None of us could believe what we had just seen. For a few moments we simply stood there staring at the report as if the numbers might change if we looked long enough, and only after the silence started feeling uncomfortable did we finally calm ourselves enough to talk.
I spoke first.
"This has to be a mistake," I said while running a hand through my hair and trying to think clearly. "Whoever made this error probably needs those years back."
Anthony shook his head immediately and leaned forward with excitement shining in his eyes.
"No way," he said quickly. "Those years are yours now. You could be rich, Justin. Just spend them."
William turned toward him and pushed his glasses slightly higher on the bridge of his nose before answering.
"Anth, Justin is right," he said calmly. "We can't keep something that clearly doesn't belong to us."
Anthony clearly hated hearing that. He muttered something under his breath and walked toward the living room before dropping onto the couch with visible frustration.
Seeing him sit there like that felt strange, so William and I exchanged a quick glance before coming up with a small compromise.
"Hey, Anth," I said while stepping closer to the couch and folding my arms. "Maybe donating a year or two wouldn't make much difference."
Anthony's head lifted instantly.
His face lit up in a way that almost looked ridiculous and he jumped from the couch like someone had just handed him a victory trophy.
That was easily the strangest celebration I had ever witnessed.
A short while later I arrived at the nearest Chrono Hub to process the donation. The building looked quiet from the outside, but inside dozens of robotic attendants moved through the hallways with mechanical precision, because the absence of human employees meant the machines had to handle everything.
I sat in the waiting lounge while watching them move around the facility until a doctor and his assistant finally approached me.
"Greetings, sir," the doctor said politely while gesturing toward the corridor beside him. "This way, please."
They guided me into a laboratory where a medical bed waited in the center of the room. After I lay down, a transparent screen floated above my head and displayed the interface that allowed me to select how many years I wanted to donate.
Once the amount was confirmed, the doctor administered a mild sedative with my consent and the extraction process began.
The next thing I remember was waking up.
My vision slowly returned and I noticed the doctor pacing around the room while his assistant watched the monitors with a worried expression.
"What is it, doctor?" I asked while pushing myself slightly upward on the bed. "Why are you pacing like that?"
The doctor slowed his pacing and looked at me with clear confusion written across his face.
"We couldn't extract your years," he said slowly while glancing back at the monitors. "Some unknown field interfered with the process during extraction."
Something clearly wasn't right. Not just inside that lab, but somewhere deeper in my life.
"Does this happen very often?" I asked quietly.
The doctor fell silent for a moment. He stopped pacing completely and turned toward me again, his expression far more serious than before.
"This hasn't happened…" he said slowly.
"…in decades."