Just as Ryan entered, I greeted him with a smile, trying to shake off the lingering weirdness from the Show-Off System's visit.
"Yo, Ryan, survived another day in this oven?" I said, leaning back on my bed.
Ryan Carter, one of my three dorm mates, was more than a friend—he was the closest thing I had to family, a brother who'd been through the trenches with me since freshman year.
His lopsided grin lit up the room as he dropped his backpack and flopped onto his desk chair, the springs creaking under his weight.
"Good to see you too, Noah," Ryan said, kicking off his sneakers.
"Thought you'd be passed out by now, man. You look like you wrestled a heatwave and lost."
His laugh was infectious, and I couldn't help but chuckle, even if my head was still spinning from that glowing screen. Ryan had this way of making everything feel lighter, like the world wasn't constantly trying to crush us.
Growing up in the same orphanage, we'd bonded over shared struggles and stupid jokes, and now, in our final year, he was one of the few people I trusted completely.
"Speak for yourself," I shot back, tossing a crumpled sock at him. "You smell like you ran a marathon in a sauna."
He caught the sock mid-air and threw it back, missing me by a mile. The other two guys, Jason and Eric, weren't back yet, so it was just us, filling the tiny dorm with banter.
These moments—when it was just me and my brothers—were what kept me sane. No matter how brutal the day was, Ryan's dumb grin could make me forget the sweat and the bills for a minute.
I stretched, my neck still stiff from hunching over my laptop.
"Long day?"
I asked, fishing for a distraction from the system's promise of Credits. Ryan nodded, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, man, Professor Kline roasted me in class again. Said my code looked like a toddler wrote it."
I snorted, picturing Ryan's messy handwriting on a screen.
"You're lucky he didn't make you read it out loud," I said, and we both laughed, the tension in my chest easing a little.
The dorm felt like home, not because of the peeling paint or the creaky beds, but because of guys like Ryan and the other kids.
We'd all met in our first semester, four misfits who clicked over late-night study sessions and cheap ramen. Ryan, with his quick wit and endless optimism, was the glue that held us together.
"You holding up, Noah?" he asked, his tone softening.
I shrugged, forcing a grin. "Same old grind. You know me."
But as he nodded and started unpacking his bag, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was about to change in ways even Ryan couldn't imagine.
We kept the banter going, poking at each other's screw-ups from yesterday's classes.
"Yo, remember when you tried to explain supply curves in econ?" Ryan said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair.
"You had the whole class lost, man. Even Kline was like, 'Carter, stick to basketball.'"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Oh, please. You're the one who crashed the projector trying to show your coding project. Looked like you were launching a rocket to Mars."
"Touché," Ryan admitted, tossing a pen at me. "But at least I didn't trip over my own feet walking out of the lecture hall."
I groaned, covering my face. "One time, Ryan. One time."
Our laughter filled the room, a brief escape from the grind. Then Ryan's expression shifted, more serious.
"Hey, you ever hear back from that job posting? The one at that small tech firm downtown? I saw it on the board last week, thought you'd be perfect for it."
I sighed, slumping back on my bed. "Nah, didn't make the cut," I said, trying to keep my voice light.
"Interview was a bust. They said they wanted 'more experience.'"
Ryan frowned, spinning the pen in his hand. "That's garbage, Noah. You're the smartest guy I know. Top grades, acing every class. What more do they want?"
I shrugged, the familiar sting of rejection settling in. "Beats me. Guess I don't interview as well as I study."
Ryan leaned forward, his eyes earnest. "Don't sweat it, man. You're gonna land something huge. Those companies are idiots for passing you up."
His words hit me hard, not because I believed them, but because he did.
"Thanks, Ryan," I said quietly. "Just… feels like I'm running in place, you know?"
He nodded, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "You're closer than you think, Noah. One break, that's all you need."
I forced a smile, wishing I could tell him about the system, but how do you explain a floating screen that promises Credits for showing off?
Ryan was a working student too, but his path was different. He had a gig at a trading company downtown, pushing papers and running errands for suits who barely noticed him.
It wasn't glamorous, but it paid his bills—barely. His grades were shaky, hovering just above passing, so he couldn't pull strings to get me in there.
"Man, if I had your brain, I'd be running that place," he'd joke, but we both knew his job was a dead end.
The company didn't care about his potential; they just needed someone to show up.
What kept Ryan afloat wasn't his desk job—it was basketball. He was a star on the university team, not pro-level, but good enough to snag sponsorships from local businesses.
