The glow from the system screen still hovered in the air like it had nowhere else to go. Elijah sat slumped against the armrest of his worn-out couch, one slipper half off, the other foot bare and curled under him, staring into the pale blue interface.
He rubbed his face. Hard. Palms dragging down his cheeks until they tugged at the corners of his mouth. His skin still smelled faintly like instant coffee. His heart hadn't slowed down. Not really. Not since he got his orientation gift and started to see the physical manifestation of the system.
"Alright…" he said slowly, drawing the word out like it had weight. "Okay. So you're real. This is real. I'm… not high."
From behind the glowing interface, the newly manifested avatar — a small figure perched cross-legged in the air, features now stabilized into a soft, neutral, androgynous form — tilted its head slightly.
"I'd be offended if you needed more convincing," it said flatly.
"I mean," Elijah muttered, shifting uncomfortably, "you did just appear and tell me I sold my soul. That's a Wednesday for, like, maybe two people on Earth."
The avatar shrugged. "And you also won the largest lottery in recorded human history an hour ago. So let's not pretend your day was on track for normal."
Elijah sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his head thud back against the couch cushion.
A long beat passed.
"…Do you have a name?" he asked.
"I'm the System."
"No like… Steve? Glitchy Jim? Something less 'corporate software update'?"
"I've taken forms and titles across eras, cultures, and dimensions. Would you like me to be 'Steve' now?"
Elijah opened his mouth, then closed it. "No. You're right. System's fine."
"Good."
He blinked again at the glowing console, the symbols hovering lightly across his vision now as if they were part of his subconscious. They didn't glow so much as exist, like projections etched onto the back of his thoughts. He scratched his head, dryly muttering, "Okay. So… what else do you do?"
The avatar blinked. "Define 'do.'"
"You know. You're a system. You talk. You float. But like… what functions do you have? Are there features? Am I gonna find out you come with a Sudoku app and Bluetooth settings?"
The avatar didn't laugh. But something in its expression softened, like a smirk without lips.
"There are several main modules, but the one most relevant at this stage is the Shop."
That caught his attention.
"Shop?"
"Yes. You are now bound to a multi-layered contractual interface. In simplified terms its a metaphysical framework that enables transactional exchanges between your soul-bound status and the assets of the system's treasury."
Elijah squinted. "...You're gonna need to explain that like you didn't get possessed by an accountant."
"You can buy things," the avatar said plainly. "Items. Skills. Tools. Information. Some from your world. Some from… beyond."
He sat up a little straighter now. "With money?"
"Two kinds," the avatar said. "Real currency — dollars, yen, whatever Earth trade units you have in your possession. And system currency, which you'll accrue through activity and progress."
"Let me guess, I'm currently broke in both."
"You are extremely wealthy in one," it said. "And useless in the other."
"…Rude. But fair."
"You may access the shop at any time."
The air shimmered again, and a new panel bloomed outward from the first. Its design wasn't flashy or animated like a mobile game, more like an elegant catalog. Sleek. Clean. One tab read [Physical Goods], another [Skill Tree – Locked], another [Spiritual Utilities – Tier 1 Required].
Below that: [Currency: 0 USD | Soul Score: 0 Points]
But as the system pulsed, the USD updated. It ticked up slowly like a slot machine dragging itself into alignment.
$12.57…
$122,040.71…
$980,672,399.42…
$125,570,000,000.00
Elijah's mouth dropped open just a bit. His eyes followed each new digit like they were mocking him. One. Hundred. Twenty-Five. Billion.
He didn't say anything at first.
The room stayed quiet. Still dark. The glow of the shop display made it feel even quieter somehow, like he was watching this moment from underwater.
"...I… That's…"
He touched the screen. The numbers didn't vanish.
"I'm rich," he whispered.
"Correct," the system said, tone indifferent.
"I'm… actually rich."
"Obscenely."
His eyes were wide. "I could… I could go to Paris. Or buy Paris."
"Yes."
"I could build a real house. Buy my mom a place. Fly to Japan just to eat ramen. Get custom shoes made of alpaca. I could—"
"—also purchase a microwave that doesn't hiss when it's idle," the avatar added helpfully, looking over at his kitchen.
Elijah froze. Then he laughed, loud, wheezing, the kind of laugh that made him curl forward with his hands over his face.
"Holy hell. This is actually real."
The avatar didn't blink. "It always has been."
Elijah wiped a hand down his face again, exhaling in one long, disbelieving breath. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the number glowing in the shop tab, one hundred twenty-five billion. His name was somewhere in a government computer right now, tied to that jackpot, a real-life golden ticket.
The system avatar hovered above the display, arms folded behind its back, silently observing.
"Your silence is interesting," it finally said.
Elijah glanced at it sideways. "Just trying to let it all sink in before I melt into a puddle on the floor."
"Do you believe it?"
"What?"
"The money. The win. All of this. Do you believe it's real?"
Elijah laughed, dry but sharp. "Seeing's believing, right?"
The system tilted its head like a bird assessing prey. "Most humans require more than visual confirmation. Faith. Context. Social proof."
"Well, I don't need all that," Elijah said, standing now and brushing off his sweatpants. "This isn't some prank show. You're real, the numbers are real, and unless my brain has cracked in two, I just became a billionaire."
He caught his reflection in the mirror across the room, same messy hair, same faded hoodie, and laughed again, this time with a strange, rising confidence in his chest.
Then he paused.
"Wait… I have a question."
The avatar raised a brow. "You're allowed."
"That money in the system — is it, like, synced to my actual bank account? Or is that just system-money? 'Cause if it's not officially claimed…"
"You must still retrieve your physical prize," the avatar confirmed. "The system's calculation reflects what you're owed. But it has not been deposited into your world's infrastructure yet."
"...So I gotta go claim it."
"Yes. The funds are not yet accessible through your Earth financial institutions. And while you may make purchases through the system shop with your theoretical balance, having physical currency will drastically improve your flexibility."
"Right." Elijah was already halfway to the bedroom, grabbing the hoodie from the floor and pulling it over his head. "Real cash means real freedom. Can't buy a bus ticket with theoretical billions."
"Not yet."
He ducked into his shoes, nearly stumbling as he bent down to tie one without sitting.
"You're really gonna follow me everywhere, huh?" he muttered to the air.
"Contracted souls do not get privacy."
"Cool, cool, good to know," he said, grabbing his keys from the hook. "I always wanted a roommate."
The system didn't respond, just hovered along silently as Elijah stepped out of the apartment.
The hallway outside was quiet — a little too quiet. The building's lights flickered slightly overhead, a usual quirk of the ancient wiring. He jogged down the stairs two at a time, landing heavy on each step, almost laughing again as he pushed through the lobby door and out into the early morning chill.
The city was filled with life, cars humming to life, a few people stepping out of corner stores, buses trundling down side streets. Everything looked the same as it always did.
But Elijah didn't feel the same.
His hands were in his pockets, fingers curled around the keys and a crumpled receipt. His hoodie whipped slightly in the breeze, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn't dreading what the day might bring.