The last thing Jaxon remembered was the sickening crash of his laptop hitting the drywall.
Two years of his life had gone into writing The Golden Court. Two years of sleepless nights, skipping meals, and watching the view counter stay glued to zero. Exhausted, broke, and thoroughly defeated, he had collapsed onto his mattress, wishing the world would just swallow him whole.
Then came the smell.
It wasn’t the damp, mildewed odor of his cheap apartment. It was the sharp tang of fresh sneaker rubber, expensive wood polish, and the biting mint of locker-room liniment.
Woosh.
Jaxon snapped his eyes open, his lungs burning. He wasn’t on his sagging mattress. He was sitting on a low wooden bench inside a sprawling, luxury locker room, a heavy metallic clipboard resting in his lap. He looked down. Instead of his regular clothes, he was swimming in an oversized, faded grey tracksuit.
He leaned forward, catching his reflection in the polished surface of a stainless steel locker door.
Messy black hair, deeply shadowed eyes, and a face that looked barely nineteen.
No way.
He knew this exact setup. He had spent months sketching the floor plans. He had transmigrated straight into his own abandoned manuscript as ’Jax’—the broke assistant equipment manager. A homeless orphan who slept on a cot in the gym’s storage closet. A nameless, disposable extra meant to exist purely in the background.
Slap!
A heavy, sweat-soaked varsity jersey slammed directly into Jaxon’s face, the damp fabric blinding him for a second.
"Hey, trash! Pick it up!"
Jaxon pulled the wet fabric off his face, his expression flat.
Standing over him was Garrison Vance. Six-foot-six of pure, sculpted muscle, a multi-millionaire heir, and the story’s arrogant star shooting guard. He was supposed to be the novel’s protagonist, but up close, he just looked like a bully.
"You’re lagging today, Jax," Garrison sneered, cracking his knuckles. "Wash my gear before the second half starts. And rub down my spare shoes while you’re at it. Don’t make me ask twice."
Jaxon didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He just sat there, staring up at the giant.
Tap. Tap.
The sharp click of athletic heels echoed near the doorway. Roxie Sterling leaned against the heavy doorframe.
Even in a room full of elite athletes, she arrested attention. She sported a striking silver undercut, exotic violet eyes, and a tight black athletic bodysuit that traced her voluptuous, hourglass curves. She held a digital tablet tightly against her chest, her jaw clenched in discomfort.
Jaxon knew that look. He had written her character notes. Garrison’s family held a predatory five-thousand-dollar equipment debt over her head, using the financial leverage to force her into being the team’s submissive poster girl.
"Garrison, leave him alone," Roxie said, her voice tight. "He’s just doing his job."
"Shut up, Roxie," Garrison scoffed, barely glancing back as he tapped his phone screen.
"Until your five grand is paid off, you don’t have a voice in this room. Keep your mouth shut."
The air in the locker room suddenly dropped, turning ice-cold.
Bzzzzt!
The entire world snapped to a complete standstill. A bead of sweat hung frozen in mid-air, hovering just off Garrison’s jawline. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed, vibrating at a frequency that made Jaxon’s ears ring.
Glowing, neon-blue windows burst open directly in his line of sight.
[Warning: Author detected.]
[Your abandoned novel has distorted into an R-18 High-Stakes Wish-Fulfillment Realm.]
[The Multiverse Live Stream has begun!]
[The Constellation ’Goddess of Wealth’ is amused by your calmness.]
[Emergency Sponsor Cash Granted: $100,000 Cosmic Funds available in System Wallet.]
Jaxon’s panic didn’t rise. Instead, a cold, calculated focus settled into his chest. He had built this world from scratch. He knew the hidden logic behind every rule, even if the system was throwing a twist at him.
Snap!
Time jolted back into motion.
"Did you hear me, boy?" Garrison barked, stepping closer until his shadow completely engulfed Jaxon. "Get moving!"
Jaxon stood up slowly. His shoulders were relaxed, his hands loose at his sides. He didn’t look up at Garrison. Instead, he simply walked right past the towering guard, brushing against his shoulder as if he were passing a piece of gym equipment.
"What the hell...?" Garrison muttered, his brow furrowing as he stumbled half a step backward from the unexpected lack of resistance.
Jaxon walked straight toward the doorway.
Step. Step.
Roxie blinked, her violet eyes widening in shock as the usually timid assistant stopped just inches from her. Before she could ask what he was doing, Jaxon slid his right hand into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black card that seemed to materialize from thin air.
Swipe!
He ran the card cleanly through the magnetic reader attached to her digital tablet.
Ping!
[Interface Connected.]
[Transferring $5,000.00...]
[Transaction Complete. Debt Cleared!]
Roxie’s breath hitched. She stared down at the glowing screen, watching the red delinquency notice blink out and resolve into a bright green, zeroed-out balance. Her head snapped up, her gaze locking onto Jaxon’s steady, unreadable face.
[The Constellation ’Goddess of Wealth’ gasps at your bold move!]
[10x Cashback Activated!]
[$50,000 Transferred to Your Personal Account!]
"You’re free," Jaxon said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet locker room.
"You little bastard!" Garrison roared from behind them.
Grab!
A massive, heavy hand slammed violently onto Jaxon’s shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of his grey tracksuit as Garrison yanked him backward, spinning him around with a fist already raised to strike.