He tapped the air. The HUD pulsed once like a heartbeat.
[Attribute point assigned.][CASHBACK PERK: Upgraded to Tier-2][New range: ×0 to ×4][Daily cap increased]
Behind the glow, Dylan's chair creaked. "Okay, prophet, you ready to eat? If I keep gaming on an empty stomach, I'm going to start making choices my therapist would call 'teachable.'"
"Food's smart," Alex said, standing. His hand still hung where the panel had been, and he let it fall like nothing happened. "Let's hit someplace with walls and forks."
Dylan grabbed a hoodie, then remembered shirts were a thing and yanked one over his head while walking, arms windmilling through sleeves. "Jack texted he's at the library pretending to love books. We can bring him fries as a peace offering."
The hall smelled like somebody's attempt at chili. They took the stairs because the elevator had been unreliable since freshman welcome week. Each landing gave Alex more room to believe the panel wasn't a hallucination. Outside, the sky wore late-afternoon gold. Lawn sprinklers ticked somewhere. A frisbee went wide and died in a bush.
Dylan talked the whole way. "So what really happened with the date? Because you came back with 'I've seen the void and it owes me rent' energy."
"Scheduling issue," Alex said, which was technically true if you counted death as a scheduling issue.
"Brutal. We celebrate your freedom with pie."
They cut past the arts building - glass, angles, a giant welded sculpture everyone politely ignored - and down toward downtown. On the corner, a neon sign promised coffee and pie. The diner's door propped open, letting out the smell of butter and onions and heat.
Inside: booths in cherry vinyl, a counter that had seen both elections and breakups, one shiny pie display. At the host stand, the manager ran a card again and again, face settling into that thin line service people get when technology refuses to participate.
"I'm telling you, it worked at lunch," said a girl with a sketchbook hugged to her chest. She was tall in a way that made space for other people, blunt bangs, a crisp black sundress with paint on the strap like a signature. Beside her, another girl rummaged in a tote with rising panic. The first one tried for casual and landed on proud. "I can Venmo, Apple Pay, Cash App, carrier pigeon -"
"Our terminal's down," the manager said, not unkind. "No tap, no mobile. It's the bank, not you."
"We can go to an ATM," the second girl said. "Do you guys… keep the ID hostage, or do we leave a phone?"
Alex knew that voice before he saw the face fully. It had the stage-ready cadence of someone who'd been told since childhood that people were listening. When she half-turned, the light caught her cheekbone and he recognized what his memory had filed under Ivy Monroe, arts department, never carried exact change, could end a room with a look if she wanted. She didn't look at anyone like a weapon now. She looked like a person who had run out of moves in a public place.
Dylan leaned in. "This is the part where we pretend to be heroes, right? Because I love pretending."
Alex stepped forward because he didn't have to pretend. "How much is the damage?"
The manager glanced at the printed check. "Fifty-eight before tip."
Alex pulled his wallet, keeping his hands slow and normal. The HUD didn't need gestures, but his skin buzzed like it expected fireworks. He set a card on the counter. "Run it together with ours. We'll take a booth."
Ivy turned fully then, eyes flicking over him the way people scan headlines - fast, trained, ready to dismiss until something snags. Something snagged.
"You don't need to -" she began.
"It's easier than watching you negotiate a prisoner exchange for your phone," Alex said, keeping it light. "Just leave your names. Pay me back later when the century cooperates."
"The century rarely cooperates," Ivy said, and allowed a thin smile that apologized for the situation without conceding an inch of dignity. "Ivy. This is Jenna."
"Alex," he said. "That's Dylan."
Dylan waved like a golden retriever auditioning for a car commercial. "Hi. We were always going to be here, spiritually."
The manager slid the card into an ancient reader with the reluctance of a man feeding a tiger. The little display blinked green. Alex let his eyes unfocus past the counter. The HUD didn't announce itself with trumpets - it just did its job.
[Bank Alert: Pending debit $58.00 - DOWNTOWN DINER][Would you like to add tip?]
He glanced at the tip line on the paper, did the math, and said, "Make it seventy."
The manager nodded, punched buttons, and the receipt scrolled out like old-fashioned magic.
[Bank Alert: Completed debit $70.00 - DOWNTOWN DINER][Tier-2 CASHBACK roll…][Result: ×4][Cashback credited: $280.00][Daily cap remaining: adequate]
The number hit like cold water and heat at once. He kept his face where he'd trained it years ago - when a director insulted your rate and you smiled like it was a favor. His phone buzzed in his pocket with the bank SMS that mirrored the HUD in ordinary human words.
[Bank Text: +$280.00 Cashback - DOWNTOWN DINER (×4)]
Dylan's eyebrows tried to escape his forehead. He couldn't see the HUD, but the text lit Alex's lock screen through the fabric.
"You tip like that and the phone pays you back?" he whispered. "Am I having a stroke?"
"Bank promo," Alex said, truly, if by bank he meant a system that refused to explain its compliance department. He took the receipt and slid it into the book. "We good?"
"We are very good," the manager said, the thin line at his mouth relaxing into gratitude. "You're a lifesaver."
"More like a round mint," Dylan said, and then to Ivy: "You just met the most financially interesting man on campus."
