Jason sat on the edge of his bed, his phone on silent beside him, a faint hum of neighborhood chatter drifting in through the open window. Birds chirped lazily. A nearby goat bleated once and was promptly shushed by an annoyed neighbor. Typical Saturday morning in Kumasi.
But inside, Jason's mind was miles away.
He was staring at the property listing again — the one from the night before. That quiet, regal house with the almond tree, the one that looked like it had been plucked straight out of his mother's dream. It was still available. Still untouched. Still calling to him.
But there was a problem.
He was fourteen.
Fourteen-year-olds didn't walk into real estate offices with briefcases of cash and walk out homeowners. Not unless they wanted the police or a social worker knocking on their front door. And while Jason technically owned a trillion-dollar conglomerate and could probably buy half the city by accident, legally he had about as much power as a prepaid SIM card.
He ruffled a hand through his hair, sighing. "How do I even do this?"
A soft ding echoed in his head.
[System Alert]
You have identified a structural limitation: legal capacity to operate as a financial entity in this world.
Would you like to access the Stat Exchange Menu?
Jason blinked. "That's a thing?"
[Affirmative.]
As the former Champion, your current combat stats far exceed the requirements of this universe. You may convert excess stats and sealed skills into System Points (SP). These can be used for the following:
— Intelligence/Talent Enhancements
— Real-world Skill Acquisition
— Legal Identity Buffers
— Asset Conversion (Direct Transfer to Real-World Funds)
— Cosmetic & Physical Appearance Alteration
— Advanced Strategic Modules
Jason sat up straighter. "Wait—how many stat points do I have?"
The screen responded instantly.
⸻
[STAT SUMMARY: UNSEALED LEVELS]
Strength: 91,230,000
Dexterity: 88,410,000
Vitality: 100,000,000
Endurance: 96,100,000
Magic Power: 85,700,000
Combat Sense: 94,800,000
Mana Resistance: 77,000,000
⸻
He let out a low whistle.
"And I thought keeping it at a thousand per stat would still be overkill…"
[Recommendation: Retain 1,000 points in each stat. Convert the rest to SP.]
"Alright. Let's do it."
⸻
[Converting excess stat points…]
…
…
Conversion complete.
Total SP Generated: 9,812,500,000,000
(Approx. 9.8 trillion USD equivalent)
Would you like to allocate SP to personal liquid accounts?
⸻
Jason stared at the number.
"…Yo."
It didn't even feel real. A number so big it could buy countries. Rewrite futures. Sink or save entire economies.
And now it was his.
"Break it up into ghost accounts. Staggered balances, offshore, and a few local ones. Make sure it's not traceable back to anything weird."
[Confirmed.]
Primary Allocation: 24 bank accounts
Base identity: Jason Adjei Afriyie
Supplemental aliases established for financial freedom.
You now have unrestricted access to $982 billion USD, fully liquid and available globally.
He exhaled slowly, the full weight of it hitting him all at once.
No more limits.
No more worrying about uniforms, fees, electricity bills, or whether his mom could afford eggs this week. No more pretending to be broke just to survive.
He had just crossed the line from 'surviving' to owning the game.
And yet, a small part of him still hesitated.
"…System," he said, "are there any threats left? Like… do I even need power like this anymore? Will I have to fight again?"
There was a pause. Then the screen pulsed.
[No.]
The reply was simple. Heavy. Final.
[Following your successful completion of the Multiversal Campaign, the god who summoned you has ensured that all Tier 1+ threats in your native universe have been eliminated or sealed permanently. Your Earth is safe. No known entities remain capable of planetary or multiversal destabilization.]
Jason sat in stunned silence.
"So I'm really done."
[Correct.]
He leaned back against the headboard, shoulders sagging slightly.
All that power. All those years. All that fighting, surviving, bleeding.
And now… he could finally rest.
Start over.
Live.
He took one long breath and opened his eyes, the faint morning light streaming across the floor.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Then I'll live smart."
He brought up the real estate tab again. But this time, he wasn't just a boy with a dream.
He was the buyer.
He found the listing for the house again — the one with the almond tree.
