BANG! CLANG! CRASH!


The noise inside the conference room was impressive and lasted for quite a while. The crowd outside automatically filled in the mental image of a fierce battle to the death.


Ten minutes later, the conference room doors swung open. Old Jerry looked like he was ready to breathe fire, while Max looked like a kicked puppy searching for a place to hide.


"What are you still standing there for?" Jerry barked, his face a shade of angry purple. "Get out there and find me some clients! If you miss your quota again this month, you can pack your things!"


"Right. On it." Max slumped his shoulders, keeping his head down as he shuffled out of the office, the picture of total submission.


Behind the glass wall of his own office, Vincent Vance watched the scene unfold, a cold, satisfied sneer curling his lip.




"Ugh."


Outside the building, Max sighed, staring up at the sky. It had turned gray and gloomy, matching his mood perfectly. No sales, a boss who wanted his head on a platter, and he'd managed to drag Uncle Joe into the mess, too.


Why was trying to make it in the big city so impossible?


"Hey! Nice acting back there."


Max felt a heavy hand clap onto his shoulder. He didn't even have to look to know it was Marco.


Max glanced sideways. "You know, you hear everything."


"It's Old Jerry. Everyone knows the drill," Marco grinned. "If you want to survive in sales, you gotta have an eagle eye. Read the room, right?"


Max winced. He couldn't help but think about Uncle Joe's harsh evaluation from earlier. "Let me guess," Max muttered. "You think I'm not cut out for sales either?"


Marco's eyes went wide, giving him a look that said Are you kidding me? "Is it even a question of being 'cut out' for it?"


"Uh..." Max felt his stomach drop. Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy.


VROOM! VROOM-VROOM!


A sleek red Mustang screeched to a halt right next to them, the engine revving aggressively as if the car itself was screaming, Look at me!


"Yo! Marco, my brother! Where you headed? Need a lift?"


Max looked at the driver. It was a young guy with a pierced ear and a smug grin that looked practically glued to his face. He looked familiar—one of the guys from the other sales team.


"Chad?" Marco laughed, walking up to slap the hood of the flashy ride. "Quite the upgrade, huh?"


"Heh! Just made a little pocket change from some investments," Chad beamed, leaning out the window. "Not bad, right?"


"Not bad? Dude, clothes make the man, but the car makes the legend. You're living the high life now. What is this, sixty grand?"


"Sixty grand exactly. Good luck charm!" Chad preened.


"Damn! You hit the jackpot?"


"Just playing the market," Chad said, waving a hand dismissively. "Stock market."


"Which one? That's insane."


"Don't say I never look out for you," Chad lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Horizon Oil. The one underneath Horizon Energy. Thing is going to the moon lately. You guys should get in on it."


Marco shook his head. "Nah, I'll pass. Your team is crushing it with commissions, but I'm living paycheck to paycheck over here. I don't have the capital to gamble."


"Suit yourself. Just don't come crying to me when I'm rich," Chad laughed. "Sure you don't want a ride?"


"I'm good, gotta hit the gym. Catch you later."


"Alright, gym rat. See ya. I got a date waiting anyway, met her yesterday. She is hot."


Before peeling out, Chad shot a glance at Max—a look purely filled with disdain.


VROOM! The red Mustang roared away, turning heads all down the street.


Marco turned back to find Max standing frozen on the sidewalk, looking like he'd been struck by lightning.


"Yo! You okay?"


"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I'm fine." Max snapped out of it, his expression unreadable. "That guy... he's in Group One?"


"Yeah, Chad. Family is loaded—politics, government connections, the works. He started same time as me. He's doing well, mostly because he knows people. But, as you saw," Marco rolled his eyes, "he loves to flex."


Marco was a human encyclopedia. He knew everyone, and somehow, he got along with everyone, from the janitors to the CEOs.


"Chad..." Max muttered, rubbing his chin.


First, it was Tony giving him a frantic sales pitch. Then the disaster at work. Now, Chad Chen rubbing his nose in a luxury car.


And coincidentally, everyone was talking about Horizon Oil and Horizon Energy.


