"A currency is only as strong as the desperation of the people holding it." Kael, Year 0.
By Day Three, the "University Credit" had a street value.
By Day Five, the local currency the Voransk Ruble was effectively dead within the campus walls.
Kael sat in the corner of the crowded cafeteria, nursing a cup of black tea. It wasn't the sludge they used to serve; this was real tea, imported by a logistics trucker who had swapped a crate of Earl Grey for server time to process his payroll.
Kael watched the room. It was a living, breathing economy.
A biology student traded a completed lab report for 15 Credits.
A janitor sold a pack of cigarettes to a stressed engineering major for 8 Credits.
A professor a man with three PhDs who hadn't been paid in six months—was giving a private tutoring session in exchange for a hot meal, paid via a Credit transfer on his phone.
Nobody was using cash. The Ruble notes were being used as napkins.
Velocity, Kael noted, his eyes tracking the transactions. The speed at which money changes hands. High velocity means high trust.
He glanced at his laptop screen.
Users Online: 2,400
Daily Volume: 12,000 Credits
Admin Wallet: 350 Credits.
In less than a week, Kael had accumulated enough value to feed himself for a month. But he wasn't spending it. He was reinvesting. He had used his first payout to buy a second-hand router and a backup generator battery from the Engineering department.
He wasn't running a charity. He was building infrastructure.
"You're the ghost in the machine, aren't you?"
Kael didn't flinch. He slowly closed his laptop lid and looked up.
Standing over him was a man who looked like he had been carved out of granite. He wore a leather jacket that cost more than Kael's tuition, and his knuckles were scarred.
It was Vadim.
Everyone knew Vadim. He wasn't a student, but he was always on campus. He ran the "Black Market" booze, cigarettes, SIM cards, and protection. Before Kael's system, Vadim was the king of the campus economy.
Now, Vadim looked annoyed.
"Can I help you?" Kael asked, his voice flat.
Vadim pulled out a chair and sat down, reversing it so the backrest pressed against his chest. "My business is down forty percent, little accountant. The students... they stop buying from me. They say they don't have Rubles. They have 'Credits.' And apparently, I don't take Credits."
Vadim leaned in, the smell of cheap tobacco and expensive cologne wafting over the table.
"You are disrupting the natural order, Kael. The Dean tolerates you because you keep the lights on. I don't have lights to keep on. I have inventory rotting in a warehouse."
Kael took a sip of his tea. "That sounds like a liquidity problem, Vadim."
Vadim's eyes narrowed. "It's a you problem. Because if you don't shut this little game down, I'm going to break your fingers. And it's hard to type with broken fingers."
The cafeteria went quiet. People were watching. They knew what Vadim did to people who owed him money.
Kael felt his heart rate spike—a primal, biological reaction to danger. He suppressed it instantly. Fear was an inefficiency. He needed a solution.
"You sell cigarettes for 500 Rubles a pack," Kael said calmly. "But the Ruble inflates 10% every day. By the time you cash out your earnings at the end of the week, you've lost profit. You're running on a treadmill."
"I raise my prices," Vadim grunted.
"And then fewer people buy," Kael countered. "Demand elasticity. Eventually, you price yourself out of the market. That's why your sales are down. It's not me. It's the math."
Vadim slammed his hand on the table. The tea cup rattled. "I didn't come here for an economics lecture! I came here to tax you. You want to run business on my turf? You pay the protection fee."
"I can't pay you in Rubles," Kael said. "I don't have any."
"Then I take the laptop." Vadim reached for the machine.
Kael put his hand on top of the laptop.
"Vadim," Kael said softly. "How much inventory do you have? specifically?"
Vadim paused, his hand hovering. "What?"
"The warehouse on 4th Street. The blue garage. You have approximately 500 cartons of cigarettes, 200 bottles of vodka, and... maybe 50 burner phones?"
Vadim froze. "How do you know about the garage?"
"Because the logistics guy who delivers your stock? He uses my server to route his GPS. I see everything that comes in and out of this district."
It was a bluff. Kael had seen the truck logs, but he had no idea if the garage was blue or if the inventory count was accurate. But in a negotiation, information—even guessed information—is leverage.
Vadim withdrew his hand slowly. "You spying on me, boy?"
"I'm auditing the market," Kael corrected. "And I see an opportunity."
Kael opened the laptop again. He turned the screen toward Vadim. It showed the admin panel of the Credit System.
"I can't pay you protection money," Kael said. "But I can give you a Vendor Account."
"A what?"
"Right now, you are outside the loop. You are bleeding. But if you join the system, I will list your inventory on the Student Portal. Every student with Credits—which is everyone—will be able to buy from you instantly."
Kael typed a command. A mock-up page appeared. Vadim's Emporium.
"No more haggling. No more worthless Rubles. You get paid in Credits. You use those Credits to buy fuel from the logistics company, or food from the cafeteria, or services from the students. Or..." Kael paused for effect. "...you come to me, and I exchange your Credits for gold."
Vadim blinked. "Gold?"
"I have a contact in the geology department," Kael lied effortlessly. "We are stockpiling assets. The Credit is backed by real value. Unlike the Ruble."
Vadim looked at the screen. He looked at the students around him, trading Credits on their phones. He realized, with the instinct of a street hustler, that the tide had turned. He could either drown, or he could buy a boat.
"What's your cut?" Vadim asked, his voice low.
"5% transaction fee on all black market goods," Kael said. "Because your goods are 'high risk'."
"2%," Vadim countered.
"4%."
"3%. And I don't break your fingers today."
Kael extended his hand. "Deal."
Vadim shook it. His grip was crushing, but Kael didn't wince.
"Set me up," Vadim grunted. "But if this crashes, I'm coming for you."
Vadim walked away, shouting at a student to get out of his way.
Kael exhaled, a long, shaky breath. His hands were trembling slightly under the table. He wasn't a gangster. He was a 19-year-old kid who weighed 60 kilograms soaking wet.
But he had just acquired the biggest retail distributor in the sector.
He turned back to his screen. He needed to code the "Vendor Interface" immediately. He also needed to actually find a geology student who had access to gold, just in case Vadim called his bluff.
He opened the terminal for the script.
> OMNI_v0.1
> New Protocol: Vendor Integration.
> Risk Assessment: High.
> Solution: Integrate Bad Actors.
Kael paused. He looked at the code.
For a split second, the cursor blinked in a way that felt... anticipatory.
He typed a note into the comment section of the code:
// To control a system, you cannot destroy the parasites. You must make the parasites dependent on the host.
He hit Enter.
[System Notice]
User: Kael
Asset Acquired: Underground Distribution Network (Vadim).
User Base: +1 (High Value).
Daily Volume Projected: +300%.
Current Balance: 350 Credits.
Compound Rate: Accelerating...
The loop wasn't just closed anymore. It was growing.