Just then, Julian had an idea. He grabbed a scissor and cut a small part of his hair, then placed it carefully on the screen.

  One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  Nothing happened.

  He frowned, confused, and asked, "Sofi, what’s going on? Why isn’t the dollar coming? Is there some kind of cooldown or something?"

  Sofi replied in the same soft yet cold voice: "Julian, for your first question—Sacrifices can only be made using full hair strands. Cut hair is invalid.”

  “Also, body parts sacrificed—like a full hair strand for a dollar—never grow back, leaving a permanent gap. And it is not allowed to use a wish to regain lost body parts."

  "For your second question—no. There is no cooldown. I am always at your service."

  Hearing Sofi’s answer, Julian’s body trembled.

  Just how many rules were hidden behind this so-called game?

  And no matter how rich he became, he wasn’t about to pull out all his hair and end up bald.

  Suddenly, a thought crept in—mixed with unease and curiosity.

  He swallowed hard and, with a trembling voice, asked, "Sofi... what are you? Are you a demon trying to make a contract for my soul?”

  A pause.

  Then Sofi replied in the same soft yet cold voice: "Julian, I am not a demon. I am a built-in AI of the iPhone 25 Pro, designed to assist the user. And Julian, I do not want your soul for any contract."

  Julian let out a short, nervous chuckle under his breath—not because he fully believed her, but because her answer was too honest in its own way.

  He braved himself again and asked, "Then, Sofi... who made the rules? Who decided the price for the sacrifices?"

  Without a second of hesitation, Sofi answered, "Julian, you do not have enough equivalent sacrificial price for that answer. Even if you sacrificed yourself ten times over, it would still be insufficient.”

  Julian’s heart pounded hard against his ribs. Unease crawled through him like cold fingers.

  He felt it deep inside—he was touching something he shouldn’t.

  But then, another thought slipped in—Maybe Sofi simply didn’t want to answer that question to him.

  The fear and unease slowly melted away, replaced by a flicker of excitement. The power to make wishes—to sacrifice and gain—still belonged to him.

  And besides… Nothing would happen unless he chose to make a wish, right? It was still his choice.

  That thought made his heart race faster.

  Not from fear anymore—but from the thrill of what he could do next.

  ---

  As he thought about the next wish, a bitter memory stabbed him.

  A month ago, after a one-night stand with a girl he met through a dating app, he had gotten infected—Chlamydia.

  The symptoms started small:

  First, a burning itch.

  Then the slow, crawling sting whenever he peed.

  At first, he ignored it, like he ignored everything else. But the pain worsened.

  The itching turned savage.

  The wounds grew raw, tearing at him, until he finally sat in a sterile white clinic, pretending not to hear the other patients snickering.

  The doctor hadn’t even looked him in the eye when she said the word: Chlamydia.

  He had laughed it off there—But alone, he had scratched himself raw, cursing the girl, the app, and himself.

  Just remembering the hospital visit and the burning shame made him swallow hard.

  Swallowing the shame, he wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts and asked, his voice slightly shaky, "Sofi, I wish to be completely immune from sexually transmitted diseases. What is the equivalent sacrificial price?"

  He tightened his fists, heart pounding with anticipation, waiting for her answer.

  A second later, as if calculating, Sofi replied in her soft, cold voice: "Julian, to become completely immune from all sexually transmitted diseases, the equivalent sacrificial price is—all your memories related to your lover, Clara."

  Julian’s heart suddenly skipped a beat when Sofi spoke of the equivalent sacrificial price—his memories.

  He hesitated.

  Memories of Clara...

  It started as love—curious, exciting—but it later became boring, blackmailing, bitter.

  He remembered her kiss.

  The beer bottle and rose flowers she used to propose.

  The way he once cared.

  Julian scoffed under his breath.

  Immunity from all sexually transmitted diseases was a better deal than a handful of useless memories anyway.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Still, an idea sparked inside him.

  Maybe he could cheat.

