(Start of Week 6. Theo's Balance: $7365.62)
The dawn of Week 6 marked not just a new cycle of rent looming in the distance, but with the cool, clear-headed reality of having options. Over seven thousand dollars sat nested in Theo's bank account, a number that still felt slightly unreal, a testament to two frantic, high-stakes bike sales. It was enough, however, for a tactical adjustment. Survival was secured. Now, sustainability was key.
This shift manifested later that morning under the harsh, unforgiving fluorescent glare of a large suburban supermarket. Theo pushed a cart, its wire frame cool beneath his grip, deliberately bypassing the familiar, depressing aisles stacked high with instant ramen, questionable canned meats, and ghostly white bread that tasted vaguely of cardboard. Today was an investment in the primary operational asset: himself. He paused by the vibrant, almost offensively healthy-looking produce section, a territory usually navigated with ruthless cost-per-calorie efficiency. He picked up a head of crisp iceberg lettuce, its leaves cool and slightly damp. He selected firm, red tomatoes, a pungent brown onion, green bell peppers that squeaked faintly when he handled them.
Then, the avocados, near-black, promising creamy richness within. He picked up two, testing their ripeness, glancing at the bold price sticker. $5.99 for three? His internal calculator screamed inefficiency. "Avocados," he thought, a flicker of dry, sarcastic humour crossing his mind. "The official fruit of 'I've made it' just enough to be mocked for it online. Maybe soon I'll even reach the mythical 'regularly afford avocado toast' level of success. Though with prices going up on everything lately, probably not."
The thought sobered him slightly. While his buffer was good, reckless spending wasn't part of the plan. Still, this wasn't reckless. It was necessary. He added the avocados to the cart alongside actual chicken breasts, wincing slightly at the per-pound cost compared to ground beef. Eggs, whose price also seemed to have stealthily inflated, and whole-grain bread that looked dense and potentially nutritious. "Even bumping the weekly budget to $500 might not go as far as I thought," he conceded grimly, the reality of inflation hitting even his upgraded budget. It only strengthened his resolve. "Need to make it big. Seriously rich. Enough that this feels like pocket change." His internal analyst justified the expense: "Increased allocation to personal overhead justified by projected long-term performance requirements. Can't build an empire fuelled by ramen and anxiety. Need sustainable fuel for the long haul. Consider this an investment in primary asset maintenance, me." He even grabbed a bag of dark roast whole bean coffee, the rich aroma a small but significant rebellion against the instant sludge he normally endured.
The following days settled into a new, more structured rhythm. The hostile shriek of his alarm clock was replaced by the slightly less offensive mechanical whir of the cheap coffee grinder, filling the small apartment with an unfamiliar, welcoming aroma. He attempted cooking actual meals, the results were occasionally edible, sometimes bordering on disastrous (a pan of scorched chicken served as a humbling reminder he wasn't a chef), but always an improvement over processed junk. The steady income from the bike sales had bought him this. The ability to invest in his own physical well-being, to plan beyond the next rent payment. But the core of his days, the real focus, shifted intensely towards research for the next hustle.
His laptop (already enhanced to +1) became the humming centre of his universe, screen glowing late into the night, surrounded by a growing wall of discarded coffee cups, scribbled notes, and the occasional cannibalized electronic part. His small apartment transformed into a low-budget R&D facility, dedicated to finding the next evolution beyond flipping bikes. He systematically explored avenues where his +1 power could offer a significant, profitable edge, while constantly weighing risk, scalability, and the absolute necessity of anonymity.
He revisited the online store concept first, sketching out potential brand names, bland, forgettable entities designed to be burned after use. "Apex Enhancements," "TierOne Goods," "PlusUltra Provisions." But the fantasy evaporated quickly under pragmatic scrutiny. "Pointless," he scoffed internally, dragging the file to the virtual trash bin. "The constraint isn't the sales channel, it's the production capacity. Ten f***ing items per day. Can't build an empire on artisanal quantities selling random enhanced junk, the profit margin would be rubbish. Plus, a dedicated brand, payment processing... it builds a traceable history. Need disposable fronts, maximum anonymity." Idea discarded, at least for the moment.
He meticulously revisited the consumables idea, driven by the lingering memory of that transcendentally good steak and beer. He acquired two identical, cheap bottles of harsh red wine that tasted vaguely of rubbing alcohol and disappointment. Applying a charge to one glass (Wine. +1 Quality. Ping.), he compared. The difference was undeniable. The enhanced version was smoother, the chemical bite softened, faint fruity notes emerging where only harshness existed before. He repeated it with average coffee beans, the +1 batch yielded a brew less bitter, more aromatic when ground, the subtle flavours more distinct. It wasn't massively better, but if he had to rate it, without enhancement being a 1/5 stars, then enhanced certainly brought it up to 3 or even 4 stars. Still not top tier 5/5 stars, which is where the juicy profit margins are at.
But the potential was intoxicating. Imagine applying this to gourmet ingredients, fine wines, aged spirits. Stuff that is already considered 5/5, suddenly became 6/5. People would be fighting themselves over it. But then came the operational reality check. He imagined rows upon rows of bottles, bags of beans, needing individual enhancement. "The sheer labor involved," he concluded, rubbing his temples after visualizing enhancing bags of coffee beans, or meticulously treating the wine bottle by bottle. "Sourcing, meticulous enhancement item by item, quality control, packaging, storage, shipping... this isn't a solo gig. This needs a facility, staff, logistics." The thought of hiring people, trusting them near his secret… it was unthinkable. "Too labor-intensive, too much infrastructure, too high a risk of exposure." Consumables: 'Highly Scalable BUT Requires Infrastructure/Personnel/Trust'. Reluctantly parked indefinitely, or at least till he could work out the logistics around keeping his +1 powers a secret.