Dex didn't move.
He watched the first minute pass, letting the market settle into its usual lie—false urgency, shallow volume, noise disguised as intent. He'd spent years learning how to wait. This was no different.
Truth be told, he was tempted to use it here.
The simplest cheat. The most powerful one.
If the system truly preserved his memory across reloads, then the rest was trivial. Watch today's top gainer. Reload. Enter early. Exit in the afternoon.
Anyone could do it.
It would work. Almost certainly.
Dex stared at the screen for a few seconds longer.
Then he did it.
He pulled up the movers' list and let the noise fade until one name stood out—NDX. Heavy buying. Clean upward movement. The kind of chart that didn't look explosive yet, but was clearly being accumulated.
He didn't trade, yet.
He just watched.
The day unfolded exactly the way momentum plays always did. A strong open. A steady climb. A pause around midday that shook out the impatient. Then the late rush—people piling in once the gain became impossible to ignore.
By the close, NDX sat near the top of every list.
+80%.
Dex nodded to himself.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That tracks."
The system prompt appeared.
[Reload Save #1] - [12/29/2025 — 09:30 — Newport — Level 1]
He confirmed.
The screen snapped back to the opening bell.
Same chart. Same ticker. Same calm before the rush.
Dex moved immediately this time. He transferred the remaining funds into his trading account and entered early—well before the crowd, before the price began accelerating.
The climb started slowly.
Then faster.
As the gain grew, the movement became rougher. Pullbacks hit harder. Each surge came with sharper swings.
His money wasn't invisible.
By midday, the gain crossed 100%.
Dex didn't wait for the crowd.
He sold at 120%.
The balance has been updated.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
When he checked the chart again, the climb was already breaking down. Without his buying pressure, the stock lost momentum. By the close, it settled far lower than before.
+60%.
Dex understood immediately.
His entry hadn't just ridden the move—it had pushed it. He'd entered with $450,000 and exited with $990,000, a result that would've raised eyebrows if anyone bothered to look closely.
To the outside world, it would pass as luck. Aggressive timing. A risky bet that happened to land.
There was no proof of anything else.
No insider calls. No leaked data. No trail anyone could follow.
The only advantage he'd used was the one thing no one could ever verify—
Dex's mouth curved despite himself.
This shouldn't be real. None of it should be. And yet here he was, staring at a balance just shy of a million dollars—money made in less than a day, clean, untouchable.
He leaned back and let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
"What the hell," he muttered, "I think this will be the start of a really fruitful life, I bet."
[Transaction Review Complete]
He frowned slightly. That was new.
[Net Capital Change: +$540,000]
He scrolled, waiting for the catch.
None came.
Instead—
[Recommendation: Adjust position sizing in high-volatility environments]
[Reason: User actions materially influence market outcome]
Dex let out a slow breath. He dismissed the interface and looked back at the chart, already fading into after-hours quiet.
He could still rewrite the future—but the larger his footprint, the more the world would push back.
That was fine.
He had other ways to make money. Slower ones. Safer ones. Methods that didn't rely on rewriting the day itself.
But for now, this was enough.
Crypto. Small-cap equities. Anything volatile enough to move fast. With the system in place, mistakes weren't permanent. Losses weren't final. Risk had become adjustable.
The interface surfaced again.
[Next Level Requirement] - [Total Net Worth: $5,000,000]
Below it—
[Current Net Worth: $3,590,000]
Dex exhaled softly.
So the apartment counted.
He glanced around the living room—the clean lines, the quiet, the weight of ownership pressing in now that he understood its value. Just under four million in assets, and a large part of it wasn't even liquid.
Expensive didn't begin to cover it.
The daily reward alone had pushed him this far.
If one day's reward could hand him something worth this much…
He didn't rush the thought.
Tomorrow will come either way.
And when it did, he'd see exactly how generous the system intended to be.
His stomach growled, sharp enough to cut through the thought.
Dex blinked, then exhaled quietly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Somewhere between the alley, the ride, and the market, it had stopped being a priority.
Apparently, it was one again.
He stood there a moment longer, glanced once more at the quiet apartment, then headed for the kitchen.
He opened the fridge.
Empty.
Of course.
No food. No drinks. No detergent stacked in the corner. No signs of anyone actually living here yet—just a clean, expensive shell waiting to be filled.
Dex closed the door and rolled his shoulders once.
"Figures."
He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled it open.
A single suit waited inside.
When he slid the cover aside and touched the fabric, he felt it immediately—soft, dense, effortless in a way cheap things never managed. Nothing flashy. Just a dark three-piece accompanied with a dark coat, cut so clean it almost looked plain, until you paid attention.
Anderson & Sheppard.
Saville Row.
Yeah. That explained it.
Anything tied to Savile Row meant the same thing: bespoke, measured, deliberate. The kind of suit you didn't impulse-buy, and definitely didn't get off a rack. Something that really smelled executive.
Someone had thought this through.
It also caused a minor problem.
Wearing a suit like that into a grocery store would draw attention. Not the loud kind—worse. The kind that lingered. Questions without words. Eyes that stayed a second too long.
Dex considered it for all of five seconds.
Then dismissed it.
He needed food. He needed supplies. And he wasn't planning on disappearing anytime soon.
If people noticed, they noticed.
He grabbed the suit anyway.
—------------------------—