Chapter 1
In the heart of the lush Ravenshire countryside stood Highcourt Manor, a sprawling 12,000 square foot estate, its grandeur accentuated by the verdant hills and glistening streams that cradled it. At the entrance, a man with slightly tanned skin and a ruggedly marked face stood patiently, his buzz cut contrasting with the sharp black suits of the two security guards who were patting him down. Above them, an infrared camera buzzed quietly, its red light blinking ominously. Once the search concluded, one of the guards turned to a woman in a sharp blazer, her demeanor crisp and commanding. “Charlotte, we’ve checked him thoroughly. No electronic devices on him.” Charlotte’s cool gaze flicked to the man. “Come inside. Emma is waiting for you.” Without a word, he followed Charlotte into the mansion, each step echoing on the polished rosewood floor, the rich aroma of sandalwood wafting through the air. They climbed the grand staircase, entering a room known as The Green Dragon Inn—a name that seemed too exotic for the stark reality inside. The heavy door swung open to reveal an opulent tea room, dominated by a five-foot-long crimson hardwood table. At its center sat Emma Stewart, a dazzling vision of beauty with raven-black hair cascading like silk over her shoulders. Her skin was like porcelain, and her features were so delicately carved they seemed to shimmer under the soft glow of the afternoon light. Dressed in a figure-hugging outfit that accentuated her curves, Emma radiated an intoxicating allure—a stark reminder of the stardom that had once captivated millions. She was not merely a star; she was a phenomenon. Charlotte stepped back, her role as Emma's manager apparent, as Emma gestured for the man to sit. “Have a seat, William Mitchell.” William pulled a chair from the table, his movements calm despite the tension in the room. Charlotte positioned herself behind him, a silent sentinel. With a flick of her wrist, Emma tossed an envelope across the table toward him. The bold letters on the front read: Divorce Agreement. “Sign it, and I’ll give you fifty million,” Emma declared, her tone cold and unyielding, edged with an underlying command that filled the space between them. “Consider it a way to rebuild your family.” As he glanced at the words “Divorce Agreement,” a smirk crept onto William’s lips—an expression that carried both irony and disdain. With deliberate slowness, he picked up the contract, his fingers curling around the corner. Then, in a sudden burst of energy, he tried to rip it. The paper resisted, and a flicker of frustration crossed his face. Emma’s patience thinned, her expression shifting to mild exasperation as she waited for his next move. When he placed the torn edge back on the table, he shrugged, a bemused glint in his eye. “A little thicker than expected.” Emma chuckled coldly. “You’re still playing the fool, aren’t you?” He rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in a mix of amusement and bitterness. Pulling out an identical envelope, he tossed it onto the table, showing it off like a trump card. “This isn’t your divorce, Emma. It’s mine.” “I won’t take a dime. Just sign it, and we’ll part ways—clean and simple.” For a moment, shock flickered across Emma’s flawless features, her meticulously crafted eyelashes trembling as she stared daggers at him. She tried to gauge his sincerity, as if his very soul lay bare before her. William, however, appeared unwavering. He wasn’t playing games; his resolve was palpable. Even Charlotte took a step back, surprise etched into her face at his unexpected boldness. “Look at you, clinging to your pride,” Emma scoffed, ripping open her envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. “I’ll make this easy for you.” The document simply stated: “I, William Mitchell, am no longer Emma Stewart’s husband. Signature effective.” She looked up and added, her tone laced with a blend of sarcasm and grudging respect, “You really do have some backbone.” With that, she signed the paper, her pen flowingly elegant against the stark white sheet, then slid it back toward him. “Your turn.” William’s gaze locked onto Emma's as he picked up the pen, but he didn’t look at the contract. Instead, he studied her—radiant, untouchable, like a goddess who had captivated every admiration. “Why the rush?” she teased, narrowing her eyes. “Second thoughts?” He could hear the smugness lacing her words, and they burned. “You know I’m worthless to you now. My family’s fortune is