This time, he tapped Contact Seller.
But just before the screen shifted, his phone buzzed with a new message.
Mum ❤️: "Jay, before I forget — please go and get a haircut today. You're starting to look like a wild boy. And don't lie to me later, I'll know."
Jason groaned, slapping his hand over his face.
"Seriously?"
Still… he wasn't stupid. There were battles you didn't pick.
And when your Ghanaian mom told you to get a haircut?
You got the haircut.
"System," he said with a sigh, "Find me the cleanest, most expensive barber shop in Kumasi."
[Three options available. Would you like a private appointment booked in the next 15 minutes?]
He nodded. "Yeah. Let's do it."
As the system prepared the appointment, Jason stood and stretched.
It wasn't even 8AM yet — and somehow, his entire life had already changed again.
But this time, he wasn't scared.
He was curious.
And rich.
Ridiculously rich.
Jason tossed on a plain black T-shirt, a pair of slim joggers, and his most decent pair of sneakers — which, until about twelve hours ago, had been the most valuable thing he owned. Now they looked like relics from a past life. Still, he wasn't trying to show up at a luxury barber shop dressed like a billboard.
The system pinged softly in his ear.
[Private appointment confirmed: Luxe Blendz Barbershop, Danyame. VIP chair reserved. Payment processed in advance via shell account "Ashanti Nomad Ltd." Driver en route.]
Jason raised an eyebrow. "You got me a driver?"
[Standard protocol for high-net-value minors conducting covert identity blending operations.]
"…You know how weird that sentence is, right?"
[Noted.]
He shook his head and headed downstairs. A black sedan was already idling outside the gate. Tinted windows. Custom plates. Sleek.
The driver — a sharply dressed man who looked like he moonlighted as a secret agent — stepped out and opened the rear door with a polite nod. "Mr. Afriyie?"
Jason paused, then stepped in.
"Yeah. Let's go."
⸻
The drive was smooth, barely fifteen minutes. Kumasi's morning bustle was just kicking into gear: roadside sellers arranging produce, trotro drivers honking like punctuation, school kids in uniforms dodging traffic like it was an Olympic sport.
But inside the car, it was all soft leather and silent air conditioning. Jason stared out the window, trying to anchor himself.
The house. The money. The power.
All his.
But it still hadn't sunk in yet.
They pulled up outside Luxe Blendz Barbershop, nestled between a bank branch and a designer boutique. The exterior was clean, modern — black panels with brushed gold trimming and a sign that looked like it cost more than most wedding receptions.
Inside, the atmosphere hit immediately. Not loud. Not rowdy. Just chill lo-fi music playing over hidden speakers, fresh scents of clove and citrus in the air, and a row of polished chairs facing full-length mirrors. Everything gleamed.
"Welcome, sir," said a young woman at the front desk, wearing a headset. She gave him a glance that quickly shifted from casual to impressed when her system pinged his appointment. "You're with Kobby. This way, please."
Jason followed her to a private corner of the shop, where a chair — one of those massive, throne-like ones — awaited under a custom ring light. The barber, Kobby, was already there. Late 20s, braided hair, sharp fade, diamond stud. He looked Jason up and down.
"You're the Jay I'm cutting today?" he asked, brushing down the seat.
Jason sat. "That's me."
Kobby snapped on gloves and nodded. "Say less."
⸻
An hour later, Jason was staring at his reflection — and even he was impressed.
Tapered sides. Clean parting. Neatly shaped afro top with a subtle curl pattern. The line-up was precise enough to get a standing ovation from geometry teachers worldwide.
Kobby stepped back and gave a satisfied nod. "You've officially retired the 'wild boy' look."
Jason laughed. "That's what my mom wanted."
"Smart woman."
Jason stood and slipped Kobby a GHC 500 tip — not from any account that would raise flags. Just quiet appreciation.
As he walked back out to the waiting car, the sun was already higher in the sky. The streets buzzed with life, and Jason suddenly felt present. Grounded. No longer floating in the fog of cosmic power and impossible stakes.
This was Earth.
His Earth.
And he had just gotten his first clean cut in ten years.