Ivy hoisted her sketchbook higher. Up close, the paint on her strap wasn't careless - it was placed, a visible choice. "You sure you don't want me to stand in line at an ATM right now? I'm not allergic to cash."
"Tomorrow's fine," Alex said. "Or transfer later. No rush."
She studied him long enough that the compliment of it almost felt like scrutiny. Then she said, "Give me your number, Alex who is not allergic to cash, so I can clear the ledger like a person who respects math."
He unlocked his phone and created a new contact. The HUD sat in the periphery like a cat on a high shelf, content it had done something elegant.
"Ivy Monroe," she said, spelling it because people always asked for the e even when there wasn't one. He didn't need the spelling.
Jenna chimed in, finally victorious over her tote. "Found my emergency fiver, which is not useful for seventy dollars, but look, I feel proactive."
"Your proactivity is noted," Dylan said solemnly.
They took the corner booth. Vinyl sighed. Alex faced the room; Dylan took the wall; Ivy and Jenna slid in across to wait for their to-go bag - the manager comped a pie as penance from the gods of card readers.
Dylan tried subtlety the way a marching band tries whispering. "So," he said to the sugar caddy, "bank promo."
Alex sipped water. "Yep."
"Like a… seasonal thing."
"Limited time," Alex said. Not a lie. Everything was limited, if you zoomed out far enough.
Jenna peeked over the booth back. "My roommate got twenty bucks once for opening a checking account that came with a toaster. Is your toaster made of diamonds?"
"It burns the house down in just two minutes," Alex said, deadpan.
Ivy's phone lit her face. She was already in her banking app, the motions familiar and muscle-memory quick. "What's your number?"
He recited it. A second later, his phone buzzed.
[Bank Text: Incoming transfer $58.00 - IVY MONROE][TIER-1 MONEY PERK roll…][Result: ×3][Critical received: $116.00 bonus][Total credited: $174.00]
The HUD threw confetti in the smallest possible way - just a neat confirmation. Dylan's eyes widened again at the second glow-through.
"GameStop called," he whispered. "They want to study your phone for science."
"Still the promo," Alex said, and slid the device face down, letting his pulse find a slower rhythm. The room was suddenly too bright with potential. Money in, money out. Both levers moved today and neither had ripped his arm off.
"Thank you," Ivy said, sober now. "Seriously. You didn't have to step in. People don't, mostly."
"It was easier than letting you pawn your friend's tote," Alex said.
"It's vintage," Jenna said gravely. "I would do crime."
A waitress set down their plates - burgers, fries, a confidence of pickles. Conversation devolved in the presence of food as it should. Dylan narrated his first bite like he was auditioning for a cooking show. Ivy drew the line of a ketchup bottle's shadow with a thumbnail when she thought no one watched.
Between one bite and the next, Dylan's tone softened. "You okay, man? Earlier you had the thousand-yard stare. You can tell me if you saw a ghost or, like, ate lasagna that looked back."
Alex watched the light travel across Ivy's hair as the door opened and closed, the way she tracked it unconsciously - someone used to catching how things fell on surfaces. He could say I died on a set and woke up with a ledger only I can see. He could say I intend to become the kind of person the world rearranges itself around. He said, "It was a day."
"Fair," Dylan said. "If the promo keeps prom-oing, I'm open to mentorship."
"First lesson," Alex said, "don't say prom-oing in public."
"Cruel."
The manager returned with Ivy's bag and an apology slice boxed neatly with wax paper. Ivy stood, the movement clean and decided. "We owe you coffee," she said to Alex. It wasn't a question. It wasn't quite a promise either.
"I keep office hours in the general vicinity of this town," Alex said.
"Great." She tapped the box. "We do bribes."
Jenna saluted with a fork she'd smuggled for reasons known only to Jenna. They drifted toward the door in a small weather system of gratitude and secondhand embarrassment. Ivy paused, adjusted her bag, looked at him once more like she was filing a reference photo, and left.
Dylan blew out a breath. "So. That happened. You were cool."
"It was nothing," Alex said, and tried to mean it less than it was.
His phone buzzed again. He glanced down.
[Bank Text: +$280.00 Cashback - DOWNTOWN DINER (×4) - Confirmed][Daily cap remaining: adequate]
The HUD mirrored it with clean, unfussy lines. Dylan caught the glow, not the words. He leaned in, voice low with the intensity of gossip. "Dude… what are you?"
The question landed in the booth like a live wire. Alex felt the shape of an answer form - something between truth and a story that people could live with.
He set the phone down face-up for once, let the white panel reflect in his eyes without meaning to, and said, "A guy who finally learned how to tip in the right direction."
Dylan stared, grinned like a man who had decided to believe in magic if it meant fries, and said, "Teach me."
The door chimed. A new table laughed. The pie display rotated another quarter turn.
Alex's screen pulsed again, a gentle insistence.
[Recommendation: Set custom notifications?][Public visibility: LOW / MEDIUM / HIGH]
He didn't touch it yet. He let the options hang, open doors in a house he hadn't finished mapping. Across the glass, his face looked calm enough to belong to someone who had always known he'd land here.
And for a second, he almost did.