Jace:Option B (preferred): Run manufacturer support with your receipt; I'll sit in and coach the call from campus—no store needed. If they stall, we'll schedule a by-the-book exchange later this week (not tomorrow).Either way:receipts only; no cash/favors.
Becca Q: love that. i hate phones but i can do phones with a coach. 15 mins?
Jace: We're in the library workroom. Call on speaker. Keep receipt and box near. You'll need the serial and email. Goal: RMA or cross-ship; accept an auth hold; no store visit.
Becca Q: dialing.
Door nearly closed. Mic on the table. Notebook open: Becca — Earbud/Left Weak.
"Thanks for calling AuralNorth," the rep says. "Daphne speaking."
"Hi," Becca says. "Left earbud is quiet vs right. Not dead; lower volume. I have receipt and box."
Test tones; reset; re-pair. Left still low.
"That's a driver imbalance," Daphne says. "We'll replace. Mail-in RMA or cross-ship with temporary hold?"
Jace whispers: "Ask for e-label + cross-ship; hold drops on scan."
Becca: "If you can e-mail a label and cross-ship with the hold dropping on the return scan, I'd like that."
"Standard," Daphne says. "Need serial and order date."
SER: A1X-9K24. ORDER: Yesterday.
"RMA 7143-M," Daphne says. "Prepaid UPS label now; cross-ship tracking within an hour. Hold equals item value; releases on UPS scan. Please ship within five business days."
Notes on paper: RMA, UPS e-label, hold $199, ship-by 5. Add Note: 'L low; R norm' inside the return.
"One more option," Daphne adds. "Partner store swap with a code, valid tomorrow."
Becca looks at Jace. He taps RMA; taps his pocket where NO RE-ENTRY lives.
"We'll keep the RMA," Becca says. "If tracking stalls, I'll call back."
Label arrives. Becca confirms. Jace has her ask for hold amount and repack in writing; Daphne obliges. Call ends clean.
"Process beats rivers," Becca says, grinning crooked. Jace tears the page, hands her the notes. "Tape it to your eyeball," he says.
"Tomorrow I don't go to the store," she repeats. "I print the label, drop at UPS, and if tracking doesn't show in two hours, I ping support with the RMA."
"Correct," Jace says. "If they offer retail again, decline. We keep you uninteresting."
Maya slides in, hears "RMA + cross-ship," steals "Process beats rivers" for lab, leaves good will behind.
Emails ding: AuralNorth Support: RMA 7143-M and Retail Swap Code for tomorrow. Becca texts: they sent a store swap code too?? 😂 tempt me.
Jace looks at the clock, at the map of tomorrow, at the word uninteresting in his own hand.
His thumb hovers over:
Keep the RMA. Use the label. Delete the swap code or save it for Thursday if support fails. Tomorrow is already busy. We stay uninteresting and still fix it fast.
The label loads; the code glows; the rain keeps time on glass.
He doesn't press. Not yet.
→ Counting Report (per contract)
Words: 1,699
Characters (with spaces): 10,126
Characters (without): 8,770
Targeted feedback for next chunk
Should Jace lock the text telling Becca to ignore the swap code, or do you want him to gamble on an early store swap before the talk?
Next scene preference: morning handout delivery → C109 talk, or a tiny pre-talk Money micro (e.g., poster layout tweak, $40 transfer)?
Keep HUD minimal for non-money scenes, and resume Money rolls on Marco (3:30) + store (4:30)?
Du:goNovel Writer sagte:Nachgedacht für 25s
Web search: OFF
Project: Critical Cashback: The Patron System • Mode: Speed • Track: T2 (Kinetic Cam) • Target language: ENWeb search: OFFChunk: 21 of ? • Draft target: 1,400–2,000 words • Bible locks enforced: Yes
Chapter Engine — Chunk 21
A) Mini-Outline (5–8 beats)
Jace finalizes the text to Becca: keep the RMA, ignore the partner swap code for tomorrow.
Becca agrees; Jace blocks a quick coach window tomorrow if needed.
They pack the library table; a quick in-person pass with Mara in the atrium confirms handout count and room needs.
Jace prints one proof of the handout; low-toner hiccup; he reroutes to another printer—procedure, not panic.
On the way out, a student Liam asks for a fast poster tweak; Jace quotes $40/20 min, transfer upfront; Liam accepts.
Micro-gig at a side table: font fix, bleed, export; transfer lands; results delivered clean.
Rain drums; Marco pings to confirm monitor size; Jace keeps rails: buyer chooses SKU at counter.
