The exam hall of St. Helens Academy was a cathedral of silence and pressure. Rows of gleaming mahogany desks stretched across the sunlit chamber, polished so well that they reflected faint outlines of the students hunched over their papers. The golden insignia of the school—an ornate "S" intertwined with a sword and laurel—was embroidered onto every banner hanging from the walls, a constant reminder that the academy was not just a school but a fortress of legacy for the wealthy elite.
For Ethan Ivers, however, that insignia was less a symbol of pride and more of suffocation. He was a scholarship student, the kind who slipped through the gates of this gilded prison by sheer willpower and test scores rather than money. Even now, sitting at his desk near the back of the hall, he could feel the weight of invisible eyes: classmates who never let him forget that he didn't belong. His shirt was clean but fraying at the cuffs, his shoes polished but clearly worn thin, and his cheap mechanical pencil clicked louder in the silence than anyone else's expensive fountain pens.
The exam paper lay before him, filled with equations and essay prompts. Ethan's mind should have been on the questions, yet a different glow tugged at his vision.
—Draw a card.
The words pulsed faintly across the corner of his vision, as though etched into the very air. Nobody else reacted. The system had appeared again.
Ethan swallowed, his throat dry. He had barely recovered from the shock of its first awakening a Yesterday—when blood on one of his father's old, mysterious cards had triggered the strange interface that called itself the Money Deck System. It had spoken to him, explained fragments of rules, and even forced him into a mission once. But this… this was different.
He had just set down his pen after scrawling the final solution to a math problem when the prompt shimmered before him. His hand, almost moving on its own, tapped the faint glowing word: [Draw].
The world around him didn't change—the ticking clock at the front of the room still counted down mercilessly, students still scribbled in silence—but before Ethan's eyes, two cards materialized. They floated in midair, visible only to him.
One card bore the mark of ♣ Clubs. Its surface pulsed with a faint green light, etched with an image of gears and weights. Ethan instinctively knew what it meant: Effort-based missions. Work. Sweat. Physical grind.
The other card gleamed brighter, its surface sharp like polished glass. A ♦ Diamond, glowing with golden motes that seemed to hum with promise. This one was different. He could feel it in his chest—the pull of possibility. Money-based missions. Earn. Trade. Prosper.
Ethan's fingers trembled above the two options.
Clubs meant pain, probably another mission that would test his body like the last one. But Diamonds… Diamonds promised wealth. Real money. And money was what he needed most. Tuition fees loomed like a guillotine, debts piled up at home, and he was tired of being the poor boy among the golden heirs of St. Helens.
His choice was immediate. He tapped the glowing ♦ Diamond.
The card flared, and text began to appear across its surface, elegant letters etching themselves as though written by an unseen hand:
[Mission Generated: ♦ Two of Diamonds]Objective: —
But before the words fully formed, a sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Five minutes remaining," the proctor announced.
Ethan jolted, his focus snapping back to the real world. Panic surged. He was still in an exam, and if he stared too long at this phantom screen, someone might notice his blank eyes, his distracted state. He couldn't risk that—not here, not now.
With a mental shove, he dismissed the screen. The golden glow winked out, leaving only the ink-stained exam paper before him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
He checked his answers once, twice, then exhaled and stood. His desk scraped softly against the polished floor as he carried his paper to the front. The proctor raised an eyebrow.
"Finished early?"
"Yes, sir," Ethan murmured, voice even though his nerves buzzed with the afterimage of the diamond card. He placed the paper down and stepped away.
That was when the stares began.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the sneers and smirks of classmates. A few whispered behind raised hands. Others didn't bother hiding their scorn. To them, Ethan leaving early could only mean one thing: he had given up. The poor scholarship student, beaten by the exam, surrendering.
Adrian Rutherford, heir to the Rutherford banking dynasty and Ethan's most consistent tormentor, leaned back in his seat with a crooked grin. His voice carried just loud enough for Ethan to hear as he passed.
"Must be nice not to care about grades when you're already failing out."
A few students snickered. The sound stabbed deeper than the words. Ethan didn't reply. He had learned silence was his shield here. Still, each laugh lodged like a thorn under his skin.
He walked steadily toward the doors, spine straight though his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Inside, though, the storm raged.
If only they knew.
He wanted to scream it. He wanted to tell them that he wasn't walking out because he'd given up, but because reality itself had placed something far more important before him. A system. A power. A chance to claw his way out of the mud they'd shoved his face into since the day he set foot here.
But of course, no one would believe him.
The heavy doors closed behind him with a hollow thud, sealing the whispers inside. The corridor outside was blessedly empty, quiet except for the echo of his own footsteps.
Ethan leaned against the cool marble wall, inhaling deeply. The phantom glow of the diamond card lingered in his vision, teasing him with the half-formed mission description.
What was it going to say? he wondered, frustration knotting in his chest. The system had handed him something—something that could be the key to money, to survival—and he had been forced to dismiss it.
He raked a hand through his messy black hair, willing his heartbeat to steady. The proctor's voice, the scornful glares, Adrian's smirk—they all replayed in his mind. But more than that, the gleam of the ♦ Diamond haunted him.
For years, Ethan had survived on scraps. Hand-me-downs. Stale bread from the corner bakery at closing hour. He had taken the scholarship at St. Helens not because he wanted prestige, but because it was his only ticket toward a future where he wasn't chained to poverty. Yet even here, even with his mind sharper than half the heirs around him, he was treated like dirt.
The diamond card represented more than just a mission. It represented a door. A chance to step off the path of powerlessness.
But he hadn't seen the objective. He had no idea what the system wanted of him.
Ethan wanted to check but he knew he had exams and had to read checking will not help him.
At that moment, the bell tower of St. Helens tolled in the distance, its sound rolling through the ancient stone walls. The exam was nearly over, and soon the hall would disgorge its stream of rich heirs, their polished shoes tapping against marble, their laughter sharp as knives.
Ethan pushed himself away from the wall and began walking. He had another paper to study for, and little time. His path wound through the grand corridors lined with portraits of past benefactors—stern men in suits, regal women in gowns—all staring down at him with painted disdain.
He ignored them. He had learned to ignore a lot. But he couldn't ignore the lingering thrum in his chest, the echo of the diamond's glow.
The system had chosen him. And whether he was ready or not, his life was no longer his own.