gone." The stark reality hit him, as harsh as a slap across the face. “What’s done is done,” he replied, his voice taut with barely concealed rage. “But let’s not forget—eight years ago, when you first laid eyes on me, my father was the CEO of a public company, and I had it all. Three hundred million in the bank, connections that mattered. And then you walked in with your charades, tricking me into playing the fool.” “For years, I’ve endured your family acting as if I was the key to the Mitchell legacy. Did you think we didn’t welcome you?” As the air thickened with unspoken resentment, Emma’s smile faltered for a split second—just enough for him to see the woman beneath the star. The sharp edge of memory sliced through him; her betrayal was a wound that had yet to heal. “Yeah, still want to play the pity game?” Emma challenged, her patience dimming, “You’ve got nothing left to offer me, and we both know it.” He was done playing her game. “I’m signing this for me,” he said firmly, snatching the document towards him. “Not for you.” With newfound determination, he scribbled his name, a definitive end to a chapter he’d long wanted to close. Emma’s expression hardened as she watched him, a mix of admiration and bitterness settling between them. It was a new start—for both of them—severed ties woven with both joy and sorrow, love twisted with disdain. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they were no longer bound by the weight of their past.
Chapter 2
William Mitchell’s voice was a gravelly echo of the bruised man he’d become—age lines etched deep into his skin. “I burned through my father’s contacts and cash for you, Emma. I lined up top-tier composers, music labels, even film studios—all to help you land those coveted roles…” He gestured toward his face, which had taken on the look of a weary old man. “Do you know how many nights I’ve drowned in whiskey to help you? I look like a damn grandpa now.” “Emma Stewart—let’s be real here.” “If it weren’t for my family, if it weren't for me, what would you be?” “Now you’re a superstar, rolling in assets worth millions, while my dad’s company is saddled with nearly two hundred million in debt. It's no wonder you’re having a meltdown.” As William laid it all out, Emma’s face remained impassive. “First of all, watch your tone.” “Secondly, you chose to invest in me. Sure, you played a part, but don’t pretend it wasn’t mostly my own hustle.” Her gaze was icy, even laced with disdain. “You had the same family resources I did. I succeeded, and you didn't. That's just life.” William felt a sickening jolt of anger. It was astonishing how low someone could really sink. He prided himself on his patience, but her glibness awakened a dark urge within him—to slap some sense into her. He inhaled deeply, suppressing his fury. If she wanted to play dirty, he could too. Squinting through slitted eyes, he declared, “You want my signature? Fine. One condition.” Emma’s impatience was palpable as she eyed him, brow furrowed. “What is it?” William assessed her, his eyes raking over her like she was a piece of art meant for criticism. “I want to sleep with you. After that, I’ll sign.” Her expression morphed from disbelief to outrage in an instant. “You can't be serious.” “Emma,” piped up her manager, Alexander Nelson, “maybe you should reconsider your approach.” “Shut it, Alexander. This isn’t your conversation.” William turned back to Emma, contempt streaming from his gaze. “And don’t point your finger at me. You don’t get to act superior.” “We can just get a divorce,” he continued bluntly. “We’ve been apart for two years now. And honestly? I haven’t touched you in two years. Before you run off to end your marriage, let me have one last go.” Emma trembled at his words, every part of her quaking. “William,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “You make me sick. Just sign and leave. I never want to see you again.” “I’m sticking to my guns. I want you in bed, and only after that do I sign.” “Listen here,” Alexander interjected, “if he doesn’t sign, that’s fine. You’re already separated; we can file for a divorce legally.” William shrugged. “You heard what I just said. She’s a big star now, but it’s my family that kept her afloat behind the scenes all this time.” “Imagine if that news got out—it wouldn’t do wonders for her reputation.” “Let’s not forget the most pressing issue: My father is drowning in two hundred million in debt. If we go through a typical divorce, Emma, you owe me another