The $100 bills lay fanned out on Jackim's bed like a forbidden treasure. Ten crisp notes, their edges sharp, their green ink gleaming under the flickering bulb. He stared at them as if staring long enough might reveal the trick—the hidden string, the sleight of hand, the cruel joke waiting to explode in his face.
But no trick revealed itself.
Jackim lifted one bill to his nose. That smell—fibrous, earthy, a scent he had only whiffed briefly when a cashier once handed him change in a supermarket. His thumb slid over Benjamin Franklin's stern face, feeling the texture. Real. Heavy. Undeniable.
He sat frozen, tall frame hunched, elbows braced on his knees. His lean muscles stretched against the faded fabric of his T-shirt, sweat tracing down his temples. His heart hammered in his chest. He was poor. He had always been poor. And now…
"Ten minutes ago, my wallet was empty," he whispered hoarsely. "Now it's a thousand dollars. How?"
The answer came like a drumbeat in his mind.
[Bragging System Activated.]
The voice again. Calm. Male. Metallic. It carried the weight of something inhuman, yet it spoke to him alone.
[Host has completed initial task. From this moment, every boast you speak with intent shall become reality. The System will issue tasks and challenges. Success grants rewards. Failure… carries consequences.]
Jackim's head shot up. "Consequences?"
[Failure to complete a brag task results in penalty. Severity depends on task level.]
His stomach twisted. The air suddenly felt thin in the little room. He had begged the universe for a chance, a single opportunity to rise, but now the chance came wrapped in rules and risks.
He pushed himself up and paced the floor, his tall shadow stretching against the stained wall. His jeans rubbed rough against his thighs, his sneakers squeaked against cracked linoleum. He couldn't stay still.
The System was real. The money was real. Which meant the danger was real too.
"What are you?" he asked the empty air.
[I am the Bragging System. I exist to elevate you beyond poverty, beyond humiliation. Through boasting, you shall gain wealth, power, and status. The more outrageous the brag, the greater the reward.]
Jackim's chest rose and fell. Wealth. Power. Status. The very things he had been denied.
A bitter laugh slipped past his lips. "So you're telling me… all I have to do is brag? Something I've never had the right to do, because I was born with nothing?"
[Correction: Now you are born again—with everything.]
His pulse raced. He turned back to the bed, to the pile of money staring back at him like green eyes. His body shivered—not from fear, but from something rawer. Hunger.
The taste of power, just one sip, was enough to awaken every starving part of him.
The phone buzzed again. A text from Kelvin.
Kelvin: Don't forget, bro. Reunion this Friday. We go together. And don't worry—I'll buy the first round of drinks.
Jackim stared at the message. He imagined walking into that reunion, pockets full of only shame. Sandra's smirk. Bryan's laughter. His classmates flaunting Rolexes, champagne, stories of promotions and cars. And him—the boy who could barely afford bus fare.
No. Not this time.
This time, he had something they didn't.
He clenched a fist. "I'll go. And I'll show them."
As if in answer, the System pulsed again in his head.
[New Task Generated.]
[Task: Brag publicly that you own a luxury car worth over $100,000.]
[Reward: Random Supercar.]
Jackim's breath caught. His eyes widened.
A car.
His body trembled at the thought. He had never even sat in a luxury car. He had washed cars at a gas station during high school holidays, feeling the glossy metal under his palms, inhaling the scent of leather seats he could never afford. And now the System promised him one if he dared to brag.
But publicly.
The word echoed like a warning bell.
He looked around his shabby room. There was no one here to brag to. Just peeling wallpaper and a secondhand fan that coughed dust.
"Publicly… where?" he muttered.
The System did not answer.
He pulled at his shirt collar, sweat soaking the fabric. If he was to test this, it had to be outside. In front of others.
Grabbing the wallet stuffed with bills, Jackim shoved it into his pocket and stepped out into the night.
Sue City at night was alive in contradiction. On the west side, where Jackim lived, street vendors still shouted prices for skewers of roasted maize and samosas. Children with bare feet chased each other past rusting gates. Men sat outside kiosks sipping cheap liquor, their laughter thick with despair.
But a short bus ride east, the city gleamed. Neon signs bathed clean sidewalks in light, girls in short dresses clicked heels past glossy cafes, and cars purred—sleek beasts in metallic paint that looked like liquid silver under the moon.
Jackim's tall figure cut through both worlds. His strides were long but heavy, like a man walking with a secret. His eyes scanned the streets, sharp and restless.
He stopped outside a convenience store where a group of young men leaned against motorcycles, smoking and laughing. They wore flashy sneakers, gold chains that caught the light, and the easy arrogance of boys who had never gone hungry.
Jackim's throat tightened. His hand brushed the edge of his wallet. This was insane. But wasn't everything already insane?
He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked toward them.
The tallest of the group, a bulky boy in a red tracksuit, sneered. "Eh, look who's here. Jackim the hustler. You still working at that warehouse? Carrying boxes for two hundred shillings a day?"
The others snickered. The words cut, but Jackim forced a slow smile. His voice, when it came, was steady.
"No. I don't carry boxes anymore," he said, his deep baritone rolling like thunder. "I drive. I own a supercar worth more than your fathers' houses combined."
Silence.
The group blinked, then burst into cruel laughter.
"A supercar? You? In those torn jeans?" one jeered.
"Bro, stop smoking cheap weed," another howled.
But Jackim didn't flinch. His tall frame stood steady under the fluorescent streetlight. His dark eyes glittered with something they couldn't name.
And then—
Headlights.
The low, throaty growl of an engine. The kind of sound that made hearts stutter and heads turn.
A shadow swept over the street as a machine rolled to a stop behind him.
The boys' laughter died in their throats.
Parked at the curb was a jet-black Lamborghini Aventador, its angular body gleaming like a predator under the lights. The scissor doors hissed open with futuristic grace. The interior glowed in soft leather and steel.
Gasps filled the air.
"No way…" one whispered.
Jackim turned his head slowly, his lips curving. He didn't need to say a word. The car spoke for him.
The boys stared, mouths open, cigarettes forgotten between their fingers.
Jackim stepped forward, ran a hand along the hood. The paint was warm, smooth, alive. His reflection stared back at him—tall, dark, handsome, and no longer invisible.
He slid into the seat. The leather hugged him like a throne. The steering wheel fit his grip as if waiting all his life.
The engine purred, and Jackim felt the vibration crawl up his arms into his chest. Power. Real, raw, undeniable power.
The voice returned.
[Task Complete. Reward Delivered: Lamborghini Aventador.]
[Additional Reward: Driving Mastery Skill Lv.1.]
His fingers tightened on the wheel. A smile ghosted his lips, sharp and dangerous.
The city had mocked him long enough.
Tonight was just the beginning.