Chapter One: "The $0.10 Senior Stunner"

Ethan Black stared at his phone, muttering under his breath, "Seriously? 'Campus Queen Water Delivery Service, $0.10'?"

It was the first day of freshman military training at Westfield University, and with the drill sergeant still AWOL, everyone was sprawled in the shade, glued to their screens. Ethan, bored out of his mind, had just downloaded a sketchy app called Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest. The tagline screamed: "Start with a trillion-dollar subsidy! Even if you're broke, this game makes you the planet's top dog!" Curiosity got the better of him, so he poked around. The in-game store was the real kicker. Since he was a newbie, only three items were unlocked:

Campus Queen Water Delivery Service, $0.10 Ferrari SF90, $0.20 Luxury Mansion, $0.30

Ethan blinked at the screen, dumbfounded. "Campus Queen Water Delivery? What's that, some sorority side hustle? Is this even legal?" He chuckled to himself. Then there was the Ferrari SF90—normally a $600,000 beast, yours for two dimes. And a mansion? In a mid-tier town like Westfield, a place like that would run you $2 million, easy. Here? Thirty cents. "Trillion-dollar subsidy, my ass," he snorted. "This is some next-level scam. These devs must think I was born yesterday."

He was about to uninstall the app when a pop-up flashed:

[Are you sure you want to quit?]

[The chance to be the richest only comes once. Miss it, and it's gone forever!]

Ethan hesitated. "Okay, fine. What's a dime gonna hurt? Worst case, I'm out a Starbucks tip." The Ferrari and mansion tempted him, but he smirked and tapped the cheapest option: Campus Queen Water Delivery Service. "Not that I'm thirsty for a hot senior or anything," he muttered, justifying it to himself. "It's just… budget-friendly. Yeah, that's it."

He topped up $0.10 via PayPal—because who carries cash anymore?—and hit confirm. Then the drill sergeant rolled up, barking orders, and Ethan forgot all about his little experiment as the sweat-soaked misery of training kicked in.

Two hours later, under a blistering sun, the freshmen were a mess—drenched, panting, and parched. "Rest up, you maggots!" the sergeant bellowed. Ethan and his crew bolted for the shade.

"Dude, I'm dying," groaned Jake, Ethan's lanky roommate. "You got water?"

"Nope," Ethan said, wiping his brow. "You?"

"Nah, man. I'd kill for a Gatorade right now."

The group grumbled, kicking themselves for not prepping better. Then came Brad "Big Man" Harrison, a hulking classmate with a grin too smug for anyone's good. "What's this? None of you losers brought water?"

"You got some, Big Brad?" Jake asked, hopeful.

"Nope," Brad said, puffing out his chest. "But I've got something better—a girlfriend who delivers."

The guys froze. Girlfriend? They'd been at college for, what, a week? Brad must've locked that down in high school—a rare flex for sure. Most of them were still single, nursing crushes on TikTok stars.

"No way," Jake said, eyes wide. "You're bluffing."

"Watch and weep, peasants," Brad crowed. "My girl's on her way. Told her to swing by during training. Nothing beats a hot chick bringing you H2O while you're suffering."

Sure enough, a minute later, a decent-looking girl—maybe a 6 out of 10—strolled up to the field's edge, clutching a bottle of Aquafina. Brad waved like he'd just won the lottery, and she hustled over. "Meet Tiffany," he said, slinging an arm around her. "Best girlfriend ever."

The guys gawked, a mix of envy and despair washing over them. Even the few with long-distance girlfriends couldn't compete—those girls were stuck in other states, not playing water fairy.

Brad, reveling in his moment, zeroed in on Ethan. "What about you, pretty boy? No lady to save your dehydrated soul?"

Ethan smirked but said nothing. Brad had been gunning for him since day one—probably because Ethan's jawline was sharper than Brad's GPA. This was a power play, a chance to dunk on the class heartthrob and climb the social ladder.

"No answer, huh?" Brad pressed, grinning like a shark. "Guess some guys just don't have the juice—"

He didn't finish. A collective gasp rippled through the group as every head swiveled toward the field entrance. Ethan turned too, and his jaw hit the floor.

There, striding across the grass like she owned the place, was Sophia Winters—the campus legend. Senior, track star, and the kind of gorgeous that made people question their life choices. Her dark hair was pulled back tight, her expression icy, and in her hands? A freaking silver tray with a pitcher of ice-cold water and a stack of cups. She was dressed in a crisp blazer and skirt, like she'd just walked out of a boardroom—or a spy movie.

The field went dead silent. Even the drill sergeant stopped yelling, staring like he'd seen a ghost. Sophia marched straight toward Ethan, her heels clicking with purpose, and stopped right in front of him. Without a word, she set the tray down on a nearby bench, poured a cup of water, and handed it to him. Her voice was cool as steel: "Your order, Mr. Black."

Ethan took the cup, brain short-circuiting. "Uh… thanks?"

She didn't smile. Didn't blink. Just nodded and said, "Enjoy," before turning on her heel and walking off, leaving a trail of stunned freshmen in her wake.

Brad's smug face collapsed. "What the hell was that?"

Jake wheezed, clutching his chest. "Dude, did the Campus Queen just wait on you like a butler? Are you secretly royalty?"

"I… I don't know," Ethan stammered, staring at the cup. Then it hit him—the game. The $0.10 purchase. No way.

Tiffany crossed her arms, glaring at Brad. "Who's she? You said I was the only one bringing you water!"

"Babe, I swear, I don't even know her!" Brad sputtered, his alpha vibe crumbling.

Ethan took a sip, the water somehow tasting like victory. But as the group erupted into chaos—half laughing, half freaking out—his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen: a new game notification.

[Purchase Confirmed: Campus Queen Water Delivery Service]

[Next Suggested Item: Private Helicopter, $0.50]

[Warning: Every buy bends reality. Spend wisely.]

Ethan's grin faded. This wasn't just a game anymore. This was trouble—with a capital T and a trillion-dollar price tag.