They'd slap his face on ads for energy drinks or gym gear, tossing him a few hundred Credits per deal.
"It's not much," he told me once, "but it's better than nothing."
I envied that, not the money, but the way he moved through the world, like he could charm his way out of anything.
Ryan's sponsors loved his hustle, his easy smile, the way he lit up a court. It wasn't just talent; it was presence. Crowds cheered his name, and companies paid for a piece of that shine.
Meanwhile, I was grinding for scraps, my brain my only asset, and it wasn't paying off yet.
"You ever think about quitting?" I asked him once, late at night. He shook his head.
"Nah, man. Basketball's my escape. Without it, I'd be as lost as my grades."
I got that. We all had something keeping us going.
His job at the trading company was a slog, though. Long hours, demanding bosses, and no room to grow.
"They don't even let me touch the real stuff," he'd complain. "Just coffee runs and spreadsheets."
But he showed up, day after day, because Credits were Credits, and rent didn't pay itself. I admired that about Ryan—he didn't let his setbacks define him. He'd laugh off a bad grade or a rough shift, then hit the court and leave it all behind.
The sponsorships were his real win, though. A local sports shop had him modeling their gear, and a tech startup paid him to hype their fitness app. It wasn't millions, but it was enough to keep him from drowning like me.
"You should try out for something," he'd tell me, half-serious. "Maybe debate team. You'd crush it."
I'd laugh it off, but part of me wondered if I was missing some spark that Ryan had, something that made people say yes.
To lift my spirits, Ryan insisted on treating me to dinner. "Come on, Noah, you need a break," he said, grabbing his jacket. "My treat. Let's get some real food for once."
I hesitated—Credits were tight, even for him—but his grin was impossible to argue with. We ended up at a diner a few blocks from campus, a greasy spoon with flickering neon signs and the best burgers in town.
The smell of fries hit me as we slid into a booth, and for the first time all day, I felt my shoulders relax. We ordered enough to feed an army—burgers, milkshakes, a mountain of onion rings.
Ryan raised his glass, toasting, "To surviving another day in hell."
I clinked my shake against his, laughing. "To not flunking out before we get there."
The food was a godsend, warm and filling, and for a while, we were just two guys eating like kings. Ryan even ordered a bucket of fried chicken to take back for Jason and Eric.
"Those idiots'll owe us," he said, winking.
The walk back to the dorm was lighter, our bellies full and the night air cooler than the day's brutal heat. Ryan carried the takeout bag, swinging it like a trophy.
"We're heroes tonight," he said, and I couldn't help but smile.
Moments like this, with Ryan's easy camaraderie, made the grind bearable. I pushed thoughts of the system to the back of my mind, focusing on the present, the rare feeling of not being hungry or broke for one damn second.
When we opened the dorm door, Jason Lee and Eric Sanders were sprawled on the couch, arguing over some sci-fi show on Jason's laptop. Jason, with his thick glasses and perpetual bedhead, looked up first.
"Holy crap, is that fried chicken?" he said, eyes wide.
Eric, all lean muscle and restless energy, jumped up, nearly knocking over a lamp.
"You guys are legends!" he shouted, diving for the takeout bag.
"Calm down, you animals," Ryan laughed, holding the bag out of reach.
"Say thank you first."
Jason pushed his glasses up, grinning. "Thank you, oh great providers of greasy goodness."
Eric snorted, grabbing a drumstick. "Yeah, thanks, but next time, get extra sauce."
These guys were my family, the only one I'd ever had, and seeing them happy over something as simple as chicken made the day's craziness fade.
We ate together, the four of us crammed around our tiny table, passing the bucket and trading dumb stories. Jason recounted his latest lab disaster, something about a chemical spill that nearly got him kicked out of class.
Eric, still chewing, bragged about his new personal record at the gym. "You should come with me, Noah," he said. "Build some muscle to go with that brain."
I rolled my eyes. "Pass. I'd rather not die under a barbell."
Their laughter filled the room, and for a moment, I forgot about the system, the Credits, the weight of it all.
After we turned off the lights and headed to our own rooms, I lay on my bed, staring into the dark. The others were asleep, their snores filtering through the thin walls.
My mind drifted back to the Show-Off System, its promise of Credits still lingering like a half-remembered dream.
"Okay, system," I whispered, feeling ridiculous but desperate. "How am I supposed to show off with 47.32 CRD to my name?"
The air was still, but I held my breath, waiting for that glowing screen to answer.