The sun had shifted a little lower in the sky by the time Jason crossed the road and waited by the junction.
The faint roar of an old van engine rolled up before long — a red-and-yellow trotro, its side marked with faded vinyl letters that once proudly advertised a Pentecostal prayer group and a soft drink brand no one really bought anymore.
The mate leaned halfway out the sliding door. "Tech Junction! Ahodwo! Suame roundabout! Tech Junction!"
Jason raised a hand.
"Ahodwo, boss."
"Hop in, small man!"
Jason climbed in, finding a tight seat near the back, wedged between a student holding a cracked tablet and a woman with three polythene bags full of garden eggs.
The trotro sputtered forward with a jerk.
Jason pulled his hood up slightly, leaned his head against the glass, and let the city roll past him.
Concrete walls. Lopsided billboards. Schools packed with students in faded uniforms. Roadside stalls with women frying kose and selling yam under torn umbrellas. His Ghana. Loud. Living. Unbothered.
The ride gave him time to breathe.
And think.
[System: Remaining Stat Points — 6,200]
Jason blinked the interface open discreetly, scrolling through options. He'd already exchanged most of his god-tier combat stats for money. Left just enough to stay absurdly durable and fast — more than enough for this world.
But something else caught his attention.
[Skill Tree Unlocked: Lifestyle Enhancements]
He tapped through.
• Artisan Baking – 400 SP
• Home Plumbing Mastery – 250 SP
• Interior Aesthetic Sense – 180 SP
• Professional Culinary Arts – 900 SP
• Kitchen Combat (Chef Battle Tier) – 1200 SP
Jason squinted.
"Kitchen combat?"
[High-pressure culinary environments. Five-star plating under stress. Iron Chef-level composure and technical mastery.]
He grinned.
"I'll take it."
[Skill Acquired: Kitchen Combat – Chef Battle Tier]
[Reference Template: Gordon Ramsay + Bobby Flay composite efficiency]
[Palate enhanced | Plating precision boosted | Recipe memory integration complete]
Jason blinked — and immediately knew how to debone a chicken in under twenty seconds. He could taste ingredients just by smelling steam. He remembered spice pairings like he was born doing it.
It was a weird kind of rush.
He almost laughed.
The trotro pulled up near his stop. Jason tapped the side of the van and climbed out, giving the mate two cedis without a word.
The sun was setting now, washing the rooftops in gold. He took the quieter backroad home, hands in his hoodie pocket, mind already scanning the fridge contents in his head like a strategist.
There were tomatoes. Frozen chicken. Onions. Dry rice. Ground ginger. Stock cubes. Definitely garlic.
He was going to make dinner — a real dinner — for her.
Not because she asked.
Because she deserved to walk into her own home, after a week of stress and rent notices and commuting, and smell something that told her: you're home now.
⸻
Later That Evening
The rice steamed on the side. The chicken had been roasted, then flash-seared for perfect crispiness. Garlic butter foamed on the edges of the saucepan, stirred with practiced, silent grace.
Jason didn't rush.
He didn't even break a sweat.
The plating was simple: fragrant jollof packed with aromatics, grilled chicken that glistened from a honey-garlic glaze, and a small side salad with avocado, red cabbage, and homemade vinaigrette.
He wiped the edge of the plate, made sure everything looked balanced, then placed it gently on the table.
No fanfare.
No drama.
Just care.
He leaned back and exhaled — the house smelled like a real home now. Warm, full of flavor. Like someone was waiting to be welcomed.
Outside, he heard the faint rattle of keys at the gate.
Jason smiled to himself.
"Welcome back, Ma."
The key twisted in the front door, and Jason was already moving.
He opened it before she could knock, stepping out into the cooling evening breeze with a small smile on his face.
His mother blinked, clearly surprised. "Ah—you're up?"
Jason reached for her bag without waiting for permission. "I was cooking," he said simply, already lifting the heavier one off her shoulder. "Figured you'd be tired."
She gave him a curious look but didn't argue.
The moment she stepped inside, her nose twitched. She froze in place. "Jason… what's that smell?"
"Dinner," he replied, a little too casually, as he nudged the door closed and walked her over to the table.
She stared at the plate — then at the salad — then at the perfect chicken and the glistening rice.
Her face shifted slowly from confusion to wonder to a kind of quiet disbelief.
