Carlos's simple line, "Grandpa's not tired," completely melted the livestream chat. Comments flooded with "đ" and "I'm crying," as viewers began sharing stories about their own parents or grandparents working tough jobs. The mood shifted from sarcasm to something warm and collective.
"Thanks, Carlos. That's a wrap for today," Nicky said, waving before ending the stream. The moment the screen went dark, she let out a long breathâfinally releasing the tension that had built up all afternoon. Her work vest was damp with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
She and Carlos found the foreman to collect their pay. When she received her cash, Nicky pulled out an extra $20 and handed it to Carlos. "For lending me your phone and being on stream today. Call it a⊠cut from the stream revenue."
Carlos waved his hands, looking uneasy. "No, no, it was just a phone. I can't take your money."
"Take it," she insisted, tucking the bills into his hand. She then added him on WhatsApp. "If you hear about more delivery gigs, hit me up. We look out for each other." Before he could protest, she sent another $50 via transfer with the note: "Advance for the next job. No arguments."
Carlos stared at his phone, eyes slightly redâin three years at the warehouse, no one had ever treated him with this much respect. He clenched the cash and nodded firmly. "Okay! Next job, I'll call you for sure!"
After saying goodbye, Nicky boarded the bus back to the city. The midday sun glared through the window, and the nearly empty bus lulled her into a state of exhaustion. Since waking up in this world, she'd dealt with Condé Nast's collapse, livestreamed her way into manual labor, and pushed nonstop for two days. She was drained.
But there was no time to rest. Eyes closed, she commanded the system: "Exchange all available heat at the usual ratio."
*BeepâProcessing. Available heat: 85,000. Allocated: +2 days lifespan (total: 7 days). $900 USD deposited (source rationalized).*
Nicky opened her eyes slightly. $900 for a day's workânowhere near enough to make a dent in her $137 million debt. But she wasn't worried. She understood the system's rules: positive or negative, attention was currency. She'd keep creating content that pushed boundaries.
As she planned her next stream, her phone rangâthe shrill tone cutting through the quiet bus.
"Sweetie, your phone!" an older woman beside her nudged her, then subtly shifted awayâprobably put off by Nicky's dusty, sweat-stained clothes.
Nicky jolted awake, rubbed her eyes, and fumbled for her phone. An unknown number. She answered, voice groggy. "Hello?"
"Nicky, Ms. Hayes wants you to come to the office." The voice on the other end was hushed, footsteps echoing in the background. "She saw you trending. Be carefulâavoid the paparazzi on your way in."
Nicky paused, unable to place the speaker. Instead, she glanced at the time and asked something entirely unrelated: "Who is this? Does the office cafeteria serve lunch?"
A brief silence, then a flustered gasp. "It'sâit's Leo! Your agent!"
Leo. Right. The original owner's agentâbarely relevant in the original storyline, always pushing for more gigs and clout, and the first to cut ties after the bankruptcy. Nicky yawned into the phone. "Oh, Leo. So? Lunch included or not? I haven't eaten since morning."
Leo stumbled over his words. "Y-Yes, lunch is⊠available. But this is serious! Ms. Hayes wants to talk about your livestreams. This isn't a joke!"
"Got it." Nicky hung up and dropped the phone back into her pocket. She leaned against the window, watching the city blur past. Ms. Hayes was a high-level exec at Spark Entertainmentâthe agency that had built the old Nicky's career by any means necessary. This meeting was definitely about leveraging her sudden "livestream fame."
But that was fine. As long as there was free food and potential clout, she'd play along. A slow smile spread across Nicky's face. Perfect timingâshe wanted to see just how this agency, who'd made a fortune off the old Nicky, planned to "use" her now.