Cliff: As they step into the atrium doors, Campus Safety alert chimes—severe storm window 18:00–21:00—potentially colliding with tomorrow's 4:30 store plan; Jace pauses with pen over the calendar, weighing whether to slide the window or trust the plan.
B) Chapter Goal & Dramatic Question (1–2 sentences)
Goal: Close the Becca loop without adding store heat, ship a proof of the bootcamp handout, and convert a tiny Money micro while staying inside rails.
Dramatic Question: With a storm warning that could ripple into tomorrow afternoon, will Jace adjust the plan or hold the LATE (4:30) slot?
C) Draft (T2 — Kinetic Cam) — target 1,400–2,000 words
The label loads; the swap code glows; the rain keeps time on glass.
Jace sends what his rails already decided.
Jace: Keep the RMA. Use the label. Delete the swap code or save it for Thursday if support fails (they won't). Tomorrow is already busy. We stay uninteresting and still fix it fast.
Dots, then:
Becca Q: done. label printing now. delete button smashed. text me if you want me to clap at your money church tomorrow.
Jace: 11:00, C109. I'll pretend not to see you.
He blocks 13:20–13:40 on his planner margin—Becca: coach window (if tracking stalls)—a rectangle of time that lets problems try to exist without owning the day.
"Becca squared," Max says. "We saved a future store clerk from a weird Tuesday."
"Process saved Tuesday," Jace says. He closes the notebook with the small finality of someone who does this ten times a day. "Pack."
They tidy the workroom like good guests—cups gone, chairs tucked, whiteboard left as they found it. In the atrium glass, rain has stopped pretending; it has chosen a shape and that shape is down. Students move like schools of fish, each with a different definition of waterproof.
"Proof print," Jace says, and they slide toward the print alcove. The nearest printer blinks TONER LOW like a passive-aggressive roommate. He prints one anyway. The machine sighs, produces a page with a faint gray courage.
"Not good enough," he says. He checks the map, taps PRN-02 on the opposite wall, logs again, sends again. The second printer whirs like a competent small animal and spits a crisp Budget Bootcamp — Rails Edition single page that looks like it will survive being photographed by a hundred phones.
Max angles it under light. "This will make someone's aunt text 'finally.'"
"Bring 25 tomorrow," a voice says from behind them, and Mara is suddenly a person instead of a profile—lanyard, canvas tote, the alert posture of someone who has fought microphones and won. "If they all show, we print more on site."
"Twenty-five, plus PDF," Jace says, passing her the proof like war spoils. "Room needs?"
"C109 has HDMI, whiteboard, outlets—bring an extension anyway," she says. "I'll float you fifteen minutes for Q&A if it's clean. If they start asking for tax advice, say 'no' like you're my lawyer."
"Procedural only," Jace says. "Hands visible, no magic apps, no lattes shaming."
Mara grins. "You're hired tomorrow," she says, and disappears into a cluster of student workers with carts that squeak without apology.
Jace slots the proof into the Handouts folder in his bag, makes a note: Print 25 (10:00), and circles extension. He swallows the impulse to run it now; there's a thing about rest that keeps winning arguments.
They angle toward the doors, and a voice with the shape of please surges up from a study table: "Hey—are you the 'rails' guy? I'm Liam. I have a campus poster due by five and the template is eating me."
He slides the laptop around—Campus Cultural Night poster, decent bones, terrible kerning, logo bleeding into the margin like it committed a crime.
"Rails," Jace repeats, because every favor lives in rules or it becomes a habit, then a personality. "$40 for 20 minutes. Transfer upfront. Visible hands. You sit, you watch, I narrate. I fix kerning, bleed, export, and hand you your PDF + PNG. No cash."
Liam's shoulders drop like a storm exiting. "Yes please," he says, already thumbing.
Jace glances at Max, who's already moved two chairs to make a side table station without touching anything that would embarrass a librarian. He sets his timer to 20:00, places the phone face up where everyone can see it, and nods.
The transfer knocks his palm.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Income detected: $40.00.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Evaluating Talent…[SYSTEM PROMPT] Money Welfare: ×2.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Disbursement today: +$80.00.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Total money crit disbursed today: +$6,990.00.[SYSTEM PROMPT] Daily cap remaining (Money): $93,010.00.
He verifies Liam R., gives the nod, starts the clock.
