The faint light of dawn was just beginning to outline the contours of the buildings through the apartment window, tinting the sky with a purplish blue that announced the arrival of 5:40 a.m.. In the center of the living room, surrounded by a sea of empty glass bottles that rolled across the floor and weakly reflected the morning brightness, Alexander remained motionless.
His gaze was not fixed on the awakening city, but on the anomalous blue screen that had materialized in front of him. The text glowed with a cold luminescence, casting a glare over his now-clear features.
[System Activated]
User Welcome: Alexander Nokami. 24-hour Expense: During the next 24 hours… Every cent you spend will be multiplied. Alexander blinked, waiting for the illusion to fade like the many delusions that usually accompanied his worst hangovers.
But the screen remained there, immutable. The words of his mother, spoken in that space of infinite darkness, resonated in the silence of his mind with overwhelming clarity: "Some signals will be sent into the world; do not ignore them and do everything possible, okay?".
He raised a trembling hand. His fingers, which hours earlier could barely hold a bottle without spilling its contents, now moved with a firmness that felt foreign to him. He swallowed hard, still feeling the ghost of the alcohol's burn going down his throat, and pressed the option that dictated the beginning of his new reality : (Start).
The moment he made the decision, the screen dissolved into a slight hum. Alexander let out a long sigh and exhaled deeply, feeling lighter than ever before in his life. He brought both hands to his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his fingertips and moving up to his head. The long, messy hair that for so long had served as a shield to hide from the world, to avoid seeing the disappointment in his family's eyes, was gone.
The clean, short cut was real. As real as the sudden absence of the agonizing pain that used to eat away at his chest every minute of his existence. He stood up. His body, which measured one meter and ninety-five centimeters, stood tall in its full height without the slightest hint of heaviness. It was as if he had been living submerged in swampy waters, moving through a thick fog that limited not only his actions but every one of his thoughts. Now, an infinite clarity filled his mind, soul, and body.
He looked down at the mess at his feet. The smell of alcohol impregnated in the carpet, the sofa fabric, and his own clothes caused a sudden wave of nausea. How had he been able to come to this?. He was twenty five years old, he had no job, and the only reason he hadn't ended everything was because of the promise he made to his mother.
He closed his eyes, clenching his fists as he remembered the previous night. His daughter's trembling voice whispering through the small gap in the door: "Mom… is Dad angry again?". His wife's words trying to comfort her, cuddling her against herself in bed and asking her not to look. The terror. His own blood was terrified of him. A new tear slid down his cheek, but this time it wasn't out of self pity and chaotic thoughts, but out of a deep and painful shame.
"Never again," he whispered to himself in the dim light.
He walked toward the kitchen with silent steps so as not to wake anyone. He took a couple of large trash bags. He returned to the living room and, crouching on the carpet, began to pick up the bottles. He did it with care, preventing the glass from clinking and producing that hollow tinkling that caused his family so much dread. Every bottle he put into the bag felt like a piece of his cowardice and weakness that he was discarding.
When the room was clear of glass, he tied the bags and left them by the front door. Then, he went to the small hallway bathroom. He took off his stained shirt, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face over and over. Looking up at the mirror, he stopped. The eyes staring back at him were no longer lost in a vacant stare at the walls. They were dark, deep, and harbored a fierce determination. His mother, Mythara, had begged him to put his life in order, to no longer hurt himself over things beyond his control. He was not going to fail her again.
It was nearly 6:30 a.m. when the silence of the apartment was broken by the slight creak of the hinges on the adjacent bedroom door. Alexander, who was finishing wiping a damp cloth over the coffee table, stood still. Elena, his wife, came out into the hallway. She rubbed her arms over a cotton robe that protected her from the morning chill. Her head was down, and she walked with that silent caution of someone navigating a minefield, expecting the explosion of an insult or a tantrum of frustration at any moment.
As she looked up and noticed the absence of trash on the floor, her forehead furrowed in a gesture of confusion. Then, her eyes met Alexander's imposing figure standing by the sofa. The instinct was immediate. Elena took an instinctive step back, and her shoulders hunched, preparing for the emotional impact. Her eyes, surrounded by dark circles from the lack of peaceful sleep, opened wide upon seeing him.
It wasn't just that he was sober. It was his posture. Alexander was no longer slumped or hunched under the invisible weight of his pain. He was straight. And his hair... his hair no longer completely covered his face.
"Alexander?". Her voice came out like a brittle thread, barely audible, loaded with a mixture of incredulity and instinctive fear.
Alexander felt a pang in his chest that almost cut off his breath. She feared him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and kept his hands relaxed at his sides, in plain sight.
"Good morning, Elena," he replied. His tone was deep, but he modulated it to sound as soft and calm as possible, devoid of the hatred and self contempt he used to project onto her.
The sound of his voice drew movement from inside the room. A small figure peeked out timidly, holding onto the door frame. It was his daughter. Her large dark eyes spied on Alexander from her hiding place. Mythara's voice resonated in his mind like a warm warning: "Also protect my granddaughter; don't be so hard on her anymore, I taught you better than this".
Alexander knew that any sudden movement would scare them. With calculated slowness, he bent his knees until he was crouching on the floor, drastically reducing his height so as not to appear like a threatening figure.
"Hello, my child," Alexander murmured, sketching a small, trembling smile, almost forgotten on his face.
The girl blinked, confused. Her father wasn't angry again. And his face... "Daddy..." the little girl whispered, clutching the fabric of her mother's robe. "Your hair".
