Ashborn sat frozen on the squeaky chair behind the counter of his family's modest retail store. His eyes darted around the small shop—rows of dusty shelves, a humming refrigerator that worked only when it wanted to, the cheap plastic clock ticking away like it knew some secret.
But none of that explained the crisp, metallic voice still echoing in his head:
[System Activated: The Ledger of Fortune has chosen you.]
For a moment, he wondered if this was his brain short-circuiting after too much caffeine and too many late-night webnovel binges. He rubbed his eyes, slapped his cheeks lightly, then whispered, "Okay… either I'm insane, or some AI narrator just set up camp in my skull."
The voice ignored his sarcasm.
[Host: Ashborn Adeel. Age: 23. Occupation: Shopkeeper. Ambition Detected: Success, Growth, Stability.]
Ashborn muttered, "You forgot world domination, but fine."
[Core Function: Investment Protocol. Capital injection: ₹100,000. First Evaluation: 30 days.]
He blinked. "One lakh? Wait—you're just giving me money? Like… free? No strings attached? You're not about to ask for my kidneys, right?"
[System Funds must be invested. Idle hoarding is forbidden. Profit share: 10%.]
Ashborn leaned back, nearly tipping his chair. The shop was empty for now—afternoons in this desert city often dragged slow, most people hiding from the heat. Even the ceiling fan above seemed too tired to rotate properly.
His younger brother, Saif, was upstairs "studying"—which usually meant playing games on his phone until someone caught him. His little sister, Mariam, had gone with their mother to visit an aunt. It left Ashborn alone with his thoughts… and apparently a financial spirit guide.
He pinched his nose. "Alright. Either I've been isekai'd in the middle of Pakistan, or I've unlocked the DLC for life."
The system, as expected, showed no sense of humor.
[Host must make first choice: Investment Category.]
A faint shimmer filled his vision, like someone had placed a translucent screen over the world. Options began to float before his eyes in neat golden letters:
Shop Renovation
New Product Variety
Customer Survey & Feedback
Delivery Service Setup
Ashborn's mouth went dry. "You… you want me to pick one now?"
[Correct. Deadline: 72 hours.]
He pressed his palms against his knees, trying to calm the storm in his chest. "One lakh rupees. That's… not small. That's more than Dad ever left in savings at once. If I screw this up, I—"
[Warning: Failure will affect future investment cycles. Success increases profit share.]
His paranoia whispered back: And if I fail, what if it vanishes completely? Or worse, what if I'm punished?
Shaking his head, he forced a smile. "Okay. Okay, breathe. This isn't a horror movie. It's a… business simulator. With real money. No pressure."
He stood and walked to the shop entrance, pushing aside the hanging curtain that kept out dust and heat. The street outside stretched long and sun-baked, lined with small stores like his: a bakery with the scent of bread wafting out, a mechanic shop where two men argued over the price of a tire, and across the road, a pharmacy run by Dr. Alia—the local doctor everyone respected.
Ashborn found himself staring at her signboard longer than he meant to. Funny… she looks so calm whenever I see her. I wonder if she struggles with the same money headaches as we do.
He shook his head quickly. No time for daydreaming.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A WhatsApp notification popped up. Group chat: "University Alumni – Charity Drive".
A photo of a smiling girl with a clipboard appeared. Kinat. His old classmate from university, who'd gone to the big city to run her own social projects. She looked the same—driven, radiant, the kind of person who made you feel lazy just by existing.
The caption read: "Small donations matter too! Help us sponsor school uniforms for children in remote areas this month."
Ashborn's lips twitched. He remembered how, back when he was broke in university, he'd still donated a tiny amount to her online fundraisers. It was ridiculous, really—he'd skipped lunch just to send two hundred rupees once. But she'd messaged him personally with a thank you, and that had made his entire week.
Now, with one lakh floating in his account courtesy of the "Ledger of Fortune," the irony wasn't lost on him.
He snorted. "I wanted to change my life… but now I'm stuck choosing between paint for shelves or helping kids get shoes. Is this fate, or just some cosmic prank?"
Back in the shop, he pulled out a notebook. His handwriting sprawled across the page as he listed:
Renovation = Make store look modern, attract more customers.
Variety = Stock new products, risk some going unsold.
Survey = Ask customers what they actually want, awkward but useful.
Delivery = Hire someone with a bike, maybe attract lazy rich customers.
He tapped the pen against his teeth. "If I was reading a light novel, I'd scream at the MC to pick Variety. New stock = new customers, duh. But real life? Bro, what if I get stuck with fifty kilos of chips nobody buys?"
A laugh escaped his lips, the kind of laugh that sounded half-insane. Saif peeked down from the stairs, his hair messy, a suspicious phone-shaped bulge in his pocket.
"Bhai, are you talking to yourself again?"
Ashborn glared. "No. I'm… brainstorming."
"Right. Totally normal to brainstorm with the ceiling." Saif shrugged and vanished upstairs.
Ashborn sighed. "This is my life now. Crazy brother, nosy sister, and a fortune ledger in my head. Alright then, let's play this game."
The system chimed again, cool and detached.
[Reminder: 71 hours 12 minutes remain until first decision deadline.]
He leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You know what, System? You're bossy, but I like you. Let's see if I can actually beat you at your own game."
For the first time in months, a spark of genuine excitement flickered in his chest. His ambitions—once a distant, half-dreamed fantasy—suddenly felt alive. The world hadn't changed, but maybe, just maybe, he finally could.
And with that thought, the Ledger of Fortune silently awaited his choice.