Kaito Sumida hunched over his desk, fingers twitching across the keyboard as he muttered curses under his breath.
"Why… why are there seven versions of the Q4 budget file? Why is one of them in Spanish? Why is one a JPEG?"
His glasses slid down his nose again. He shoved them back up with one knuckle, ignoring the growing ache in his neck. Around him, the office was quiet. Too quiet. It was 3:17 a.m., and the only sounds were the hum of overworked fluorescent lights and the vengeful gurgle of his stomach.
His wrinkled suit jacket, which he hadn't taken off in three days, smelled faintly of instant ramen and despair. His black hair was a tangled mess, and the bags under his eyes had evolved from "panda chic" to "walking corpse."
The spreadsheet flickered. His eye twitched.
"Please don't crash. Please don't crash. I haven't saved since the fiscal nightmare of 1:42 a.m."
A sharp ding! sounded. Another email.
> Subject: URGENT Message: Hey, can you recalculate the entire thing? We're pivoting to a crypto-based model. Thanks!
He stared. He blinked.
"Crypto. Based. Model."
Kaito took a slow breath. He reached for his stress ball. It had burst weeks ago. So instead, he grabbed the next best thing:
A large, extra-heavy, limited-edition "World's #3 Accountant" ceramic mug—filled with three-day-old coffee sludge.
He took a gulp. Immediately choked.
His vision blurred.
His throat seized. He coughed—once, twice—and then froze. A burning spread down his chest as his airway closed, and a sour, rotting taste coated his tongue. His trembling fingers dropped the mug.
It hit the desk with a dull thud. So did he.
The screen blinked.
With one final, strangled gasp, Kaito Sumida died— Choked not by ambition. Not by overwork. But by a mold colony thriving inside three-day-old coffee sludge, which science would later classify as sentient and mildly vindictive.
As his face hit the keyboard with a wet thud, cell G27 automatically populated with:
> =SUM(Doom)
---
The darkness was warm. Not peaceful, exactly—but oddly… buzzing. Like a thousand calculators all humming in sync.
Kaito floated.
He had no body. No pain. Just… drifting numbers. An odd sense of relief crept in, mingled with confusion.
"Am I…" he thought—or maybe said. It was hard to tell. "Did I really just die choking on moldy coffee?"
No answer. Just the persistent sound of… typing?
A memory flickered: late nights, frozen dinners, missed birthdays. He'd worked so hard, sacrificed so much. And yet, in the end, all he had were spreadsheets, empty cups of coffee, and an office that had never once noticed the exhaustion seeping into his bones.
And her.
There she was again, the memory that never seemed to fade—Miyu. She'd been his everything. The quiet moments they'd shared during lunch breaks, their laughter over stupid jokes. He'd loved her with everything he had, and yet, she'd fallen for someone else. Someone more confident, more charming, more… everything.
Her eyes had always sparkled when he talked about his dreams. She'd always listened. But when he needed her most, she was the one who was gone, swept away by a much better coworker—someone with an office view, a vacation home, and the ability to pick up a phone without second thoughts.
She'd never really noticed his quiet desperation, his growing frustration. And now, even in death, all he had left were the memories of her slipping further and further from him, until she became nothing more than an unreachable star in the night sky.
He felt something tighten—regret. Regret he couldn't file under "Miscellaneous."
Kaito groaned. Or tried to. His mouth didn't work the way it should, like it had been replaced by a loading bar.
Then—
Ding!
A golden pop-up shimmered into existence before his bleary eyes:
Welcome to the Afterlife, Kaito Sumida. Transferring assets… Verifying life summary… Reviewing unpaid overtime… Error: soul encumbered by excessive debt
"W-What…?" Kaito muttered, barely able to squint through his smudged glasses.
"Ah, good! You're alive—well, sort of!" a voice sang.
He blinked. No—there, floating in front of him on a chair made entirely of platinum credit cards, was a man dressed in a garish pinstriped suit stitched from gold thread. His tie had actual coins dangling from it. His smile was too wide. His teeth gleamed like freshly-minted tokens.
"Who—?" Kaito rasped.
"I'm The Trickster God of Commerce, CEO of Realities™," the man declared with a grand, sweeping bow. "You may call me Avarix. Or Boss, if you're feeling formal."
Kaito stared.
"You're… a god?"
"Of course. What else explains the talking pop-up?" Avarix chuckled. "You, my dear Kaito, have been selected for a highly exclusive opportunity. Due to your… colorful demise—"
"Death by stapler avalanche is not colorful—!"
"—you've been granted a second chance! One copper coin. A decrepit market stall. And this—" Avarix snapped his fingers.
A battered, smug-looking abacus dropped into Kaito's hands.
It winked at him.
You have received: The Abacus of Eternal Debt™!
(Bound Contract: Lifetime. No refunds.)
Kaito stared at it in horror. "You're giving me a calculator?"
"Divine accounting interface, please," Avarix corrected. "It tracks your finances... Think of it as your personal financial assistant. With… teeth."