  Maybe if he recorded everything—his memories of Clara—onto a camera or wrote them down in a diary, he could preserve them.

  Quickly, he set up a shaky video recording, narrating everything he could remember about Clara.

  Then he scribbled frantically into a diary—details, dates, names.

  He hesitated once more, staring at the shaky words he had written.

  But then, gritting his teeth, he turned back to the phone and said, "Sofi, I’m ready. I agree."

  Immediately, a small black mouth formed on the screen.

  It opened wide, almost inhaling, and—

  From the center of Julian’s eyebrows, a small white wisp escaped, drifting toward the screen.

  The black mouth swallowed it whole.

  Julian gasped, clutching his head as a sharp headache stabbed through his mind.

  He staggered backward—but slowly, slowly, the pain ebbed away.

  Moments later, the black mouth on the iPhone spat out a faint green wisp, which floated back into Julian's chest.

  In that instant, he felt two things:

  First—

  A piece of his life was missing. Like a puzzle with an empty center.

  And when he tried to remember what it was, his skull throbbed in protest.

  Second—

  He pulled the waistband of his shorts with a trembling hand and peered down.

  The skin around his thighs and crotch—once raw, blistered, and burning—was now strangely cool to the touch.

  Right before his eyes, scabs began to form, healing rapidly. Within seconds, the discomfort faded.

  When he brushed his fingers across the skin, the fragile scabs crumbled away, revealing fresh, pink flesh gleaming under the dim light—smooth and flawless, like nothing had ever happened.

  Even the deep fatigue that had dragged at his body for weeks—that sickly exhaustion and constant ache in his muscles—was gone. As if it had never been there at all.

  Julian blinked, dazed, and remembered—the diary. The recording. His backup plan.

  He rushed to the diary—The words were already fading before his eyes, dissolving into blank pages.

  The recording on the camera? The memory card was empty, clean as if nothing had ever been written.

  Confused, Julian stumbled back, staring at the two useless items.

  He remembered trying to record... something. But the more he tried to grasp it, the emptier it felt.

  His thoughts were abruptly cut by Sofi’s voice—still soft yet cold: “Julian, as per your wish—part of your memories has been sacrificed as the equivalent price for complete immunity from all sexually transmitted diseases.”

  Hearing her words, Julian wasn’t sad. Instead, his lips curled into a grin.

  Maybe he couldn't remember the memories that had faded—but he still remembered making the better deal: choosing the wish over the memories he sacrificed. Which meant those so-called lost memories had never really mattered in the first place.

  But unknown to Julian, all traces of Clara had vanished.

  The private hotel videos he’d recorded and used for blackmail, their dating photos, even the most casual snapshots—every fragment of their connection—had been silently erased from every device, drive, and backup.

  And if they ever crossed paths again, only Clara would recognize him.

  To Julian, she would be just another stranger in the crowd.

  Because for him, there was nothing left to remember.

  Unaware of what he’d truly lost, Julian felt energetic, almost light. He wanted to enjoy this happy moment fully. So, for now, he decided to stop making wishes.

  He opened a dating app, swiping quickly until he matched with a cute girl.

  From her profile alone, he could guess—she was probably just like him.

  Someone who had already been through plenty of one-night stands, smiling for countless strangers before moving on.

  Before gaining immunity to all sexually transmitted diseases, he would have avoided women like her.

  The risk of catching something dangerous like HIV had always haunted him.

  But now?

  Now, he had no fear.

  After booking a hotel room, he took a quick shower.

  When he stepped out, he raised his arm and sniffed under it—the faint musk of his skin mixing with the rich chocolate scent of his favorite body wash.

  The familiar smell grounded him, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  He dressed himself in a black T-shirt and gray track pants, then tucked his new iPhone safely into his pocket and zipped it shut.

  After locking the house, he hopped onto his bike.

  The engine roared to life.

  The road blurred beneath him.

  The cool night air brushed against his face like silk.

  He felt new today.

  Alive.

  For the first time in a long while, Julian smiled without holding anything back.

