---
The sky over Rome was the kind of gray that made every monument seem older, every street colder. Rain tapped against the crumbling ledge outside the second-floor window like a ticking clock, counting down to something Matteo Rossi didn't yet understand.
Inside the cramped kitchen of a flat in Trastevere, tension hung like cigarette smoke. His father, Lorenzo Rossi, leaned against the sink, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly Matteo could see the muscles twitch through his stubble.
"Out," Lorenzo said, voice flat and final. "Today."
Matteo didn't flinch. He'd half-expected this. The shouting matches, the cold dinners, the silences that filled the house like mold—this was no home anymore. Still, hearing it aloud made something in his chest twist.
"You don't mean that."
Lorenzo scoffed. "I meant it yesterday. And last month. You sit around reading nonsense about markets and innovation while the world burns. You're not your mother, Matteo. She believed in people. You believe in… systems and shortcuts."
Matteo looked down at the chipped floor tiles. "What do you want me to do? Work at the tobacco shop forever?"
"I want you to grow up."
"I am grown."
"Then act like it. You want to be a man? Be one. Find your own roof. Build your own life."
There it was. Final. Matteo looked over his shoulder at the table where his few belongings were piled: a weather-beaten backpack, a cracked smartphone, a worn-out Moleskine journal, and €37 in cash. He didn't own much, but what he had was his.
Outside, the bells of Santa Maria in Trastevere began to toll.
Matteo turned back to his father, eyes hollow. "Goodbye, then."
Lorenzo didn't answer.
---
The streets of Rome were wet and gleaming, the cobblestones shining like obsidian under the streetlights. Matteo walked with no direction. He passed tourists huddling under umbrellas, students laughing over espresso, priests wrapped in silence.
He stopped at the edge of the Tiber, the river that had once been the artery of an empire. The water was high, muddy, restless. He leaned over the railing and watched it flow.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated once. A notification, though he had no data plan. He pulled it out, expecting a spam text.
Instead, the screen was white. Then a single line of text appeared:
> "System Initialization: Host Matteo Rossi confirmed."
He blinked. The screen shifted again.
> "Welcome, user. You have been selected as the host of the Dominion Ascension System. Objective: Build your empire."
Then came a faint hum in his ears, like electricity passing through wires. His heart pounded. The phone glitched, then stabilized, revealing a faint overlay across his vision—an interface that existed somewhere between digital and imagined.
At first, he thought it was a hallucination. But it didn't fade.
---
[Dominion Ascension System Interface Activated]
Name: Matteo Rossi
Age: 21
Base Stats:
Intelligence: 13
Charisma: 10
Creativity: 14
Resources: €37
Status: Homeless
Modules Unlocked:
Basic Market Insight
Entrepreneurial Instinct I
Survival Protocols: Urban
Quests Available:
Starter Challenge: Earn €1,000 in 7 Days
Reward: System Level-Up + New Module Unlock
---
Matteo stumbled back from the railing, heart racing. He blinked rapidly, but the overlay stayed. Not obtrusive—just there, hovering in his peripheral like a heads-up display in a video game.
"This isn't real," he muttered.
> "Your disbelief is noted. Processing neural alignment… complete."
A sudden rush of clarity hit him—like a new part of his brain had just booted up. Ideas slotted into place. Possibilities aligned. He remembered an old economics article about rare collectibles, and a news snippet about tourists overpaying at Porta Portese flea market.
"If this is a dream," Matteo said to the night, "then I might as well win."
---
By morning, he had mapped out a crude plan. The System wasn't doing the work for him—it was sharpening his mind, feeding him context and prompts. Like a silent partner whispering truths others couldn't see.
At Porta Portese, he scanned tables with a System-aided eye. His first win came with an old poster of the 1990 FIFA World Cup—a collector's item a vendor sold for €5. The System glowed faintly:
> Market Value Estimate: €80. Demand Tier: Niche/Moderate.
Matteo flipped it online. Sold in an hour. €75 clean.
He used the money to buy a small trolley, hit the thrift shops, then the car wash zones. He offered to clean headlights with a mix of toothpaste and polish—charging €3 per car. It worked. People paid.
> PP +5: Creative Hustle
PP +3: Micro-Enterprise Launched
PP +2: Charisma Use Detected
The System's gentle pings felt like dopamine hits. Progress. Direction. Recognition. For the first time in years, he didn't feel like he was drifting.
---
On the third day, he met Elisa.
She was sketching the ruins of the old Roman Forum, cross-legged on a bench. Matteo sat nearby to rest and noticed her drawing an arch that no longer existed. He pointed it out.
"It's what I imagine stood here before," she said. "I like to put back what's been lost."
That line stuck with him. A parallel. He introduced himself. She smiled.
Over the next hour, they talked about architecture, symbolism, and modern Italy's decay. She mentioned a bookshop that often tossed out rare books mislabeled as junk. Matteo's mental gears turned.
The next day, he went. Found a 1962 guidebook to postwar Italian design. Bought it for €1. Sold for €40.
---
Day 6. Matteo had €883.
But the final push was tricky. He tried to flip a vintage watch he'd bought for €20, thinking it was authentic. Turned out it was fake. He was crushed—but the System chimed:
> Mistake Logged: Counterfeit Goods. Lesson Protocol Engaged.
It wasn't punishing. It was guiding.
He pivoted—returned to street cleaning. Offered a tourist couple a "premium walking map" of hidden gems for €10—handmade, just facts and doodles. Sold five copies.
Day 7. €1,037.48 in total.
The System lit up:
> Challenge Complete. Level Up!
New Modules Unlocked:
Micro-Investment Portfolio
Market Trend Alerts
Passive Reputation Tracking
> Charisma +1
Creativity +2
New Quest Unlocked: Register Your First Business
---
That night, Matteo stood on a rooftop in the EUR district—designed under Mussolini's vision of a new Roman empire. White marble structures lined in perfect symmetry. Cold, modern, menacing.
"I'll build something better than this," he whispered. "Not with ideology. With results."
The wind swept past. The System hovered quietly.
He smiled.
This was the beginning.
---
End of Chapter 1.
---