Marcus barely slept.
He lay awake in his apartment staring at the ceiling, listening to his old AC unit rattle like it was about to explode, replaying the conversation with Ramon over and over. The laundromat owner hadn't laughed him out of the building. He hadn't slammed the door. He hadn't dismissed him.
He said:
"Come back tomorrow. Noon."
That wasn't a yes.
But it wasn't a no.
It was possibility. Something Marcus hadn't tasted in years.
When the sun finally rose, Marcus rolled out of bed before his alarm went off. He showered, shaved, and dug through his closet until he found the cleanest shirt he owned. It wasn't nice. It wasn't professional. But it wasn't stained or wrinkled, and right now, that felt like a win.
His stomach growled. He ignored it.
Today mattered too much.
By 11:10 AM, he was already in his ancient Tacoma. The engine coughed, sputtered, whined, but—out of pity or loyalty—started.
"Come on," he muttered. "Just get me through today."
He drove toward Lone Star Laundry, the timer still ticking silently in his vision.
TIME REMAINING: 34:12:49
Every passing hour gnawed at him.
If Ramon said no today… Marcus didn't know if he'd have time to find another failing business owner willing to talk.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"Today has to work."
---
### Arrival
Marcus arrived at the laundromat at 11:52 AM.
Ramon was already inside, sweeping near the back corner. A few customers milled about—mostly older neighborhood residents or parents with children tugging on their sleeves.
The laundromat looked the same as yesterday:
Dim lighting
Flickering sign
Several machines out of order
That faint smell of detergent and dust
But today, it felt heavier—like everything depended on this room.
The moment Marcus walked in, Ramon looked up.
"You're early," he said.
Marcus shrugged. "Didn't want to waste your time."
Ramon pointed his broom at a cracked plastic chair near the counter. "Sit. Let's talk."
Marcus sat, back straight, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
Ramon leaned on the counter, arms crossed. "Alright, kid. Before we talk numbers, I need to know one thing."
Marcus swallowed. "What's that?"
"Why you?" Ramon asked. "Why should I sell this place to you instead of literally anyone else?"
Marcus hesitated—but only for a moment.
"Because no one else is asking," he said. "Because no one else is here. Because this place has value, and I see it—even if I don't fully understand how to fix it yet."
Ramon blinked, surprised by the honesty.
Marcus continued, "I know I'm young. I know I have no experience. I know I don't look like someone who can afford anything. But I'm not here to waste your time or mine. I want a chance to prove myself."
He exhaled slowly. "And I want to build something real. Something I can use to help my family."
Silence settled between them.
Ramon rubbed his chin. "You're honest. I'll give you that."
He walked behind the counter and pulled out a folder—yellowed, overstuffed, barely holding together.
"You know what this is?" Ramon asked.
"No idea," Marcus said.
"Everything wrong with this place."
He opened it, revealing overdue maintenance receipts, equipment repair quotes, monthly earnings reports with numbers trending downward, bills, utility costs, tax summaries, and scribbled notes.
"This laundromat is dying," Ramon said plainly. "It's been dying for years. A good month pays the bills. A bad month puts me in the red."
Marcus nodded slowly. He didn't pretend. He didn't sugarcoat.
"That's why I want it," Marcus said.
Ramon raised a brow. "You want something that's falling apart?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "Because things that are falling apart can still be rebuilt."
Ramon blinked. For the first time, a flicker of respect crossed his face.
---
### The Difficult Question
"Alright," Ramon said. "Let's get this out of the way."
He set the folder down and leaned forward.
"How much money do you actually have?"
Marcus froze.
He knew this question was coming. He dreaded it. Because the answer wasn't just embarrassing—it was a joke.
He considered lying.
But Ramon didn't deserve that.
Marcus took a breath.
"…Forty-two dollars."
Ramon stared at him.
Marcus waited for the laughter. The scolding. The dismissal. Something.
It didn't come.
Ramon just rubbed his forehead.
"Kid," he said slowly, "you need more than that to buy a couple of these machines, much less the whole business."
Marcus nodded, shame tightening his chest. "I know. I'm not asking you to give it away. I just—I needed to be honest, because lying won't get me anywhere."
Ramon looked at him, studying his face, searching for arrogance or entitlement or delusion—but there was none.
Just sincerity.
Just desperation.
Just hope.
Eventually, Ramon sighed.
"Alright, kid," he said. "Let's talk realistically."
---
### The Offer
Ramon walked around the counter and sat across from Marcus.
"I spent twenty-two years keeping this place alive," he said. "My wife worked here before she passed. My kids grew up doing homework in that chair over there."
Marcus looked at the faded chair in the corner.
Ramon continued, voice lower now. "This business means something to me. But I'm tired. I'm ready to let it go."
"How much are you asking?" Marcus asked quietly.
Ramon didn't answer immediately. He pulled out a calculator, a notebook, and a few loose sheets. He wasn't some big-business owner. He was a local man trying to be fair.
Finally, he said:
"I'd let it go for fifty thousand."
Marcus inhaled sharply—but not because the number scared him.
Because it matched the System's reward amount almost perfectly.
But he couldn't act shocked or hopeful. He had to negotiate like someone who didn't have a cosmic AI watching him.
"And… would you accept a contract with delayed payment?" Marcus asked carefully.
Ramon raised an eyebrow. "You mean, I sign the business over and you pay later?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "Within twenty-four hours."
Ramon leaned back. "Why twenty-four?"
"My funding will be available then," Marcus said. It wasn't exactly a lie.
Ramon drummed his fingers on the counter. "That's risky."
"I know," Marcus said. "But I'm serious about this. And I'm asking you to take a chance on me."
The silence stretched.
Long.
Thick.
Heavy.
The mission timer blinked.
TIME REMAINING: 33:51:10
Finally, Ramon stood.
"You have a contract?" he asked.
Marcus stiffened. "I… will."
"You need it today," Ramon said. "If we're doing this, I'm not dragging it out."
Marcus nodded. "I'll bring it."
Ramon extended his hand.
"Bring a contract by tomorrow morning," he said. "If it looks legitimate, I'll sign."
Marcus's breath caught.
Tomorrow.
He would have a signed agreement by tomorrow.
And THAT would complete the mission.
"I'll be here," Marcus said firmly.
Ramon shook his hand. "Don't make me regret this, kid."
Marcus stepped outside into the warm Texas air, feeling something he hadn't felt in months.
Momentum.
---
### The System Reacts
As Marcus reached the sidewalk, the System flashed a new message.
MISSION PROGRESS: **PENDING AGREEMENT SECURED**
REMAINING TASK: PROVIDE WRITTEN CONTRACT
TIME REMAINING: 33:48:59
[ESTIMATED SUCCESS PROBABILITY: 62%.]
[RECOMMENDATION: PREPARE CONTRACT IMMEDIATELY.]
Marcus exhaled shakily.
"I… I'm actually doing this."
The System did not congratulate him.
But its next message felt like acknowledgment.
[CONTINUE, MARCUS HALE.]
[YOU ARE CLOSER THAN YOU THINK.]
Marcus walked away from the laundromat with tired legs, empty pockets…
And something brand new in his chest.
Hope.