hundred million. So think it over,” William finished with a smug grin. Both Emma and Alexander stiffened at his words, realization dawning across their faces. Emma shot William a steely glare. “You promise not to stir up trouble after the divorce?” “I think you know my style by now.” At that, Emma stood up, strutting away with all the grace that had captivated so many. She moved toward a side room, and William followed, curiosity piqued. As soon as they stepped inside, Emma shut the door and reached for the zipper on her fitted outfit. In one swift motion, she stripped down to reveal her flawless skin. The sight was breathtaking—and yet, William felt no spark of desire. Instead, a wave of disgust washed over him. “Ugh,” he scoffed. “You’re pathetic.” With that, he spun on his heel and stormed out. Minutes later, he finalized his signature on the divorce papers, relishing the separation now looming ahead of them. As he walked out of Highcourt Manor, William couldn’t shake the feeling of liberation. The weight he had carried was finally lifting. “Dad, I’m sorry,” he whispered to himself, the words tinged with both regret and relief. “But you taught me: a man’s gotta have his pride. Can't just accept scraps.” Those debts didn’t mean he couldn’t recover. Just as he stepped outside, the ground beneath him began to shake violently. “What the hell?” William gasped, stumbling as chaos erupted around him. Amidst Emma and Alexander’s frantic screams for help, the lavish villa began to crack and crumble, its foundation giving way with an ominous roar. “Looks like even the universe can’t stomach this disaster,” he murmured to himself. And then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a tree branch plummeting towards him. Before he could react, it slammed down onto his head. In his last moments, as darkness closed in, one thought flickered through his mind, “Thank God Dad bought that million-dollar insurance policy. At least he’ll be alright now.”
Chapter 3
When William opened his eyes again, murky water clawed at his face, dragging him back to startling consciousness. The frigid river sent shocks through every inch of his skin, snapping him wide awake. “Didn’t I die under that log?” “Why am I in the water? Am I drowning?” Instinct kicked in. Kicking and flailing, William remembered his swimming lessons back at Eldoria. After a struggle, his head broke the surface, gasping for air as panic set in. The night was an inky black, speckled with stars, the eerily quiet river stretching around him like a boundless abyss. He was roughly a hundred meters from the shore. Even in summer, the night air was brisk, and the water felt like ice. He couldn't waste a moment. Kicking and reaching, he dog-paddled frantically toward land. His shoes felt heavy and his clothes clung to him like lead. With a Herculean effort, he managed to wrestle his shoes off, holding them tightly in one hand as he propelled himself forward, but after about fifty or sixty meters, fatigue crept into his limbs. This body wasn't in great shape. Time to keep moving. Don’t stop. He could not afford to stop. He swam and swam. As he approached the shore—barely ten meters away—an agonizing pain pierced his chest. It felt like a dagger twisting inside him. “Damn it, what’s happening?” The pain radiated from his heart, forcing him to grimace, his body feeling like it was sinking, dragged into the depths. But he couldn’t give in. If he sank, it would all be over. To distract himself from the crushing agony in his chest, William bit hard into his lower lip. The sharp pain helped drown out the anguish radiating through his body. With sheer willpower, he pushed himself toward the bank. Miraculously, after a desperate push of several meters, his feet finally touched something solid—the ocean bed's coarse sand. In that moment, his strength vanished. He collapsed onto the beach, gasping for breath. But he couldn’t rest; the pain in his heart continued, worse than before, now like ten knives digging in. He was sweating, each bead falling as though he was withering under the unforgiving sun. “Medicine... left pocket.” A fragment of memory popped into his mind. His hand lashed out to the left pocket, and sure enough, he pulled out a sealed vial. Inside were small white pills. Without thinking twice, he unscrewed the cap, tipping two or three into his mouth. The bitterness exploded on his taste buds as he swallowed them down, each bitter grain like salt on an open wound. He lay there, utterly