Jason woke up to the soft buzzing of his phone, its screen lighting up the dark corners of his room.
6:32 AM.
The morning sunlight was just beginning to peek through the curtains, casting long stripes of orange across the tiled floor. A bird chirped outside, far too chipper for the hour.
He sat up, yawned, and dragged himself out of bed. The air was still cool, the usual early-morning silence settling over the neighborhood like a thick blanket. Nothing special about the day — no major meetings, no interdimensional threats, no Steven knocking on the door like an overworked bodyguard.
Just peace.
Jason padded out of his room, shuffled into the bathroom, brushed his teeth with one eye open, then made his way to the kitchen. He popped two slices of bread into the toaster, cracked open a cold sachet of water, and sat at the table, mind on autopilot.
The familiar blue glow of the system screen popped up mid-sip.
[System Notification]
Soul Synchronization: COMPLETE.
Time elapsed since initial dimensional departure: 10 years, 4 months, 11 days.
Residual multiversal drift: nullified.
Risk of cosmic rejection by native universe: reduced to 0.0000001%.
Jason blinked.
"What the hell does that mean?" he muttered, glancing at the screen like it had just insulted his breakfast.
[Explanation Available – Tap for Details]
He tapped.
[Explanation]
Due to prolonged absence and extensive exposure to multiple foreign universes, your soul required re-stabilization to avoid attracting unwanted attention from the foundational laws of this world.
Now that synchronization is complete, your presence will no longer trigger "multiversal interference," a phenomenon that could have resulted in spontaneous anomalies or erasure attempts from this universe's governing constants.
Probability of total rejection: 0.0000001%
Jason leaned back in his chair.
"So basically," he said slowly, "the universe might've tried to kill me. But now it's only almost not going to?"
[Correct.]
He sighed and took another sip of water.
"Great. Fantastic. Love that for me."
He paused. The bread popped out of the toaster behind him, making him jump slightly.
"I've fought literal gods and cosmic parasites," he muttered, getting up, "and now I have to worry about the damn universe giving me a one-in-a-billion middle finger?"
No response.
Jason buttered his toast, staring at nothing in particular.
Despite the absurdity of it all, he didn't feel shaken. Just… tired.
He sat back down, took a bite, and mumbled around his food, "So what now?"
[Now you live. You build. You decide.]
Jason rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
Seemed like today wasn't going to be normal either.
Jason had just finished his second slice of toast when he heard it.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Not the random clanging of metal or a passing trotro with engine problems — no, this was sharp, deliberate. It echoed through the compound like someone was trying to hammer through the gates of heaven.
Jason flinched and stood up, walking over to the window and pushing aside the curtain.
Out front, just beyond the small concrete veranda, he saw the landlord — a thickset man with a receding hairline, faded slippers, and an old polo shirt stretched too tightly over his stomach. He was holding a stapler gun, slapping a sheet of paper onto the front wall like he was nailing up a wanted poster.
Jason's brows furrowed.
He stepped outside, barefoot on the warm concrete, arms folded.
"Good morning, Uncle Kwabena," he said carefully.
The man glanced over his shoulder but didn't stop hammering.
"You've come early today."
"Hm," the landlord muttered, finishing with one last bang. "Important matter. House matter."
Jason's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, reading the notice that now hung just beside the doorway.
"NOTICE OF RENT INCREASE – EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY"
New Rent: GHC 2,400/month
Previous Rent: GHC 900/month
Deadline for Adjustment: End of Month
Jason stared at it. Then stared harder. Then blinked.
"Wait—what?"
The landlord tucked the stapler gun under his armpit, adjusting his slippers. "Cost of living is up. Electricity, water, building materials, even my own breakfast. You think it's easy to own property in this Ghana?"
Jason stepped in front of him. "Uncle, this is a 160% increase overnight. My mom can't afford that. She already works in Accra and still has to send money for school fees."
"Then maybe you people should move to Accra with her," the man said with a shrug. "Or get a cheaper room. I'm not running a charity."
Jason clenched his jaw. "You didn't even give proper notice. No prior warning, no gradual increase. You just—slapped it on the wall."
"It's legal enough," the landlord replied. "And if you have problems, you can take me to court. I'll be waiting." He gave a little smirk and started walking away.
Jason stood there, fists clenched.
