The weak light of the bedside lamp barely illuminated the room as Eric, with trembling hands, stared at what lay before him: twenty-seven gold coins scattered across the white bedsheet. They shone like tiny suns, each one reflecting the intense golden glow that the Midas System had produced from coins as pitiful as a few cents.
Twenty-seven.
It was real.
They were right there.
And they were his.
Eric didn't know whether to smile, laugh, or scream. His entire body seemed to vibrate with an unfamiliar energy. The shine of the coins hypnotized him and, at the same time, terrified him. It was too much gold. Too much value. Too bizarre to exist inside a tiny room at the end of a dark street.
Then the shock hit him all at once:
What if there were more?
What if he had missed a coin somewhere?
The thought launched him into motion. He fell to his knees and began searching the room like a madman.
He opened drawers, pulled out boxes, turned the wardrobe upside down.
He shoved his hands under the bed, the mattress, the rugs.
He moved the fridge — small, but so old it looked like it might fall apart — just to check if any stray coin had rolled behind it.
Nothing.
Frustrated, Eric kept going. He went as far as opening empty pill bottles, crushed soda cans, and even an old sock stuck behind the heater. He turned his college backpack — the one he didn't even use anymore — upside down, but found only crumpled papers, a scribbled notebook, and the pen he had lost weeks ago.
Nothing.
No coin.
Not a single cent ignored by fate.
The frustration crashed into him with force.
He dropped to the floor, sitting with his head between his knees, breathing unevenly. A strange sadness took over him. He never imagined he'd one day regret not finding one-cent coins — things he used to step on in the street without looking, ignore at checkout counters, treat like garbage.
Now, each of them could be worth hundreds of euros.
Could pay for another month of rent.
Could mean another chance at life.
His heart raced so fast it felt like it wanted to break out of his chest. The mix of emotions — hope, fear, greed, panic — clashed inside him like a raging storm.
"This… this is killing me," he whispered.
He leaned his head against the cold wall, trying to breathe. Was this sickness coming from the system? Some side effect? Had transforming so many coins at once drained his energy? Or maybe it was just too much adrenaline. Too much emotion. Too much gold for a boy who, until yesterday, could barely pay his overdue rent.
As he tried to steady his breathing, a dark thought emerged:
Gold doesn't look so amazing now.
The initial euphoria was fading, replaced by a bitter sense of worry. The difficulty he had selling just one coin now seemed like a grim omen.
If selling one had been hard…
How would he sell twenty-seven?
How would he sell even two?
He remembered the glassy stare of the pawnshop owner, the cigar almost falling from his mouth, the desperation hidden in his voice. That wasn't normal. That wasn't safe.
Eric stood up slowly. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the gold before him as if he were looking at something alive, something dangerous.
"I need to think," he told himself.
He grabbed his phone.
Opened the browser.
And began searching.
He typed: "How to sell gold safely?"
Then: "Current price of gold per gram"
Then: "Where to sell gold without getting scammed"
And more: "How to identify trustworthy buyers"
The more he read, the more distressed he became.
The world of gold was a maze. A minefield.
There were shady exchange houses, pawnshops that paid next to nothing, illegal buyers, risks of robberies, scams, manipulated evaluations. Even the trustworthy places paid less than he hoped. They followed slow, bureaucratic processes and required documents and invoices he simply didn't have.
Yes, gold was valuable — but his situation was anything but ordinary.
Eric dragged a tired hand across his face.
Who would've thought…
Who would've thought that getting rid of gold would be so complicated?
"It's hopeless…" he murmured. "I have the most valuable thing in the world and, at the same time, I have nothing."
He researched for hours. Compared prices. Watched expert videos. Read obscure forums where collectors debated rare coins and where criminals talked about gold like it was bread. With each new piece of information, his anxiety grew.
The possibilities were many, but all seemed dangerous or unfair.
If he sold one coin per day, he'd attract attention.
If he sold several at once, he'd raise suspicion.
If he sold to the wrong person… he could end up dead.
The night advanced silently.
The clock struck two a.m.
Then three.
Then four.
Eric couldn't sleep.
The room was quiet, but his mind was in a frantic spiral. He paced back and forth, rubbing his face, muttering possibilities, discarding plans, creating new ones.
The shine of the coins on the bed seemed to mock him.
They promised wealth.
But offered fear.
He sat again at the edge of the mattress, exhausted.
The gold was there, imposing, impossible to ignore.
"This is going to destroy my life… or save it," he whispered.
He picked up one of the coins between his fingers. He felt its familiar weight. The cold metal. The shine that seemed alive. There was still something surreal about it, as if the world had folded in on itself just to give him a chance he would never have otherwise.
But that endless night taught Eric something: gold didn't come alone.
It came with responsibility.
It came with danger.
It came with impossible choices.
And worst of all: it came with the certainty that his life would never return to normal.
When the timid morning light finally crept through the window, Eric was still awake, staring at the gold as if trying to decipher an ancient riddle.
He had no answers.
He only had the coins.
And the Midas System.
And from that moment on, there was no turning back.