vulnerable on the beach, as the knife-like pain began to let up, fragments of memory coursing through his mind. Once those memories coalesced, one stark realization settled in: he had crossed over. This was not Eldoria but a parallel realm called Azurevale. In Eldoria, the Qin Emperor’s quest for immortality led to the collapse of his dynasty, but in Azurevale, he expanded his empire, conquering westward and finally uniting the world in a historic conquest. With the passage of time, more continents would be discovered across the ocean, leading to a world split into seven continents, each further divided into countless counties and cities. William found himself in a place known as Eastwick, Northworth County. Under the guidance of brilliant leaders, the global populace thrived in peace and prosperity, the seven continents bustling with joy and fulfillment. In Azurevale, culture flourished—music, film, literature, calligraphy, painting—all the arts thrived like never before. It was a utopian dream. But, of course, even amidst perfection lurked shadows. William was that darkness. This body had been born with congenital heart disease, a condition that haunted him since birth. His parents had buried themselves in debt simply to transform his illness from acute to chronic, relying on medication to stay alive. Even with medication, he was advised to avoid any serious exertion, extreme stress, or emotional upheaval. Otherwise, his heart could betray him at any moment, just like it nearly had while swimming. His father, in a desperate bid to repay their debts, had worked himself to exhaustion and passed away when William was just six. Now, the pills he relied on cost a hundred dollars a day, three thousand a month. He had an older sister named Olivia—a painfully common name. Olivia was brilliant, acing her classes, ranking third in her middle school, and destined for a top high school. Teachers predicted she could easily make it to a prestigious university. But in their impoverished family, her dreams were sacrificed; she chose to work in a factory for a meager five hundred dollars a month. Three hundred of that transferred directly to William every month to keep him alive. It was no exaggeration to say that this body survived solely due to the selfless sacrifices of his mother and sister. William wanted to contribute, to earn a living, but the moment potential employers learned about his heart condition, they turned him away. Twice, he’d hidden his illness to land jobs, only to collapse from exhaustion or stress. His coworkers reported him, and he was let go. The disease had already turned his life into a hopeless struggle. News of escalating medical costs soon shattered whatever semblance of stability he had. With his condition worsening due to stress, his medication needs doubled. Three thousand a month turned into six. He hadn’t earned a dime and had only burdened his mother and sister further. Overwhelmed, William had finally cracked. Late one night, he had financed a Citi Bike ride to the river, heart heavy, and plunged in, hoping to end his miserable existence. After absorbing these memories, all he could muster was a silent sigh. This wasn’t about the original host's weakness. If William had lived their life, under those circumstances, he would have likely made the same choice. “But whether in Eldoria or Azurevale, money is essential.” “In Eldoria, I bribed my way to help that shallow girl become a star.” “Now here in Azurevale, the struggle continues; I’m still chained to the relentless pursuit of money.” William let out a wry laugh, shaking his head. But there was a flicker of hope. He had come equipped with memories from his past life. In this culture-driven society, he could tap into his creativity to scribble songs and stories and perhaps earn a penny or two. More than just surviving for himself, his goal was to repay the sacrifices of his mother and sister. Part of his mind was driven by the embedded thoughts of the original host, pushing him to act on this ambition furiously. Writing wasn’t particularly emotionally taxing. Even if he felt a surge of intense emotion during the process, he could keep his pills close by, ready to stabilize him should the need arise. As thoughts swirled through his mind, William began to focus, trying to sift through his memories of the classic literature and music from Eldoria. But every time he reached out, it was as if his mind was wrapped in cobwebs, suffocatingly thick and impossible to penetrate.
