Chapter 11: Quiet Morning
The next day Philip woke up feeling... off. Stronger than usual. The bedsheets were crumpled around his form, damp with sweat. The room smelled strange—metallic, almost burnt. The bathroom tap had snapped clean off earlier when he tried to brush his teeth. He'd been careful not to touch anything else too roughly since.
His stomach growled fiercely. It was as if he hadn't eaten in days. He picked up the hotel phone and ordered room service. A lot of it.
When the staff finally arrived, a young man in uniform wheeled in a tray loaded with food. Philip didn't even bother to greet him. The moment the tray hit the floor, he pounced, devouring the food like a starved animal.
Halfway through chewing a chicken leg, he looked up.
"Can you see anything on my forehead? Like… a red gem or something?"
The staff boy paused. He gave Philip a long, confused look—blinked twice—then nodded slowly, as if dealing with a lunatic.
He'd seen his share of eccentric guests. Some talked to walls, others slept in closets or walked around naked quoting Shakespeare. This one? Just another rich weirdo.
"No, sir," the boy said politely. "Nothing there."
He gave a stiff smile, dropped the tray, and backed out of the room like a man retreating from a wild animal.
Philip stood in the silence that followed, turning slowly toward the mirror.
The gem was still there. Embedded right in the center of his forehead, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Frank, calling again.
Philip answered with his mouth still full.
Frank's voice was excited, breathless. "Bro. I checked the gold. We're rich. Like… stupid rich. I'm even scared. Did we steal too much?"
The memories hit Philip like a truck—Athena's house, the lifeless party, the gazebo, the pyramid, the crystal crown... the wooden one. The suit.
After finishing his feast—which, by this point, was enough food for ten people—he called down for more. The staff were clearly spooked, but money spoke louder than fear. He paid in full and tipped generously.
When he was finally full, Philip moved to the large bag of treasure he'd hidden in the closet.
Gold coins. Rubies. Emeralds. Ancient-looking necklaces and gem-studded bracelets. Just looking at it made him dizzy.
He did some quick math. Even by selling just a handful—quietly, through discreet online markets or private dealers—he could set himself up for life. No more 9-to-5. No more taking orders.
He'd start a business. Build something real. Something that carried the name Philip Egboluche for generations. He wouldn't waste this blessing.
But as he kept counting, his excitement turned to unease. The gold... it was too much. Way too much. It could fill up the entire room.
And the suit—his "borrowed" suit—it still fit perfectly, like a second skin. Even now, it felt like it was adapting to him, responding to his thoughts, adjusting temperature and weight.
He sat back on the edge of the bed, staring at the piles of treasure and the faint glow of red in the mirror.
He had the money.
He had the power.