The hospital smelled of medicine and cold metal.
Jason sat on the hard chair, his fingers shaking as the doctor flipped through the report. The doctor's glasses reflected the white light above them. Then came the words that broke the air —
"You have sixty days to live, Jason."
For a moment, Jason didn't breathe. The words hung in the room like a death bell.
"Sixty… days?" he whispered, voice dry as dust.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said softly. "It's a rare heart condition. The damage is severe. We can't reverse it now."
Jason's world cracked. He took the paper with both hands, but it trembled so hard it almost tore.
Outside, the evening sky was gray and heavy. People rushed past with coffee and laughter. None of them knew the boy walking out of the hospital had just been told he was dying.
Jason was twenty-two. An orphan since he was seven. No parents, no siblings, no one to call home. He had grown up in an orphanage that smelled of old soup and wet floors. The only thing he ever kept from there was a small silver cross — his grandpa's last gift before he died.
He pressed it in his palm now, whispering, "I'm still here, Grandpa. But not for long."
---
At work, the world was no kinder.
Jason worked at a pizza shop — long hours, low pay, and a boss who hated him.
Mark, the manager, stood behind the counter when Jason came in late, still pale from the hospital.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Mark sneered. "You think pity gets you money here?"
"I'm sorry, sir. The hospital—"
"Oh, the hospital," Mark cut in, eyes cold. "You poor orphan trash think excuses make pizza?"
Jason bowed his head. "I'll deliver fast, sir."
Mark laughed. "Fast? You can't even hold a box straight with those shivering hands. Don't drop it this time. Customers hate cold food."
Jason grabbed the boxes and hurried out. His chest hurt from both the sickness and the shame. As he rode his old bicycle through the streets, he remembered the nights he used to beg for bread, sleeping behind the orphanage's broken fence. He had promised himself he would never go back there. But life seemed ready to drag him down again.
---
His last stop was a hotel. The lobby shone with gold light and rich perfume. Jason felt out of place, like dirt on marble.
He walked to Room 305, balancing the boxes. Then he froze.
Through the half-open door, he heard a voice — her voice.
"Stephanie…"
Jason's heart clenched. Stephanie — the girl he had loved, the one he bought red heels for with his entire week's pay. The one who said she'd always believe in him.
Then another voice spoke — a man's, smooth and deep.
"Don't think about that poor delivery boy," the man said. "You deserve better."
Jason's hands shook, pizza boxes sliding from his arms.
"Victor…" he whispered. Victor — his old friend. The only person from the orphanage who had ever visited him.
He peeked in.
Stephanie sat on the bed, those same red heels shining under the lamp. She smiled sadly. "Maybe you're right," she said. "Jason will never make it. He can't even buy medicine for himself."
Victor's arm slid around her. "Then don't waste your time on dying dreams."
The world inside Jason shattered. The boxes hit the floor with a dull thud. The sound made Stephanie turn — but he was already gone.
---
The pool behind the hotel was quiet, reflecting the night sky. Jason walked to the edge, staring at his reflection — tired eyes, thin cheeks, hopelessness.
He thought of the doctor's words.
He thought of Mark's insults.
He thought of Stephanie's red heels.
And he thought of the silver cross, cold in his hand.
"Sixty days…" he whispered. "Maybe it doesn't have to be that long."
He stepped closer to the edge. Tears burned his eyes. "I just wanted one reason to live. One person to believe in me."
The cross in his hand glowed faintly, though he didn't notice.
The next moment, he took a deep breath — and jumped.
Cold water swallowed him whole.
He sank, his lungs screaming for air, his heart slowing.
Then—
A light.
The cross shone like fire under the water, and from it came a sound — like a voice echoing inside his head.
> System activation detected. Emotional trigger: Extreme despair.
Welcome, Jason. Your life expectancy is now under system control.
Jason gasped, choking as air suddenly returned to his chest. A holographic screen glowed in front of him, bright blue against the dark water. Words flickered across it.
> Task 1: Earn $500 honestly before midnight.
Failure: Lose 10 days.
Reward: +$1,000 and +2 days added to lifespan.
Time remaining: 4 hours, 12 minutes.
He coughed hard, dragging himself out of the pool. His heart pounded, half fear, half confusion.
"What… what is this?" he whispered.
The cross still glowed in his palm, faint but warm.
Jason looked at the clock. 7:48 p.m.
He had until midnight to earn $500 — or die ten days sooner.
---
By 11:50 p.m., he had done everything he could — helping old people cross the street, returning a lost wallet, carrying boxes for a small shop owner who insisted on paying him. Somehow, he gathered $520.
The screen blinked again.
> Task complete. Reward granted. Lifespan: 62 days.
Balance added: $1,000.
Jason stared at the glowing text, tears mixing with rain on his cheeks.
Maybe, just maybe… he had a chance.
Then a knock came at his door.
He turned — and froze.
Victor stood there, smirking.
"Still playing poor hero, Jason?" he said. "Stephanie told me you tried to kill yourself. How cute."
The screen behind Jason flickered.
> Warning: Emotional stress detected.
Parent connection — anomaly located.
Jason's eyes widened.
"What do you mean… parent connection?"
The holographic words glowed red.