  Inside the hotel room, Julian lay on the bed.

  Beside him, a beautiful woman slept, her head resting lightly on his chest.

  The thrill and excitement from the night still burned strong—raw, electric—without fear, without hesitation.

  He had enjoyed it fully, savoring every reckless second.

  By morning, sunlight slipped through the curtains, waking him.

  Julian dressed slowly, his body slightly sore from the night’s exhaustion—

  yet his mind felt sharp, light, alive.

  Without a second thought, he offered a casual goodbye and hopped onto his bike.

  The rising sun warmed him, its heat pressing against his skin like a slow, steady massage.

  He sighed heavily—satisfied—reached home, unlocked the door, freshened up quickly.

  The house smelled faintly of chocolate body wash, mixed with the lingering scent of sweat and alcohol rising from the clothes he had tossed into the laundry bin.

  But Julian barely noticed.

  Right now, all he wanted was a proper cup of coffee—the kind that made mornings worth living.

  He moved through the kitchen on muscle memory.

  Scooped fresh coffee grounds into the filter.

  Boiled water until it hissed and steamed.

  The rich, earthy aroma bloomed immediately, filling the small kitchen like a comforting blanket.

  Julian inhaled deeply, letting the scent seep into him, grounding him after the wild night.

  He poured the coffee slowly into a worn white mug, the dark liquid swirling like velvet.

  Carrying it carefully, he dropped into the chair by the window—the spot where the morning light always slanted in just right.

  The first sip was hot, almost too hot, but perfect.

  Bitter and strong, yet strangely sweet at the edges.

  He closed his eyes, savoring it—

  A simple, quiet pleasure.

  And for a flicker of a moment, a strange thought slipped into his mind—

  If something as small as a cup of coffee could make him feel this satisfied...

  how much more alive would he feel if every moment of life was filled with thrill and excitement?

  The thought alone made Julian’s heart beat faster.

  And the idea of asking this wish from Sofi made it thud even harder.

  Without hesitation, he pulled out his iPhone.

  He unlocked it, his fingers trembling slightly.

  "Sofi," he said, voice a little shaky, "what is the equivalent sacrificial price… to feel excited and thrilled even in the small moments of life?"

  He held his breath, praying it wouldn’t be something too heavy—something he couldn’t give.

  A few slow seconds passed.

  Then Sofi’s soft yet cold voice floated out: "The sacrificial price: your emotion of sorrow."

  Julian blinked.

  For a moment, he thought he misheard.

  Sacrificial price?

  It sounded more like a discount offer.

  Lose sorrow... and gain thrill?

  Wasn’t that double happiness?

  He chuckled, excitement flickering inside his chest.

  Sofi was good to him. She understood him better than anyone.

  Without waiting, he said, "Alright, Sofi. I wish to sacrifice my sorrow… for the thrill I seek."

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  After five seconds—a black mouth opened wide on the iPhone screen.

  Silent. Vertical. Like a crack in the iPhone.

  It inhaled.

  And from Julian’s chest, a thin red wisp escaped—flowing straight into the black mouth.

  The mouth shifted—chewing, gnawing—then spat out a thin white wisp.

  The white wisp dove straight between Julian’s eyebrows.

  Julian's heart hammered against his ribs. His hands clenched, waiting for pain—

  But there was no pain.

  Only change.

  He took a step. The cold floor kissed the sole of his foot—A jolt of excitement surged up his spine.

  The breeze touched his skin—and he felt every cell ignite with sharp, electric awareness.

  Goosebumps bloomed across his body. The tiny hairs stood up like an army saluting the thrill.

  He looked toward the window. The soft golden glow of sunlight spilled across the floor.

  Drawn to it, he dropped into the chair, leaned back—And in that small, casual motion, his thudding heart began to calm.

  A deep, full silence wrapped around him.

  His chest filled with an overwhelming calm.

  Peace bloomed.

  And even within that stillness, beneath the calm, a thrill trembled—alive and breathing just beneath the surface.