly, wincing as pain flared in his ribs.

A small notification appeared in the corner of his vision, glowing faintly like a hologram. [Mission 1: Sell an Item and Earn Your First Profit]

Zaky blinked in shock. This was real. The system was real.

A slow smile spread across his face, despite the lingering pain in his body. For the first time in his life, Zaky felt something unfamiliar—hope.

His journey had just begun.