"Problem: tracking," he says, pointing with the cursor. "Your logo is sitting in the bleed; printers will amputate it. Fix: pull it in .125". Also, kerning—watch the 'RN' in 'Cultural'; it's reading as 'M' if you squint."
Liam squints and hisses, chastised by typography.
Jace nudges the logo, sets bleed to .125", margin to .25", flips on rulers and guides, turns on optical kerning in the headline font, and trims the sponsor bar so it stops waging war on the date. He narrates because sound helps hands remember later: "File → Document Setup for bleed, Type → Optical for kerning, Align anchors instead of eyeballing. Export with Marks & Bleeds if they want, but for campus copy, give them a clean PDF and a PNG for socials."
Max becomes a human hinge, keeping their small station from becoming a hallway. The timer loses a minute because time respects competence. Liam's shoulders keep descending, vertebra by vertebra, into the posture of someone who will not be sent back by a printer.
"Text hierarchy," Jace says, toggling weights. "Event name heavy, date/time bold, location bold italic, body regular. Kill italics in the sponsor paragraph—they're standing on their own applause."
Liam laughs like a drain unclogged. "You're… weirdly nice about being mean," he says.
"I'm procedural about being kind," Jace says, and hits Export. "PDF for print, PNG for socials. Put them in a folder that isn't called 'Untitled Good Final Final v2' or I'll revoke your wrist."
Liam names the folder CulturalNight_Ready, because instruction is a gift, and tucks both files inside it with the reverence of a man who has been told not to lose the ring. The 20:00 timer shows 05:14 when they are done, because some jobs don't need all the time you sell them; that is why pricing exists.
"You can hang out for the last five while I proof the PDF at 200%," Jace says, because procedures are love. He scrolls each corner, checks bleed, checks kerning, checks that the 'RN' in 'Cultural' no longer cosplays as an 'M'. It passes. He hands the trackpad back like a baton. "Send this to print@campus with 'Ready to print' in the subject and go make someone's hallway look like a plan."
Liam looks like he might cry in a reasonable way. "Forty dollars for twenty minutes is a steal," he says, awed. "I paid more for a bad haircut."
"Hair grows," Max says. "Posters live in photos."
Liam bolts with gratitude arranged in all his pockets. The alcove exhales. Rain outlines the windows with anxious handwriting.
Jace thumbs his ledger because pride likes to be in ink: Poster tweak $40 ×2 → +$80; Money +$6,990; cap $93,010. He doesn't pronounce any of it holy. He sets his timer back to daylight.
The phone buzzes—Marco again.
Marco:monitor—do you like 27" or 24"? i'll pick whichever is in stock.Jace: You pick model/SKU at counter. We purchase with store card; you transfer $330. You get receipt + warranty.Marco: bet. see u 3:30.
Max leans in, low voice. "If the monitor box is bigger than you, I'm not carrying it."
"You're built for charisma, not freight," Jace says, and zips the bag.
They move toward the doors. The atrium's glass skin murmurs with rain like a large audience that can't whisper. Students bunch under the overhang, texting umbrellas into existence. The security monitor on the wall throws a Campus Safety banner.
[CAMPUS SAFETY ALERT] Severe storm window expected 18:00–21:00. Lightning risk. Secure outdoor equipment. Avoid unnecessary travel.
Max tilts his head. "We are, famously, necessary."
Jace's pen finds the planner margin before the thought finishes. Storm 18–21. He draws a little cloud that looks like it would be friends with a spreadsheet. He traces tomorrow's path under it: 11:00 C109 (indoors), 3:30 Marco (doors-to-counter), 4:30 Priya (indoors), ID log (indoors). He writes leave dorm early as a hedge and car share if thunder because rain can steal minutes you didn't budget.
The storm line sits like a new rail.
Max watches his face. "Slide the 4:30 to 4:00?" he asks, because that would dodge the worst of the alert window.
"Priya 4–7," Jace says. "Sliding hits shift change. Shift change eats patience."
"Hold 4:30," Max says, tasting it. "Leave early. Bring baggies for receipts so paper doesn't learn to swim."
"Procedural," Jace says, pleased with their bones.
He doesn't ink the change. He hovers the pen over 4:30 and lets the rain argue with his plan. The plan is stronger. The plan wins when you write it.
A trio of first-years bungles an umbrella into existence and baptizes themselves; someone laughs, someone wheezes, someone loves them. The doors breathe when they open.
Jace pockets the pen without finishing the underline. He likes the suspense for once. It keeps the day present-tense.
They step forward to the threshold. The alert keeps scrolling. The rain says now.