Chapter 65: Avatar: The Way of Money $$

When heaven and the very existence of reality are on your side like they are for me right now, shit just flows. Everything clicks like I’m the main character and everyone else is background noise in my personal simulation. It finally makes sense—and honestly? I deserve this kind of luck.

Sixteen fucking years of chaos, silence, and pressure. The only constants in my life? My sisters, my mom, my brain, and Tommy’s dependable ass—though I was sure I will now barely see that giant anymore since Mia will be dragging him into that coding grind, thinking it was there way of making out.

But whatever. Ever since the system activated and I became some sort of sexual messiah-slash-financial mastermind, the universe’s been rolling out the red carpet. The way things are lining up now? It’s almost scary how perfect the timing feels.

So when I got home and saw Mom in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes in the same cracked-ass sink she’s been fighting for three years, something cracked in my chest. She looked exhausted—the kind of tired that doesn’t come from just working hard, but from carrying a family on her back while juggling double shifts and still counting quarters at the register.

"Mom," I said, my voice hitching just a little. "Can we talk?"

She turned around, eyebrows drawn together, instantly scanning me like I’d just come home from war. "What’s wrong, dear?"

"Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna explain my trading plan to you."

She dried her hands on that same old dish towel—frayed at the edges, faded from too many washes—and sat across from me at the wobbly table we’ve had since I was six. "Peter, are you sure about this? Trading is risky, baby. What if you lose money we don’t have?"

The way she said that—money we don’t have—felt like a punch straight to my ribs. This woman had skipped meals at her work, worn the same pair of shoes until the soles flapped, and yet she was still worried about

me

blowing money we didn’t even have to lose.

"Mom, I’ve been studying the markets and crypto for months. I know what I’m doing. Don’t worry." I tried to keep my voice calm, steady—but even I could hear the shake underneath.

"But what if—"

"I won’t lose money," I cut in gently, then softened my tone. "Just trust me on this. I’ve got enhanced... I mean, I’ve got really strong analytical skills now."

She stared at me for a good few seconds—really stared. Like she was trying to decode me, trying to decide if her son had finally snapped or if I’d just evolved into something new. "You seem different lately. More confident."

"I am different," I said quietly. "And I’m gonna make us enough money to change everything."

The words left my mouth thick with emotion I hadn’t planned for, and when I saw her eyes glass over with tears she tried to blink away, I almost lost it. "Okay, baby. I trust you," she whispered. "I’ve always trusted you."

Then she reached across the table and squeezed my hand, her fingers rough and calloused from years of cleaning up other people’s messes in hospitals and nursing homes. That pressure—the quiet love in her touch—nearly wrecked me. She had given me everything she had, and now... now it was finally my turn.

*

Around 7 PM, Madison knocked on our door—and brought with her something that made me question whether I was hallucinating.

"Surprise, mi amor," she grinned, standing there like she owned the universe.

Behind her, two delivery guys were hauling in this massive-ass box.

"Madison, what the hell is that?" I asked, already short of breath just from the

vibe

of the moment.

"Your new trading setup," she said, like it was no big deal. "Can’t crash markets on a laptop screen, babe. You need multiple charts, real-time feeds, order books... it’s like trying to perform brain surgery with a butter knife when you’re using one tab."

I just stood there, watching these guys carry in what was clearly a beast of a monitor—curved, high-res, the kind of shit you see in tech flex videos. "Holy shit, Madison," I muttered. "This thing probably costs more than our grocery shopping for half the year."

"Don’t even try arguing," she said, firm but still soft. "You’re about to make us rich, right? Consider this an investment."

That’s when Sarah and Emma popped up behind me, jaws basically on the floor.

"Is that a 55-inch curved monitor?" Sarah blinked, frozen in disbelief.

"Gaming setup goals," Emma added like she was witnessing magic. "Madison, how much did this

cost

?"

Madison just winked. "That’s between me and my boyfriend."

I looked at my sisters and saw something change in their eyes. They kept touching the box, like they were afraid it would vanish. Their whole lives, we’d been making do with hand-me-downs, used-up tech, barely working remotes—and now this massive, expensive monster of a screen had just walked into our house like it belonged here.

And the craziest part? It did.

Twenty minutes later, I was posted up at my new setup with Madison hugging me from behind the chair, and honestly? I felt like my heart might just explode from the pressure building in my chest.

This was the first time I’d ever brought a girl into my

room

—my actual room, with secondhand furniture and Walmart clothes—and I was dying to impress her. Like, really show her who her boyfriend was. Not just some broke-ass high schooler, but someone with the kind of market intuition that would make Wall Street pros sweat.

The monitor in front of me was

massive

, casting this soft blue glow over everything in my small-ass room. And somehow, it made the space feel different—cleaner, sharper. More professional. Like I was sitting in a billion-dollar trading den instead of a tiny corner of the house.

I wanted to start trading

now

and build something fast, because I wasn’t gonna have this much free time for long. Active trading eats time for breakfast. Some people can’t even buy a few stocks and bounce—you’ve gotta babysit every position like it’s your kid sometimes. And soon, the SP from my sexual liberation missions would be coming in hot, worth way more than I could make just staring at charts.

I make not less than 200Sp even with casual sex. That right there is $20k. So, trading will just be my additional for my SP dollars I make from pleasure. Not my main thing.

This was my window before I became too busy. My moment to build a nest egg before the empire started growing on its own.

"Are you nervous?" Madison asked, arms still wrapped tight around my shoulders. I could feel her breath ghosting against my ear.

"Fuck yeah, I’m nervous," I said, my hand shaking as I moved the mouse. "I’ve never had real money before. Like...

ever

."

"Babe," she whispered, pressing her chest closer to my back. "You’re about to have

a lot

of real money. Show me how this system thing works."

I cracked my knuckles, trying to stop the trembling.

"Alright," I muttered. "Time to see what we’re working with."

I inhaled like it was the last breath of my broke-ass life.

"System, what’s my current SP balance?"

[DING! Current SP Balance: 3670 SP]

Madison gasped loud enough to make me jump, her whole body tensing behind me. She stared at the floating text like it was a damn UFO. "Holy

fuck

, Peter. That’s real? It’s just... floating there?"

"Yeah, and watch this." My voice was cracking with excitement. "System, break down where these points came from."

[Breakdown:

– Library encounter with Madison: 2500 SP– Range Rover public session: 490 SP– Additional intimate encounters: 580 SP– Original 100SP.

Total accumulated: 3670 SP]

"Wait..." she said softly, her eyes narrowing as she read over my shoulder. "You get points every time we...?"

"Every time we do

anything

sexual," I confirmed, feeling weirdly exposed. "And at $100 per point, that’s—"

"

Three hundred fifty-seven thousand dollars,

" she finished, her voice full of stunned awe. "Peter, that’s... that’s more than most people see in, like, five years."

The number hit me like a truck.

$367,000.