2 "I Have 1,000,000,000,000,000,000 Coins?"

Drake's jaw dropped, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions raging within him. The mention of ten million dollars for his sister's medical needs echoed in his mind like an unrelenting drumbeat.

"Ten million dollars..."

The number seemed astronomical, an insurmountable sum casting a dark cloud over him. His heart ached under the weight of it, realizing his beloved sister's life hung in the balance.

"How on earth am I going to get ten million dollars?" The question tormented him, pushing him to the brink of despair. He had never possessed even a fraction of that amount.

Drake remained frozen where he stood as he slowly processed everything inside his head. A moment later, he walked out of the building and aimlessly wandered down the street without any specific destination.

As he aimlessly navigated the labyrinthine streets of the city, the neon lights and bustling crowds around him felt distant and surreal. He had strayed far from his office, his mind clouded by a potent cocktail of anger, sorrow, and self-pity.

Eventually, his aimless wandering led him to a convenience store nestled in a dimly lit corner of the city. It beckoned to him like a siren, offering a fleeting escape from his overwhelming reality. The jingle of the bell above the door announced his arrival as he stepped inside.

"Oh, my best friends are here," he said while looking at the shelves. Drake's gaze lingered on the bottles of whiskey, their amber contents promising solace and oblivion. He reached out and grabbed one, clutching it like a lifeline. In that moment, the only comfort he could find was in the numbing embrace of alcohol.

"I'll pay for this," he said. With trembling hands, he paid for the bottle and stepped outside, oblivious to the judgmental glances from the cashier. He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long, burning swig. The alcohol seared his throat, momentarily drowning out the pain that had become his constant companion.

Drake continued to drink, the alcohol coursing through his veins, dulling his senses, and numbing his emotions. He felt detached from reality, lost in a haze of intoxication and despair. The world around him blurred, and he stumbled through the streets, guided only by the dim glow of streetlights.

In the midst of his drunken stupor, he bumped into someone.

"Ouch! Watch where you're going!" the man exclaimed.

"Oops, my bad," Drake slurred his apology. His bleary eyes finally focused on the figure in front of him, and he realized he'd collided with someone who seemed equally down in the dumps.

The man's disheveled appearance matched Drake's own, and both of them had eyes that told stories of hardship. Their gazes met, and for a moment, they silently understood each other's pain.

"Hey," the man croaked, his voice weary and hoarse. "Looks like we're both having a pretty lousy day, huh?"

Drake nodded slowly, his thoughts swirling in a boozy haze. He extended the bottle of alcohol toward the man and replied, "My days have always been lousy, but today takes the cake."

The man accepted the offering with a wry grin and took a long swig, the fiery liquid bringing warmth to his insides.

"Man, tell me about it!" the man exclaimed. He slapped Drake on the back before suggesting, "Come on! Let's keep drinking tonight!"

“That’s great! I am Drake.”

“Nice! I am Zack. Zack White.”

They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing through the labyrinthine streets, both lacking a specific destination. The alcohol provided a temporary respite from their troubles, a brief escape from the weight of the world.

As the night wore on, they delved deeper into the heart of the city, eventually finding themselves in a narrow, dimly lit alley that seemed to lead nowhere. The towering buildings on either side obscured the moon and stars, casting eerie shadows on the cobblestone path.

At the end of the alley, bathed in a soft, otherworldly glow, stood a miniature temple. It was unlike anything they had ever seen—a humble structure adorned with intricate carvings and mysterious symbols. Drake and Zack gazed at it in bewilderment, the alcohol-induced haze clearing for a moment.

Zack chuckled and, with a playful grin, raised his half-empty bottle towards the temple. "Well, man, it looks like we've stumbled upon a shrine to some unknown god. What do you say we offer a tribute and a prayer, just for the fun of it?"

However, Drake felt an inexplicable pull toward the miniature temple. His heart ached with a strange mixture of desperation and hope. He turned to Zack, his expression serious, and said, "I think... I think I should offer something more than just a joke."

With that, Drake reached into his wallet, pulling out the few remaining coins he had. They were all he had left in the world, a meager sum that wouldn't even make a dent in the mountain of debt and expenses that loomed over him. But in this moment, it felt like the only thing he could offer.

Drake approached the miniature temple, and he placed the coins on a small stone altar in front of it. His eyes closed in silent prayer, and he whispered, "Please, if there's anyone out there who can help me, who can save my sister, I beg you, please make it happen."

Zack, on the other hand, remained unserious. He joined Drake in offering his own prayer, but unlike the sincere man beside him, Zack had a mixture of curiosity and utter disrespect for the miniature temple. He dropped his empty wallet in front of the temple and jokingly murmured words.