He had every reason to snap — every justification to call on the system, to flex a tiny portion of what he really was, to make this man understand who he was talking to.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Jason stood for a moment at the window, watching the landlord shuffle off down the road, stapler gun still tucked under his arm like a trophy. The rent notice fluttered in the morning breeze, as if trying to mock him.
His fists slowly relaxed at his sides.
A soft chime echoed beside his ear — the system, still waiting.
[Would you like to explore real estate acquisition in the region?]
Jason didn't answer. Not yet.
He turned away, closed the door behind him, and walked back into the house — into the same cracked tile floor, the same wobbly table, the same old fan that groaned whenever it rotated left.
He picked up his phone and tapped his mother's name.
The call connected in seconds.
"Hello, Jay," her voice came through, tired but soft. There was background noise — keyboard clicks, distant chatter. She was still at work.
Jason smiled faintly, even though she couldn't see him. "Hey, Ma. Just checking in. How's the office?"
She sighed. "The usual madness. They pushed the deadline again, and now I'm stuck fixing someone else's mess."
Jason rubbed his temple. "That sounds… fun."
"It's not," she said dryly, then her voice warmed again. "You ate, right?"
"Yeah," he lied, glancing at the toast crusts still on his plate. "Warmed what Steven left. I'm good."
"And the house? Swept the compound?"
Jason glanced toward the front door.
His eyes flicked toward the stapled paper still fluttering near the doorway.
He turned away from it.
"Yeah, yeah. I did all of that. Everything's fine," he lied. "Quiet day."
"Okay. God willing, I'll be home tomorrow night. Just call me if anything comes up."
"Sure thing, Ma. Love you."
"Love you too, baby."
The call ended, and Jason stood there for a long while, phone still in his hand, until the quiet folded back in around him.
Then — almost to himself — he said, "System."
[Yes, User?]
He looked toward the front door again, where the notice was still pinned. The numbers burned into his mind.
"Open the real estate module. Show me everything — Kumasi, Accra, Cape Coast. Both residential and commercial."
[Loading listings…]
The screen shimmered to life in front of him. Rows of listings, glowing softly in the air. Prices, specs, maps, projected value increases. All catalogued in clean, clinical detail.
He scrolled in silence.
Some houses were modest — clean little compounds with new paint jobs and satellite dishes on the roofs. Others were absurdly expensive: hilltop mansions with private helipads and imported stone.
Then a listing caught his eye.
A six-unit complex in Ahodwo. Already tenanted. Private borehole. Solar backup. Low overhead, clean paper trail, long-term value.
Jason tapped once.
"Purchase through shell company. Quiet deal. No press."
[Transaction complete.]
He didn't smile. Didn't feel much of anything.
Just a quiet click of control settling into place.
[Would you like to notify existing landlords of ownership transfer rights in surrounding region?]
Jason stared at the option.
Then, without hesitation, tapped No.
This wasn't revenge.
It was insurance.
He'd never let his mom worry about rent again. Not while he breathed.
The system flickered. His financial dashboard expanded in front of him. Tens of millions in liquid assets. More sitting in holdings. The kind of money that could shift whole neighborhoods if he wanted it to.
He didn't even blink.
Instead, out of habit more than intent, he flicked over to the marketplace. Smart TVs, new phones, furniture, fashion. None of it really held his attention.
He kept scrolling.
Then tapped open the Residential Properties – Greater Kumasi tab again. Just to look.
No real plan. No checklist.
Just… curiosity.
He skimmed until one listing made him stop cold.
It wasn't flashy. No rooftop pools or ultramodern glass designs.
It was simple. Elegant.
A two-storey home with a whitewashed exterior. Wide front porch. Garden lined with soft green hedges. A tall almond tree near the gate, half in bloom. Gold-accented windows. A kitchen layout big enough to fit a real family. Space to grow.
Jason didn't need to zoom in.
He knew what he was looking at.
Not the house his mom always talked about, but close. The kind she used to describe late at night, when she thought he was asleep.
Big windows. Quiet street. Enough light.
Enough peace.
He didn't hit "Buy." Didn't even mark it.
He just sat there, staring.
For once, the room didn't feel so small.
And for the first time since coming back… the future didn't feel heavy.
It felt like something he could reach.
Something he could choose.
Jason leaned back in his chair, a small, quiet smile on his lips.
He'd seen something interesting on sale.
And it looked like the beginning of a better life.