POV: Max
Friday morning hit different.
I woke up at 7:00 on the dot, and for once, I didn't feel like a half-dead coffee gremlin clawing her way into consciousness. I felt rested. Clear-headed. My brain didn't scream for mercy the second I opened my eyes. It was... unsettling. Was this how normal people felt?
With the sun warming my blanket and a rare silence in the building, I made myself a breakfast that didn't come out of a vending machine — toast and two slightly undercooked eggs. Fancy. I opened my emails while chewing, and to my surprise, there were replies from two more banks. They wanted to talk. One already suggested a Monday meeting, the other Tuesday. I fired off a couple polite confirmations, started a new SecurityFix scan on a fresh target, and leaned back.
Money. Actual money. Not just "enough to not starve," but real, maybe-don't-have-to-panic money. It still didn't feel real.
I pulled on what counted as my better casual wear — clean jeans with a few "fashionable" holes, a hoodie that didn't smell like yesterday, and the eternal sneakers. Then I grabbed my stuff and headed out for one last trip to the café.
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped in. The smell of burnt espresso and cheap industrial cleaner hit like always.
Lena spotted me instantly. "Max? You're scheduled today, aren't you? Get changed!"
I raised a hand and gave her a tired smile. "Actually, Lena, I came to quit."
Her face contorted like I'd just slapped a puppy. "You what?"
"I'm giving my notice. Effective immediately."
She stepped around the counter, voice rising. "You can't just waltz in here and say that! This isn't a playground, Max. You want a reference? You want any future? You'll finish your shift!"
"Sorry," I said, pulling out my wallet. "I'm not here as staff. I'm here as a customer."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then order or get out."
"I'll take a grande triple shot caramel soy whipped hazelnut deluxe latte. With extra syrup."
Nicklas, poor sweet Nicklas, was behind the counter staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
He punched in the order with robotic obedience.
Once Lena retreated to the back, probably to scream into a towel, I leaned over the counter. "Hey, Nicklas."
"H-hi, Max."
"You're studying law, right?"
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"I might need someone to answer a few legal questions now and then. Mind if I keep your number?"
His ears turned pink. "Sure."
We exchanged numbers. I winked. "Thanks. And, uh, sorry about the drink."
He gave a tiny, panicked smile.
Nicklas had always struck me as a little awkward but painfully earnest. We'd worked together long enough for me to know three things: he hated confrontation, loved coffee science way more than was healthy, and was studying law not because he wanted to be rich, but because his parents owned a small but respected law firm downtown. I'd overheard bits and pieces during breaks—how the firm specialized in corporate and intellectual property law, how Nicklas always felt like he had to live up to it. He had the brains, sure, but not the ego. Which made him... useful.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of small joys. The sun was out. My hoodie didn't feel oppressive. My debt still existed, but it wasn't suffocating anymore.
Saturday and Sunday were devoured by development.
I reworked the SecurityFix framework to allow for automated plugin extensions, better visualization for vulnerability trees, and multi-threaded brute forcing — all on paper.
Because my old-ass notebook? Couldn't even run the debugger anymore. The poor thing wheezed if I opened two tabs and a calculator.
I needed better hardware. But I wasn't liquid yet. The 760k was still under anti-money-laundering review, and my total net worth remained deep in the red. Between student debt and the university's blood-soaked invoice, I was still technically broke.
But even broke, I was dangerous. And I liked that feeling.
I spent hours looking at higher-tier knowledge packs in the Shop. Ideas swirled in my head like storm clouds. If I could keep this momentum — keep pushing — I might actually get out. Not just survive. Win.
Monday.
Bank #2.
New building. Different suit. Same game.
Their IT head greeted me with a forced smile and offered me water like I was about to testify before a committee. His handshake was firm, his words even firmer.
"You realize, Miss Wintershade, that what you've done — regardless of your intentions — puts us in a complicated legal situation."
"I do," I said, taking the glass. "But I also realize that you haven't filed any reports. Which means you're more interested in solutions than prosecutions."
We got down to brass tacks.
I opened with 1.5 million — just to test the waters.
He laughed. "Half a million, and we consider it generous."
We haggled. A few more legal threats. A few more technical flexes on my part. I recited two of their exploit chains from memory, which shut him up fast.
Eventually, we landed on 810,000. Another signed deal. Another USB drive. Another binder.
I emailed KreisTrust with the payment confirmation. My advisor replied minutes later: the FalkenBank transfer had cleared, the university payment was greenlit, and final processing would complete within two days.
Breathing got easier.
Tuesday.
Bank #3.
I was ready for another battle. But the guy across from me looked... reasonable. Worn out, even.
"Five hundred thousand," he said as soon as I sat down. "That's all I've got budgeted, and honestly, it took a fight to get even that."
I stared at him. Not posturing. Not fishing. He looked serious.
I smiled. "Deal."
He blinked. "Really?"
"Really."
We went through the usual steps. Signatures. Copies. Digital transfer. I could practically do it in my sleep now.
As soon as I left, I called my advisor. She answered on the second ring.
"Miss Wintershade. I was just about to call you. Do you have time this afternoon? Our Private Client team would like to discuss next steps."
She even offered to take me to lunch. Somewhere nice.
For free.
The restaurant had white tablecloths and waiters with accents. The water was poured from glass bottles that probably cost more than my weekly groceries.
I felt like a tourist. But I sat up straight and kept my voice steady.
My advisor and a well-dressed man from the Private Client department introduced themselves, then got to work.
Tax assistance? Yes, please.
Investment planning? Hard pass.
Savings plans, estate trust options, retirement insurance packages? Not yet.
The food came out in delicate, precise portions that tasted like heaven.
I asked if it was okay to eat more. They laughed. I took that as a green light and devoured every bite with zero shame.
By dessert, they gave me the rundown: after taxes, fees, and the loan repayment, I'd be sitting on about 100,000 euros in clear, untouched funds.
It wasn't billions. But to me, it felt like I'd just discovered fire.
I left the restaurant full, content, and just a little dizzy with relief.