Malik Carter's day began with static and smoke.
The knockoff alarm clock on his desk screeched like a dying bird before blinking out entirely. He shot up with a start, the early sunlight already streaking across his dorm ceiling. His phone — cracked, old, and clinging to life like it knew this was its final semester — had frozen sometime in the night.
"Shit," he muttered, pulling on jeans with one hand and snatching a granola bar with the other. The jeans had a tear along the pocket seam. He didn't care.
His boot made a soft click as he walked — not the good kind. The heel was coming loose again. He'd patched it with super glue two days ago.
"Bro," his roommate chuckled from the other bed, still half-buried in sheets. "Your foot sounding like it's trying Morse code."
Malik smirked through his irritation. "Tell the Navy I'm sending signals."
He pushed open the dorm door and walked into the Atlanta morning, grey and unforgiving.
He was halfway to his 9 a.m. when the rain came.
Not a drizzle. A full-body slap of cold water from the gods. Students pulled out umbrellas like magic tricks. Malik pulled up his hood and kept walking, his old boots gurgling with every step.
The left one gave out on the steps of the main quad. Just split—the whole sole flopped forward like a dead fish. He tripped, caught himself, and heard the laughter before he saw them.
Three guys across the courtyard — one of them livestreaming.
"Yo! Look at this man's shoes! Those are struggling."
Malik kept walking.
A girl nearby stifled a giggle. Another student glanced, then away — like he was witnessing a slow-motion car wreck. Water soaked into his socks. The boot squeaked and peeled with every step, like it was trying to crawl off his foot in shame.
He didn't say a word.
Finance 104, 9:15 a.m.
Professor Denton was already writing on the board when Malik slipped in, wet and silent. He took a seat in the back, trying to disappear.
Denton spun around, eyes locking on Malik immediately.
"Mr. Carter," the man said, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "Since you're late, why don't you enlighten us?"
A few students turned, grinning.
The case study was still up on the board — something about a hostile takeover, valuation, investor confidence.
Malik cleared his throat, still damp, and answered. "If the acquiring firm adjusts the stock-based offer by leveraging post-merger debt, they might drive up perceived value while keeping actual equity impact low. But it's a hustle move."
A few heads nodded.
Denton's smile was venom.
"'A hustle move,' he says. That's cute." The professor turned to the class. "See, some students think finance is just street smarts and fast talk. But theory, gentlemen and ladies, theory is what makes kings."
Cameron Vale, front row in a tailored sweater, let out a quiet chuckle.
Malik said nothing. Just watched the smug playbook unfold.
After class, he sat beneath a half-dead tree outside the business hall, thumbing open his banking app.
Balance: $3.76
He leaned his head back, letting the last of the drizzle fall on his face.
The delivery app he worked for had locked his account. Missed one shift last night to finish a studio project. No warnings. Just gone.
A familiar voice startled him. "Malik."
He turned. Shanice. Tight curls. Red jacket. Perfect skin. She looked down at him like she already regretted walking over.
"I meant to text," she said.
"You didn't," Malik replied.
She shifted her weight. "You're great. Really. But I need more than — this. Whatever this is."
He stood up. Not angry. Just tired.
"You got no future, Malik," she said softly. "I can't keep rooting for potential. I'm not your mom."
Then she walked away.
The quad was nearly empty now.
Malik sat on a bench, soaked, soleless, phone dying, broke.
Someone passed by — a guy with a clipboard and a too-white smile.
"You ever think about changing your life?" he said, handing Malik a flyer for something called Ascend: Life Mastery Through Frequency Alignment.
Malik took it.
Looked at it.
Then crumpled it and tossed it into the trash can five feet away.
He slumped back. Rain dripped off his hood.
His voice barely left his throat.
"God… anything. Just give me something."
The rain had stopped, but Malik didn't move.
Wind hissed softly through the nearly bare branches above him. Water dripped from the tree like it was still mourning something.
Malik sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. The air smelled like damp concrete and cheap cafeteria grease. His thoughts had gone blank.
Then—
Ding.
Not from his phone. Not from the street. It rang inside his head — low, clean, unmistakable. Like the chime of an elevator in a luxury building he wasn't supposed to be in.
Then came the text. Not on a screen. Just… there.
CHECK-IN SYSTEM ACTIVATEDStatus: Eligible💠 Morning Check-In Available
Malik blinked. The message hovered in the air like a HUD from a video game — translucent, glowing faint blue. He looked left. Right. Nothing had changed.
"Okay," he muttered. "I'm dreaming. Or cracked."
But the chime returned — softer, insistent. A pulsing circle appeared where the text had been.
☀️ Tap to Check In
Malik stared at it.
Then shrugged. "Screw it."
He reached out.
And tapped.
The screen flashed.
✅ CHECK-IN SUCCESSFUL🎁 Reward: Physical Asset — Footwear🎁 Reward: Utility Asset — Mobile DeviceTotal Check-Ins: 1New Paths Unlocked
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Malik felt it — a subtle warmth around his ankles, then a tingling sensation across his bag strap.
He looked down.
Gone were the sad, soaked boots.
In their place: a pair of mint-condition Off-White x Air Jordan IVs — unreleased colorway, clean white with neon green accents. Real leather. Real laces. Real stitching. They even smelled expensive.
He jolted upright, looking around. No one had seen.
He yanked open his bag — the same, beat-up backpack. But inside, instead of his old cracked phone…
A sleek, futuristic phone with no brand. Black titanium, all-screen, fingerprintless. He turned it on. The interface booted instantly.
No carrier name.
No setup prompt.
Just…
Welcome, Malik Carter.You are now equipped.
His fingers tightened on the device. He scanned the back. No seams. No screws. No serial number.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
The phone blinked again.
New Feature: Experience Check-In — LockedNew Feature: Skill Branching — LockedCurrent Path: Basic Physical Assets
Malik slowly sat down again. He didn't feel dizzy. No headache. No weed. No dream logic.
He was awake.
And this was real.
He walked back through the quad like a ghost, almost afraid to look at anyone — until he noticed the difference.
People looked at him.
Not just glanced. Looked.
The same livestreamer from before — the one who'd laughed — turned and squinted, then straight-up stopped mid-convo.
"Yo… that's the same dude?" someone whispered behind him.
Malik didn't respond. He kept walking.
The sneakers made no sound.
He opened the new phone. Apps responded instantly. Camera quality — unreal. He checked the specs. No make, no model. But it was faster, cleaner, sharper than anything he'd ever held. Like tech from two years in the future.
His hands weren't shaking.
They should've been.
Architecture studio was on the top floor of Wilkins Hall — long tables, high ceilings, big windows, the smell of coffee and printer ink.
He stepped inside and walked toward the back. Conversations quieted.
Someone near the front whispered, "Damn, Malik really upgraded."
He kept his expression flat.
Halfway through the room, he passed Tessa.
Usually, she never looked up. Always sketching. Always surrounded by her quiet storm of ambition.
Today, her pen stilled. Eyes lifted.
Then — just a second — they narrowed.
She didn't speak. But she noticed.
In the front, his seatmate from last week — Misha, the one who'd once said he "looked like a broke model" — stared at his feet with cartoon-level disbelief.
"Are those…?" she began.
Malik slid into his chair, pulled out the new phone, and opened a blank sketch app.
"Limited release," he said, not looking up.
Then he smiled, just a little.
The check-in system pulsed once in his vision.
New Attention Event Logged+Relationship Seeds: 2+Reputation Points: +12Progressing…
He sat back.
And for the first time in months, he didn't feel behind.