Chapter 1

My second year inside a novel.

While I was feeding medicine to the old man I’d rescued from the roadside, a line of text suddenly floated across my vision:

[That’s the richest man in New York! The male lead is so damn lucky. The heroine was the one who saved him, but the first person he saw when he woke up was the male lead. Then that brat used his connections to climb straight to the top.]

My hand trembled around the spoon. I immediately set down the medicine and shook the old man awake. To make sure I could cash in on this favor later, I even shelled out a whopping two thousand dollars for a full medical checkup.

Later, lying in bed and counting on my fingers, I felt more ripped off by the second. I wanted to leap up and slap myself ten times.

The floating comments exploded again:

[Help. What is the male lead even trying to prove? Money practically wants to sprout wings and fly into his pocket, and he’s still giving us that “Don’t look down on me just because I’m poor” crap.]

[Can you do this or not? If you can’t, let me! I’d drink myself to death for that hundred thousand dollars.]

I sprang out of bed, grabbed a huge sack, and raced toward the bar mentioned in the comments.

Whatever else happened, nobody should turn down money just to protect their pride.

“Ethan Grant, drink this, and the hundred thousand dollars is yours.”

A thin young man stood ramrod straight in the middle of the private room. On the round table beside him sat half a glass of crimson wine and a dazzling stack of cash. Another young man, dressed like a punk rocker, lounged in the booth.

My eyes locked onto that money. I couldn’t look away. If I hadn’t been afraid of getting mistaken for a thief, I would’ve stuffed the whole stack straight into my sack.

“Not drinking? Too bad. Guess I’ll have to give the money to someone else.”

The conversation continued inside. The second I heard that money might go to someone else, I scratched my butt in agitation, grabbed my sack, and shoved through the door. I made a beeline for the wine.

“No! If he won’t drink it, I will!”

I snatched up the glass and drained it in two big gulps. Then I grinned at the punk-looking guy, still holding the empty glass.

“So, uh, that one’s finished. Can I go another round?”

He shot off the couch and pointed at my nose.

“What the hell? Who are you? Who let you in?”

The comments dissolved into chaos.

[Holy shit, which one of you girls got transported in there? She actually did what I wanted to do. Real talk, can I have a cut?]

[Wait, where did this random extra come from? How’s the plot supposed to continue now? If the spoiled rich kid doesn’t throw a fit, how will his grandpa meet the male lead again and help him climb the ladder?]

I blinked. Wait. You’re saying all I have to do is piss off this punk, and I’ll get to meet the richest man in New York and reach the top?

Being obnoxious? Please. Broke people like me were born for that.

Under his murderous glare, I pointed at myself with a shit-eating grin. “Hey, Rooster Boy, are you talking to me? I heard you were paying people to drink, so I rode a rental bike over. Oh, right. You should reimburse me for that too. Five bucks a ride. Pretty expensive.”

His face went scarlet. He glared at me like he wanted me dead and strode toward me.

“Help! Someone’s attacking me!”

I spotted the door, spun around, and bolted.

“What’s all this noise? Don’t you know the chairman is here?”

At the end of the hallway stood the old man. His usual kindly expression had been replaced by a stern one. I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

The top of the world, here I come!