It only took him a few minutes to become bored, and he stood up, saying, "This is boring; let’s go."

Drake didn’t respond because he was still praying sincerely, clasping his hands together in front of the miniature temple.

Inebriated, Zack spat on the ground and walked away, leaving Drake alone.

—

The next day, harsh morning sunlight pierced Drake's dingy apartment, intensifying his pounding headache. He groaned, struggling to recollect the previous night's events, with the taste of alcohol and despair still lingering. Aching from excessive drinking, he lay in his disheveled bed, a stark symbol of his descent into despair. Drake couldn't recall how he had made it home, but the harsh reality of his life awaited.

“Does drinking change anything?” he reflected.

As he attempted to sit up, the creaking of the apartment's worn-out floorboards seemed to echo the weight of his troubles. His mother, Linda Chwe, barged into his room without warning, her disheveled appearance mirroring the chaos that had consumed their lives.

"Drake!" she screeched, her voice grating on his already pounding head. "Where's the money, huh? I need it now!"

His mother's addiction to gambling had transformed her into a relentless and insatiable beast, a shadow that perpetually lurked, hungry for more money to fuel her destructive habit.

Drake rubbed his temples, the pain in his head intensifying with each passing moment. "I don't have any money right now, Mom," he replied weakly. "I... I can't give you what I don't have."

Linda's face contorted with anger, her bloodshot eyes narrowing into slits. "Don't you dare lie to me, Drake!" she spat. "You always have some money hidden away. I know it!"

Drake's patience wore thin, and he realized he could no longer keep the truth from his mother. He took a deep breath and forced the words out, "Mom, I need the money for Eleanor's surgery. She's fighting for her life, and we need ten million dollars for the operation."

Linda's reaction caught him off guard. Instead of sympathy or concern, her eyes widened with disbelief, and then her face twisted into a sneer of contempt.

"Eleanor? That sick girl of yours?" she scoffed. "Why should I care about her? All I care about is my next bet, my next win. You've always been a burden, Drake, and now you want to waste money on that useless sister of yours?"

Drake felt a surge of anger and despair rise within him. He had hoped that the dire situation would awaken some semblance of maternal love in his mother's heart, but it seemed that her addiction had consumed her completely.

"You heartless woman!" Drake exclaimed, his voice filled with anguish. "Eleanor is your daughter too! She's fighting for her life, and you can't even spare a thought for her?"

Linda's eyes turned cold, and she turned to leave the room, her parting words dripping with indifference. "I don't have time for your problems, Drake. Figure it out yourself."

As the door slammed shut behind her, Drake's head throbbed, and his heart weighed heavy. The apartment felt like a prison of despair as he sat there, his hands trembling with a mixture of anger, self-hatred, and overwhelming self-pity.

“This damn life!”

Unable to contain his frustration any longer, he clenched his fist and slammed it against the grimy wall.

"Why is this happening to me?" he muttered to himself, his voice quivering with emotion. "My work... my mother... why can't I rely on them when I need them the most?"

As tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, something utterly inexplicable occurred. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint, shimmering light, akin to a celestial glow, emanating from the room's center.

Startled and disoriented, Drake turned toward the source of the illumination. To his astonishment, a holographic window materialized in the air before him, casting a soft, ethereal glow throughout the room. It was unlike anything he had ever seen—a surreal and otherworldly presence.

In the center of the holographic window, words began to form, their script elegant and mysterious. Drake's heart raced as he read the message:

"Congratulations, Drake Chwe. You have met the requirements to receive the Tribute System."

The words hung in the air, their meaning elusive and enigmatic. Drake's confusion and astonishment were palpable as he stammered, "Tribute System? What is this? Who are you?"

Before his very eyes, the holographic window seemed to respond, as if a sentient presence were communicating with him.

"I am the embodiment of the Tribute System, bestowed upon those who have impressed a minor god with their sincerity and desperation. Your offering at the temple was recognized, and you have been chosen."

Drake's mind reeled with disbelief. It was as if he had stepped into the realm of myth and legend. He couldn't comprehend the significance of what was happening.

The holographic window continued, "As a recipient of the Tribute System, you are granted access to a wealth beyond imagination—one quintillion coins, to be precise. With this power, you can change your fate, protect your sister, and seek justice for the wrongs done to you."

Drake's eyes widened in astonishment as he glanced at the holographic window's status bar. It displayed a staggering figure – "1,000,000,000,000,000,000 coins." It was beyond his wildest dreams, a sum that could lift him from the depths of despair and grant him the power to face the savage world of power.

But Drake couldn't hear the rest of what the system was saying as his consciousness betrayed him. He collapsed at the mere sight of an 18-digit fortune.

"There’s no way I have a quintillion coins."