"You made all this?"
He nodded.
She pulled out the chair and sat down, still staring.
Jason poured her a cold glass of water and waited, arms crossed, trying not to look like he cared too much about her reaction. But when she took her first bite—
Her eyes widened.
The fork hovered mid-air as she chewed, slowly, then swallowed like she was processing the meaning of life.
"This…" she began, then paused, eyes flicking to him. "This is restaurant-level. Not even… like—actual restaurant food."
Jason gave a modest shrug, hiding a smile. "Just a little something I've been practicing."
She took another bite, then another. Soon, she wasn't speaking — just eating. Jason sat across from her, sipping water quietly, watching her shoulders lower, her jaw relax, the way the tension of the week seemed to bleed away bite by bite.
She didn't ask questions. Not tonight.
She just finished the food, leaned back in the chair, and exhaled like she hadn't in days.
"That was the best thing I've eaten in years," she said. "Thank you, Jay."
"You're welcome, Ma."
She stood, kissed his forehead, and squeezed his arm on the way to her bedroom. "I'm taking a quick bath and then I'm dead to the world. Wake me only if the house is on fire."
Jason chuckled. "Noted."
She disappeared down the hallway. The soft sound of the bathroom door clicking shut followed.
Jason gathered the plates quietly, washed everything down with smooth precision, then slipped on sandals and grabbed the tied trash bag.
The night was cool. The compound quiet.
He stepped out into the darkness, walked the short distance to the communal bin, and tossed the bag in.
On his way back, something caught his eye.
The wall near the front door.
Blank.
The stapled rent increase notice was gone.
Jason frowned, walking over and checking just to be sure. Nothing. No torn corners. No staples. Clean.
He hadn't touched it.
His mom had.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips. Not loud. Not surprised. Just… heavy.
He stepped back inside, shutting the door softly, and walked past her room.
Then he heard it.
Soft. Muffled. Barely audible.
But unmistakable.
Crying.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet sobs. Controlled. Hidden.
Jason froze in the hallway.
His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
She thought he didn't notice. Thought he was too young, too distracted, too protected.
She didn't know that he'd heard the way her breath hitched.
Didn't know that it made something ancient and angry stir deep inside him.
Jason turned away from the door, walked back to the kitchen, and tapped the side of his head.
The system interface bloomed quietly into view.
"Rush the paperwork," he said. His voice was sharp but steady. "On the house. No delays."
[Would you like to authorize a priority acceleration fee?]
"Yes. Put an extra 2 million cedis on it. Make it unignorable."
[Processing…]
[Priority override confirmed. All legal transfers and trust registrations will be finalized within 48 hours.]
Jason stared at the notification.
His jaw tightened.
"Make sure the place is spotless. Furnished. Move-in ready by the time I tell her."
[Understood.]
He closed the screen.
Stood there in the kitchen, alone.
His mom cried softly down the hall.
And Jason, fourteen years old with a trillion in his name and a god's power buried in his bones, stood still as stone — not because he didn't care.
But because he cared too much to speak.
Tomorrow, the world would change.
But tonight, he just listened.
And he promised himself: she would never cry like this again.
Jason exhaled, but he wasn't finished.
"One more thing," he added. "A car."
[Please specify type.]
"Not flashy. Not something she'll recognize as expensive," he said, tone sharper now. "Something practical. Decent AC. Big enough for long trips. Strong suspension — the roads here are crap. She doesn't care about speed or leather seats. She just wants it to work."
The system paused briefly.
[Recommendation: 2024 Toyota Fortuner GX 4x4 (White) — Durable build, reliable suspension, basic upholstery, excellent climate control. Estimated total cost: ₵650,000. Marketed as mid-tier fleet vehicle. No luxury branding.]
Jason nodded.
"Buy it."
[Would you like to register under Umbra Holdings or personal family trust?]
"Family trust. Deliver it to the new house. Have it parked in the shade."
[Confirmed.]
A moment later, the final message appeared:
[House preparation: Active]
[Ownership: Adjie Family Trust]
[Car: Purchased and scheduled for delivery]
[Move-in estimate: 2 days]
Jason stood in the darkness for a long while.
Not because he didn't know what to do.
But because tonight, he finally had the means to do it.
His mom's quiet crying still echoed in his ears.
And now, it had an answer.