Chapter 4
William Mitchell felt like his mind had been wrapped in cotton candy, thoughts swirling but ultimately slippery, nearly impossible to grasp. The only memories that sharpened against the fog were those of his ex-wife, Emma Stewart, from a rocky six-year relationship, and snippets of wisdom imparted by his father, Edward Mitchell. Struggling to recall anything else, he could only manage the names of movies like *The Titanic* or *The Shawshank Redemption*. But what did those mean to him, really? “What the hell is going on?” he muttered, frustration leaking into his voice. “Why can’t I remember anything?” Just then, a gentle voice floated into his consciousness. “Beep. Welcome, host. There were some issues during your reincarnation process, resulting in only 20% of your most important memories being retained. The less important ones have been discarded.” Marriage and paternal lessons were indeed vital to his previous life. But relative to movies and pop culture, they didn’t seem particularly significant. “I mean, those memories are crucial to me now,” he replied, scanning his surroundings with sudden caution. “Who’s there? Who’s talking to me?” “Host, I am the ‘Ultimate Artist’ system.” This voice wasn’t coming from the outside world; it pulsed within his mind. A system. The term rang familiar—a staple of the reincarnation novels he had devoured in his previous life. But was this cause for excitement? Not really. If given the opportunity, he’d prefer his memories intact over some flashy system any day. Yet, here he was. “What’s the primary function of this system?” William asked. As soon as the words left his lips, a flashy interface—like something out of a video game—popped up in his mind. ## Ultimate Artist System Name: William Mitchell Max Possible Age: 22 (Current Age: 20) Music Reputation: 27 Art Reputation: 9 Literary Reputation: 86 Calligraphy Reputation: 12 Photography Reputation: 81 ## “Your max age indicates how long you can live, subtracting your current age tells you how much time you have left,” the system explained as if he were a novice. “The reputation values indicate your influence in various fields. As your reputation increases, you can unlock treasure chests of different tiers—gold, silver, bronze, and iron.” “Moreover, the system will periodically assign tasks that, when completed, grant you more treasure chests.” William frowned. “So essentially, I’ve got two more years to live?” “Yes, host. Due to the previous body's excessive strain and intermittent medication use, your health has deteriorated. In two years, your heart will be beyond repair.” Visions of grim scenarios flitted through his mind. The former owner of this body had struggled to make ends meet, covering tuition and unexpected costs without asking his family for help. He thought he could catch up after finding a job that never materialized. In the end, he’d starved himself of the medications he needed while trying to manage his expenses. “Damn it. Money really ruins everything,” William sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Is there any way to extend my life?” “Complete the tasks the system provides to receive treasure chests. Inside, there’s a chance you might find items that can prolong your life,” the system chirped. “Great," William said, sarcasm lacing his words. “And do these items actually cure my illness or just drag out the inevitable?” “Host, the items provided by the system not only extend your life but can also treat your ailments.” Now that was a glimmer of hope. “So, do I get a starter pack or something?” he asked, trying to suppress his rising anticipation. “Ding! Starter pack has been added to host’s inventory.” Before him, a shimmering yellow box glimmered, visible only to him. A thrill of excitement coursed through him. “Wow, a gold treasure chest? You’re pretty generous, system!” “…” With a swift motion, he opened the box, revealing a book and a yellow talisman. Moments later, two notifications popped up in his mind. “Congratulations! You’ve acquired the music piece ‘The Common Road.’” “You’ve obtained a talisman: ‘Lucky Charm’; using it grants the user good fortune for thirty minutes, depending on the situation.” William flipped through the pages of *The Common Road,* and visions of its lyrics surged into his mind. “Wandering down this path, will you walk it? Via Via. Fragile pride, that once belonged to me…” It wasn’t just lyrics; he recalled the score and the accolades it had received. The theme song from *The Farewell Season,* winning Best Original Song at the 51st Golden Horse Awards in Taiwan... Yet, a tinge of disappointment swept over him. Not that it was a bad song, but… “System, that’s it? From a gold chest? What’s in those bronze and iron chests, garbage?” he asked, disappointment painted on his features. “Host, gold chests emit a brilliant glow. Although bronze is similar, it's generally dimmer in hue. I hope you find this knowledge useful.” William felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Are you implying I can’t tell gold from brass?” “The system does not presume…” To ease the tension, William smirked. “So I just got a bronze chest as my rookie gift? Wow. Honestly, my memories are worth much more than your little system.” Though he was only kidding, his words rang true. Sure, he retained a few sage lessons from his father and some hurtful memories from Emma. The lessons were valuable, yet the bitter memories of his imperfect marriage? They did little more than churn up anger and regret now. In comparison, everything he’d learned about art in his past life could prove invaluable in this new journey. “Before I go,” William said, contemplating his next inquiry. “What are the odds I’ll find a life-extending talisman?” “The iron box has a 20% chance for a talisman; the bronze offers 30%. Silver provides a 50% chance; the gold, 80%,” the system replied. William couldn't help but feel the weight of his predicament. Lying on his back, gazing at the stars twinkling above Sunhaven Strand, he realized that time wasn’t on his side. Just then, faint voices drifted toward him. “William.” “William.” A voice to the right—a voice to the left. Both male and female. Someone was calling his name.