Alexander let out a choked laugh, a rough sound from lack of use, but filled with sincere affection. "Yes. It's gone. I won't hide behind it anymore".
Alexander looked at Elena, whose eyes were scrutinizing every inch of his face looking for the deception, the prelude to disaster. "I know you don't expect anything good from me. I know. I've been a coward, a weakling".
Elena tightened her lips and wrapped her arms protectively around her daughter's shoulders. Her voice trembled slightly when she finally spoke. "What do you want, Alexander?" she asked, keeping her guard high.
"I just want to fix things," he said, maintaining eye contact. "I've cleaned the living room. I'm going down to throw out the trash. And... I'd like to go buy something so we can have breakfast together".
The mention of shopping made Elena's expression tense. Money was a taboo subject. Alexander had no job, and the little they managed to get usually went toward his bad habits.
"There is no money, Alex," she said, with a tone of bitter resignation.
"I have something saved". He wasn't lying; he still had money saved, but he always allocated it to his drinks, and not even Elena knew about his personal account. There was also the promise of the system that had activated automatically. If the system was real, that would be enough to start. If it wasn't... at least he would use the last of what he had on food and not on his own destruction. He stood up slowly. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes".
He took the trash bags and the apartment keys. He went out the door, closing it behind him. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the cold wall, releasing the breath he didn't know he was holding. His heart beat strongly, but not at a heart attack pace from the shock of seeing his mother, but from the pure and simple adrenaline of a new beginning.
The morning air on the street was fresh. Alexander threw the bags into the container in the alley and walked toward a small bodega that usually opened early. Upon entering, the chime of the door made the clerk look at him with suspicion from behind the cash register. But this time, Alexander did not head to the back where they kept the alcohol. He walked through the grocery aisle with firm steps.
He took a package of fresh bread, a carton of whole milk, a dozen eggs, a package of ham, and a small tray of fresh strawberries. He reached the register. The employee processed the products in silence, dragging the items across the scanner.
"That will be exactly 35£," the man said, extending his hand.
Alexander reached into his pocket, feeling the cold touch of the card. He swiped it through the machine presented by the employee, and after a few seconds of processing and charging, he was handed the receipt.
As he took the plastic bags, the same undefined voice he had heard before was transmitted directly to his brain.
[Transaction detected] Expense: $35.00 Euros. Applying active multiplier.
Alexander felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket. He left the store, walked a few steps down the sidewalk, and stopped. He pulled out his cell phone and opened his bank account app. His balance, which before entering the store was at 1 million 10 thousand, now showed a number flashing on the digital screen. An instant transfer had just been processed and deposited: £1,013,500.00. 3,500 were deposited that was a multiplier of x100.
Alexander stared at the numbers, his breath held. This was actually real; the deposit was completed right after making the payment. It wasn't a dream, nor a side effect of withdrawal. The gift that came after his encounter with Mythara was genuinely real.
He went up the stairs of the building taking the steps two at a time. As he inserted the key into the lock, he realized that the constant tremor he used to have in his hands had completely disappeared. He opened the door.
In the kitchen adjacent to the living room, Elena was standing in front of the cabinets. The girl was sitting at the small dining table. Both turned upon hearing him enter. Tension immediately floated in the air again.
Alexander walked to the table and left the grocery bag in the center. He opened it, revealing the bread, eggs, milk, and finally, he pulled out the plastic container with the strawberries. The little girl's eyes dilated when she saw the fruit. It had been far too long since they had eaten anything like that.
"I didn't know if you still liked them," Alexander said softly, sliding the tray across the table toward his daughter. The girl looked at her mother, asking for permission with her eyes. Elena, still stunned by her husband's behavior and the variety of food in front of her, nodded slowly.
Alexander took a small frying pan that was draining in the sink. "Sit down, Elena," he requested, without raising his voice at all. "I'm preparing breakfast today".
Elena remained standing for a long moment, arms crossed over her chest, searching Alexander's posture and measured movements for the slightest hint of the slumped and frustrated young man she knew. But the man lighting the stove, who beat the eggs with unusual care, was not the shadow of the night before. He emanaded a solid presence, that confidence from before his disaster, the maturity with which he behaved before.
It was as if everything had returned to its place. And she couldn't help but fantasize that this might be permanent that the man she had known and grown up with, who looked after her in school, that gallant man had returned to being himself, no longer living in a shadow that consumed him.
Slowly, she let herself drop into one of the dining chairs. The sound of eggs sizzling in oil replaced the oppressive silence of the apartment. Alexander moved through the small kitchen with meticulous patience. Every action, from serving the milk to placing the plates on the table, was an attempt to ask for forgiveness in a silent way.
When he finally sat down in front of them, no one spoke for the first few minutes. The girl was the first to bite into a strawberry, closing her eyes. Alexander took a piece of bread. He looked at his family, at the wife he found to try to be happy in his mother's name, and at the girl who was the only real reason to stay in this world.
He was no longer alone in the darkness clinging to nothing. He had a path ahead, the promise he made to his mother, and thanks to the mysterious system, he now possessed the means to fulfill it.
"We are going to get out of here," Alexander said suddenly, breaking the silence that was only accompanied by the clinking of cutlery. His voice was firm, an unshakable declaration. "I promise. Everything is going to change starting today".
Neither Elena nor the little girl spoke, both absorbed in their own thoughts, but both had felt it: the radical change in their husband/father, the unspoken promise that everything was for the better from now on.