Max felt like he was having a Captain Hindsight moment in real-time.


Suppose he hadn't read that mysterious "journal" he found... would his life have followed the exact script written in those pages?


Think about it. He's broke, desperate, and humiliated. Suddenly, a "proven" way to get rich quick is dangled right in front of his face.


Why does a jerk like Chad get the car and the girl while Max can't even pay rent?


I told myself I wasn't impulsive, Max thought. I'd never go into debt to buy stocks. But after a day like this? It's a triple-combo knockout punch. The universe is practically begging me to make a stupid mistake.


It was a lightbulb moment. Max suddenly saw the invisible strings pulling him.


This was "The Future" trying to happen.


Marco saw the intense look on Max's face and frowned, assuming Max was jealous of the car. "Hey, look. Don't get any funny ideas, alright?"


"Hmm? What kind of ideas?" Max looked up, blinking.


"I mean it. I thought you looked like you wanted to jump into the stock market. Take my advice: the market is risky. You can lose your shirt."


"No way. Me? Stocks? In this lifetime..."


Max stopped mid-sentence.


Wait.


He had been so focused on avoiding the mistakes in the journal—trying not to repeat the disastrous future. But he had missed the obvious.


The "pitfalls" listed in the journal... the events that were supposed to ruin him...


If he knew they were coming, they weren't traps.


They were opportunities.


It was time for a little reverse psychology.


Who could have predicted a stock market crash was just around the corner?


This was it. The Holy Grail of insider trading. The ultimate information gap.


There was just one tiny, insignificant problem: Max was currently sweating over next month's rent. Where exactly was a guy who counted pennies for instant noodles supposed to find the capital to play the stock market?


Max sat in silence for a long moment before looking up, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes.


"So... any chance I could borrow a few bucks?"


Marco stared at him. The silence was loud.


......


Unsurprisingly, the "few bucks" did not materialize.


In fact, Marco didn't just refuse; he stormed off with a face like a thundercloud. So much for brotherhood. The ship of friendship didn't just sail; it hit an iceberg and sank.


Borrowing money really was the ultimate friendship test, Max decided. He sighed, scanned a QR code for a rental bike, and pedaled furiously back to his studio apartment.


The moment he got inside, he went into full lockdown mode. Up the stairs. Door shut. Deadbolt thrown. For good measure, he dragged a pile of junk in front of the door.


He yanked the curtains closed and swept the room with his phone's camera, checking for the infrared glint of hidden spy cams.


Once he was satisfied the security level was upgraded to DEFCON 1, Max finally relaxed enough to retreat to the bedroom and click on the desk lamp.


He fished the journal out of the trash can—the same book, The Tragic Life of Max Mason, that he'd wanted to incinerate yesterday. He placed it on the desk with the care of a bomb disposal technician and wiped off a smudge of coffee grounds.


Thank god he hadn't gone pyro on it yesterday.


Taking a deep breath, he opened the cover. He moved gently, like a devout monk opening an ancient scripture.


But then he froze.


"Huh?"


The ink... why did it look faded?


Max adjusted the lamp, squinting at the page. He wasn't imagining it. If the font had been bold black last night, the opacity slider had definitely been dragged down to 50%.


Since when does ink just decide to ghost you? Max stared, dumbfounded.


And even as he watched, the text seemed to get lighter.


He rubbed his eyes. Nope, not hallucinating.


A thoughtful expression crossed his face. The writing was disappearing... Did that mean his future had already changed?


This wasn't a one-time-use prophecy?


The journal, obviously, didn't answer.


Max's heart started hammering. String theory? Parallel universes? The Butterfly Effect? The Grandfather Paradox?


He racked his brain for a scientific explanation, but it quickly became apparent that his sparse community college physics knowledge wasn't going to crack the secrets of the spacetime continuum.


So, he shifted to more practical questions.


If his actions changed the future, and the book updated to reflect that new future, and reading the new future made him change his actions again...


It was an infinite loop. Did this mean he had unlimited "do-overs"?


Future, are you confused yet?


Because Max sure as hell was.