Chapter 5
As the sound echoed through the night, two beams of flashing light danced above Stonebridge, cutting through the darkness. Hearing the distant voices, William Mitchell instantly conjured up two familiar faces in his mind. Henry Fletcher, his childhood friend and college roommate. They’d grown up together, their lives intertwined by similar backgrounds and experiences. That bond had forged a deep understanding of one another, leading to endless conversation and camaraderie. Then there was Sophia Benson, his close female friend. Their paths had crossed by chance, but she had offered him immense support in various aspects of his life. William scrambled to his feet, projecting his voice toward the flickering lights above. “Hey! I’m down here!” His voice rang out sharply in the stillness of the night. A moment later, the two beams shifted, finally landing on William standing at Sunhaven Strand. “Big guy, hold tight! We’re on our way!” Henry’s booming voice traveled through the air from the bridge. Henry and Sophia had found the path down to the rocky shore below. In less than three minutes, they were on the bank with William. Henry was an athlete, built like a tank—forged through hours of training. He stood at six feet tall and weighed around 200 pounds, his biceps bulging through the short sleeves of his shirt. Sophia, on the other hand, was slender and stood just shy of five-six. She wore what unmistakably looked like a pink nightgown that fell to her knees. Yep, it was definitely a nightgown. But despite its casual appearance, it couldn’t hide her long, graceful legs or the curve of her waist. Under the moonlight, William could make out their facial features. Henry’s face was square, with a slightly awkward look, while Sophia had an oval face that, on recollection, belonged to a breathtakingly beautiful girl. “William,” Henry exclaimed, concern lacing his voice. “What the hell, man? You scared us! You’re not seriously thinking about jumping, are you?” Sophia, standing beside him, was clearly furious. “You idiot! You think this is some sort of joke? What about your mom and sister?” In the face of their heartfelt reprimands, William shot back, “How did you even know I was here?” The memory struck him; just ten minutes earlier, he had texted them—after throwing his phone in the basket on a Citi Bike—then he had leapt into the water. He hadn’t mentioned his location in the message, and that had been ten minutes ago. The ride from Hartford Academy would take at least half an hour, which meant they had some prior knowledge… somehow. Henry’s sturdy build came closer as he explained, “Usually, by eight, you’d be back in the dorm, but when nine rolled around and you weren’t back, I started to worry. I checked your desk and found some medical documents indicating your health had taken a toll. Your meds needed adjusting.” He continued, “Then I spotted some sketches you had made, and they looked like the layout of Stonebridge.” “Putting it together, I feared you might try something desperate at the bridge.” His worry had clearly escalated, and when he had shared his suspicion with Sophia, she’d dashed over on her electric scooter. Listening to Henry, warmth lit up William’s chest. It was touching to know they would piece together such a serious thought from simple, everyday details. Even when life felt wretched, he had friends and family whose care ignited a small flame of hope. “Thanks, you guys,” he said sincerely. “Thanks?” Henry scoffed. “What kind of gratitude is that? You’re soaked! Did you actually jump? I thought you couldn’t swim. How’d you even make it back?” “I jumped,” William replied, “and then a new soul popped into my head—someone who can swim. So, I made it back.” The bewildered expressions on both their faces made it evident they dismissed his claim. Sophia rolled her eyes, “You’re a lunatic, but don’t expect us to buy that soul-switching nonsense. Not