The abacus made a grinding noise.
"You'll need it," Avarix added. "You've been reincarnated in a world where wealth is power—literally. The richer you become, the more influence you gain. Grow poor again, and, well…" He snapped his fingers.
Kaito's feet briefly turned into receipts and blew away in the wind.
"What the—!?"
"Rules are rules, Mr. Sumida. But you've got the right skill set: tired, overworked, underappreciated, and an unhealthy obsession with spreadsheets. You're perfect for our beta test."
"Beta test?"
Avarix grinned wider. "The Abacus of Eternal Debt System™ is yours. Grow your fortune, build an empire, manipulate markets, milk nobles for overpriced tea, and who knows? Maybe you'll ascend as a God of Greed yourself."
Kaito was silent. Then, flatly: "…What happens if I fail?"
Avarix's smile sharpened.
"You go to Business Hell™. Eternal unpaid internships. Infinite meetings with no agenda. PowerPoint slides forever."
Kaito paled.
"So what'll it be, Kaito—no, wait." The god snapped his fingers. "Let's give you a better name."
Name updated: Cid di Montfort
Occupation: Aspiring Tycoon
Starting Funds: 1 Copper Coin
Location: Sewer District Market, Grimeport
The ground beneath Kaito—or Cid now—rumbled. His vision spun. A golden receipt scrolled endlessly into the sky.
Avarix waved. "Good luck! And remember—debt is eternal!"
The world flipped upside down.
Cid screamed.
---
Cid gasped awake.
The first thing he noticed was the cold. The second was the stench.
His nose wrinkled. Rotting vegetables. Wet stone. Something that might've been cheese in another lifetime.
He blinked up at a cracked wooden ceiling. The beams sagged like they were one rat away from collapse.
Then he noticed something else.
"Why am I naked?" he muttered hoarsely.
He sat up fast—and immediately regretted it. The splintered floor bit into his back. A coil of rough, scratchy burlap barely covered his lower half. The rest? Fully exposed to the elements and judgmental cockroaches.
> System Notification: New User Body Activated
Name: Cid di Montfort
Age: 17
Health: 82/100 (mild hunger, moderate disgust)
Assets: 1 copper coin
Debt: 0 (for now)
Divine Tool: The Abacus of Eternal Debt™
Alignment: Pending Credit Check
Cid stared down at himself.
His new body was… lean. Youthful. A far cry from the frail, stiff frame he'd left behind. Black hair hung in his face in messy strands—too clean for this dump. His eyes, when he looked at the reflection in a cracked jar of rainwater, were a pale silver. No, wait—blue. Then they shimmered back to silver.
"Clear eyes?" he murmured. "That's new."
A rustle nearby made him freeze.
A rat the size of a cat scurried across the floor and disappeared behind a barrel.
"Oh good," Cid muttered. "Giant rats. I've truly made it."
Then, a chime:
> Tutorial Tip: Welcome to Grimeport Market District – Sewer Row
A perfect place to start your empire! Cheap rent, loose morals, and the occasional plague!
Side Quest Unlocked: Clothe Yourself Reward: Dignity (minimal), street reputation, +1 Charisma (if fashionable)
Cid groaned, dragging the burlap tighter around him.
"…This is hell."
Then the abacus—his divine tool—clattered out of nowhere and hit him square in the face.
> The Abacus of Eternal Debt™ Activated!
Daily Interest Accrual: 0 Emotional Reserves: 2 Guilt, 1 Regret, 0 Hope Market Manipulation Skill: Locked Passive Skill Unlocked: "Smell Profit" – Detect faint traces of opportunity. Works best near desperation.
The abacus winked again.
Cid glared at it.
"I don't know whether to throw you in the river or register you as a business partner."
The abacus wiggled in what he swore was smug approval.
Cid sighed, rising shakily to his feet.
"One copper coin. No pants. No dignity. But… okay. Fine."
His eye color shifted again—amber, for just a flash.
"I'm Cid di Montfort now. And if this world runs on profit?"
He stepped outside into the grimy morning sun, the burlap flapping behind him like a tragic cape.
"Then I'm going to own it."
Splash!
Something cold and wet hit him square in the face. His eyes flew open just in time to see a half-eaten fish slap against his chest, the scent of brine and something much worse lingering in the air.
He blinked.
The fish slowly slid down his torso, leaving a trail of slime in its wake, before it dropped unceremoniously to the filthy street.
A voice from a nearby alleyway shouted, "Sorry about that, mate! I didn't see ya!"
Cid stared at the fish, then at the person who had thrown it—an unshaven man with a bucket of fish slung over his shoulder, completely oblivious to the damage he'd done. He waved as he kept walking, humming a tune that seemed entirely out of place for the current situation.
Cid's hand shot to his face, wiping the fish goo away. "What…?"
For a moment, he just stood there, dumbfounded, fish slithering down his arm.
"Right," he muttered. "Clothes. First."