Suddenly, a violent pounding on the front door snapped him out of his spiral.


Max slammed the book shut, seized by the panic of a kid getting caught with a dirty magazine.


He waved the book around frantically. Under the pillow? The closet?


Nowhere felt safe. In a moment of desperation, he shoved it inside his jacket and zipped it all the way up.


......


Outside, the woman knocked again, louder this time.


She was wearing baggy sportswear, but it didn't hide the fact that she was tall, statuesque, and possessed a pair of eyebrows sharp enough to cut glass.


Most intimidating of all was the keyring in her hand. It held dozens of keys that jangled like the chains of a dungeon master.


Click.


Max cracked the door open, peering out with one suspicious eye.


"What took you so long?" the woman demanded.


"Oh, hey, Vivian. Sorry, I was... in the shower," Max lied, his voice cracking slightly.


It was Vivian, the owner of the studio apartment. They'd only met twice: once when he moved in, and once when she came to hunt him down for rent.


Rumor had it she owned the whole building. Max could only mentally sigh. Another trust fund baby living the dream while he scraped by.


"Shower?" Vivian squinted through the crack. "In the middle of the day?"


She noticed the room behind him was pitch black. No lights, curtains drawn tight.


Who showers in the dark with the curtains pulled?


Is he messing with me?


Vivian tried to shove the door open to investigate, but it hit a solid wall of junk. It wouldn't budge.


She froze, then her face went red.


"Hey! You testing my patience? I've been collecting rent for a long time, but this is the first time someone's tried to barricade themselves in! Open this door!"


"Whoa, whoa! Don't misunderstand! It's not a barricade! I just... I have security issues when I shower! I block the door to feel safe!


"Plus, I'm naked! You can't come in right now!"


Max panicked as he saw her literally rolling up her sleeves, looking ready to kick the door off its hinges.


"Bullshit! Insecure about showering? Who do you think you are, Brad Pitt?"


"My mom said I have to protect myself when I'm living alone..."


They stared at each other. The silence stretched, becoming thick and awkward.


Vivian looked Max up and down—or at least the slice of him hiding behind the door. She processed the dark room, the blocked door, the "nakedness." Her expression shifted from anger to disgust.


"Young man," she sneered, "you need to learn some self-control."


Control what? Max blinked, confused. There was definitely a misunderstanding happening here.


"Whatever. I'm not interested in your private hobbies. When are you paying last month's rent?"


"Uh... about that..." Max gave a weak, awkward smile.


"Could you give me a few more days? Once my paycheck hits, I'll pay for this month and last month together."


"Fine," she said, her keys jangling as she turned. "But I run a business. Interest is ten percent."


Vivian's face was stone cold—strictly business.


"Fine!" Max gritted his teeth.


Damn. She's greedier than a loan shark, he thought.


Vivian didn't bother wasting another second on him. She spun around and rapped on the door next to his.


Max let out a breath he'd been holding and quickly shut his own door. The walls in the tenements were paper-thin, though. Through the wood, he could hear Vivian shifting gears, her voice dripping with sweetness as she spoke to the little girl next door.


"Hi, Vivian."


"Lily, look at you! So polite. You're getting cuter every day. You're going to be a knockout when you grow up. Come give me a kiss, mua~."


"Thanks, Vivian. My mom isn't home right now."


"Not home again?" Vivian tsked. "I know work is important, but honestly, she can't just keep leaving you here all alone. It's ridiculous."


"It's okay. I can do my homework by myself. I don't need her to babysit me."


"Oh, my little sweetheart. You are so sensible it actually breaks my heart. You tell your mom to make more time for you, okay?"


"Okay, thanks Vivian!"


"Alright, I'm taking off. Lock the door tight. Don't open it for anyone. Especially that creepy guy next door."


Max bristled behind his door. Creepy guy? Seriously?


"I know," the girl's voice piped up. "Except for Mom and Vivian, I won't open up for anyone."


"Good girl."


Max heard the door click shut, followed by the clack-clack-clack of Vivian's heels fading down the hallway. He ground his teeth in annoyance.