even fiction would go there.” Well, that settled it. He couldn’t care less if they bought it—at least it meant he could talk with them openly without any reservations later. “Whatever. As long as you’re alright. Let’s just head back,” Henry said as he started guiding William toward the pathway leading back to the bridge, Sophia by his side. Climbing onto his bike, William watched as Henry and Sophia rode their electric scooters ahead, the three of them making the trek back to the heart of Hartford Academy under the stars. After about half an hour, they arrived at a brightly lit stretch of food stalls. “Let’s grab a late-night bite,” Henry suggested. They settled in at a nearby BBQ stand, sharing skewers and local craft brews. In the glow of the stall lights, William took a closer look at his friends as they laughed and teased each other. Henry’s eyes were small, and he had a large mouth that didn’t do him any favors in the looks department; still, his bright and rugged charm shone through. But Sophia… even without makeup, she was stunning. Her skin glowed like freshly fallen snow—pure yet different from the usual standards of beauty. Her long, silky hair cascaded over her shoulders, and behind her fluttering eyelashes were eyes that sparkled with vibrancy. Her slightly elevated nose only added to her allure and gave her an air of grace. William had certainly seen his share of beautiful women in the past—his last life had been spent among the elite and glamorous—but Sophia struck him as something truly special. Even in her nightgown, she encapsulated effortless beauty. When she caught William staring, Sophia shot him a withering glance. “What are you gawking at, idiot?” “You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” William said candidly. Her pout shifted into a smile, “Wow, jumping in the river really must’ve cleared your head. Maybe this is worth it after all.” Her zingers were as sharp as ever, reminding him of their old banter. “Must’ve been a cleansing swim, I should bottle some up for you. Maybe it’ll help you transform into the kind-hearted person your name suggests,” William quipped. Sophia’s lips curved into a playful pout as she threatened lightly, “Are you calling me mean?” William swiftly raised his hands in surrender. “Not me! It’s all in your court. Henry can vouch for me!” The laughter flowed between them as the skewers grilled to perfection, the three of them eagerly tearing into their late-night feast. After a couple of rounds of the local brew—six percent alcohol, nothing too intense—they were all feeling a delightful buzz. In a moment of exasperation, Henry slammed his cup down on the table, his voice growing serious. “William, no matter how tough things get, don’t ever think about jumping again. You can talk to us about anything; we’re here for you.” “Sure, I may not have a ton of cash, but my family’s a bit better off than yours. I get over two grand a month from my folks, and I can spare some for you.” As he said this, Henry fiddled with his phone, and with a chime, William received a notification that Henry had sent him a thousand bucks. “Just remember, this isn’t free. You owe me when you’re back on your feet,” Henry added with faux menace, though the generosity warmed William’s heart. Sophia dug out her phone as well, and just like that, another ding resonated. William glanced down to find an unexpected transfer of three thousand dollars pending. “Hey idiot,” she said, cheeks flushed from the beer. “I figured your meds each month were three grand, and considering the recent diagnosis—well, you’re going to need this. But, of course, you’ll be working for it.” With a mischievous smirk, she added, “You’ll be responsible for cleaning my place and doing my laundry.” Seeing her enchanting dimples, William couldn’t help but have warm memories of their initial meeting flood back to him.
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