Dusty light cut through the grime-streaked window of the tiny Bern bedroom. Peeling wallpaper showing yellowed plaster underneath framed the cramped space, smelling faintly of old grease and damp carpet. Sweat trickled down Afonso's neck as he wrestled with a massive, faded blue suitcase. Silver duct tape hissed as he ripped off a strip with his teeth, plastering it over a split seam near the bottom wheel. Every movement felt incredibly heavy, weighted down by the sudden, terrifying reality of what he was doing. Inside the suitcase lay his entire existence, a pathetic collection of items that defined his eighteen years of survival. Three oversized graphic tees, their colorful prints cracked and peeling from years of cheap laundry cycles. Two pairs of worn-out cargo pants that fit his bulky, overweight frame poorly, sagging at the waist. A cracked ceramic mug with a cartoon cow, a silly relic from some forgotten childhood memory before the orphanage. A heavily creased, single photograph of his late parents sat right on top of his clothes, their smiles faded to a dull sepia under a layer of dust. Suddenly, his chest tightened. Air refused to enter his lungs, turning to lead in his throat as his ADHD-fueled brain kicked into a violent overdrive. *What if this is a massive mistake?* *What if she was just playing a cruel, rich-person joke on me?* *What if I show up in Zurich and she points and laughs, leaving me stranded on the tarmac with nothing but a duct-taped bag?* Thoughts collided in his mind like speeding trains on a single track, sparking and crashing into one another. Hyperventilating, he sank onto the edge of his creaking mattress, his vision blurring at the edges as the room spun. His hands, operating on a panicked autopilot, began to scratch and claw at the dry, peeling skin around his cuticles. He peeled back a layer of flesh until a sharp sting registered, followed by a tiny bead of bright crimson blood. Pain grounded him, if only for a second, but the relentless racing of his mind refused to quiet down. Leaving this miserable, lonely room should have felt like a glorious victory, a ticket out of his dead-end life. Instead, it felt like stepping off a steep cliff into a bottomless, terrifying void where nobody would catch him. "Breathe," he whispered to the empty, uncaring walls, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "Just... one step." Dragging his heavy body upright, he grabbed the sticky, taped handle of his bag and walked out. No one was there to say goodbye. His two roommates hadn't even looked up from their video games when he announced he was leaving. To them, he was just the loud, annoying fat kid who occupied the smallest room and talked too much. Outside, the gray streets of Bern were slick with a cold, persistent autumn drizzle. Rain began to pelt his face as he dragged the suitcase toward the train station, the broken wheel scraping loudly against the wet pavement. Sitting on the double-decker SBB train, his leg bounced in a frantic, ceaseless rhythm that made the floorboards vibrate. Passengers in the quiet compartment shot irritated glances at the large, sweating boy with the noisy, duct-taped suitcase blocking the narrow aisle. Afonso stared out the window, his eyes darting frantically across the passing Swiss landscape without actually seeing any of it. Green fields and distant mountain peaks blurred into gray concrete as the train hurtled toward Zurich Airport. Every tick of his cheap wrist watch sounded like a loud countdown to his own public execution. Google searches had consumed his entire night, keeping him awake until the early hours of the morning. Millions of followers, glamorous red carpets, flashing cameras, and a lifestyle of unimaginable luxury defined Lisa's world. When he finally arrived at the designated private aviation terminal, the sheer, sterile luxury of the place made him want to turn around and run. Polished marble floors reflected the bright overhead lights, and the air smelled of expensive sandalwood and fresh-cut lilies. A receptionist with a perfect, icy smile looked at his faded neon hoodie and duct-taped suitcase with clear, silent judgment. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Afonso clutched the handle of his bag so tightly his palm ached. --- Engines roared in the distance at Zurich Airport's private terminal. Afonso stood awkwardly on the tarmac, his oversized neon hoodie flapping violently in the cold Alpine wind. Standing next to a sleek, gleaming Gulfstream jet was Lisa, looking every inch the untouchable global icon. Oversized designer sunglasses hid her eyes, and her tailored black trench coat made her look impossibly tall, sharp, and distant. Coldness radiated from her posture as she tapped her phone, barely glancing up when his battered suitcase clattered against the metal boarding stairs. "You're late," she said, her voice smooth but entirely devoid of the warmth she had shown in Grindelwald. Rejection slammed into Afonso's chest like a physical blow. Panic surged, hot and wild, and his mouth flew open before his brain could filter his thoughts. "I am so, so sorry! The SBB train from Bern had a minor signaling delay at Olten, which is highly unusual because Swiss Federal Railways usually boasts an eighty-nine percent punctuality rate, but today there was a freight train carrying timber that stalled, and then I had to navigate the airport transfer which is incredibly confusing if you don't know the subterranean corridors..." Words spilled from him in a breathless, frantic torrent. Lisa slowly lowered her phone, her eyebrows drawing together under her bangs. "Then I thought about taking the inter-city express but the platform changed at the last second, and my heart was beating so fast I thought I'd throw up my breakfast, which was just a stale croissant, by the way, and I know I shouldn't eat gluten when I'm stressed because it messes with my digestion, but I didn't have time to find anything else, and I really, really didn't want to make you wait because I know your time is worth literal millions..." "Stop," Lisa interrupted, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. Afonso swallowed hard, his face burning a bright scarlet as he looked down at his scuffed sneakers. Inside, he was dying. *She hates me. She's going to fire me before we even take off. I'm going to be left here with nothing.* Lisa sighed, gesturing toward the interior of the luxurious cabin. "Just get inside. We're losing our departure slot." Stepping into the warm, leather-scented sanctuary of the private jet, Afonso felt completely out of place. Cream-colored seats, polished wood tables, and crystal glasses made his duct-taped suitcase look like a piece of literal garbage. He sat down on the edge of a plush leather chair, holding himself as tightly as possible to avoid dirtying anything. Lisa slid into the seat opposite him, crossing her legs elegantly. "Listen, Afonso," she began, her voice cool and businesslike. "This isn't a game. You are my assistant now, which means you need to be professional, quiet, and reliable." Nodding furiously, he gripped his knees, his knuckles turning stark white. "I can be quiet! I am usually very quiet, except when I get nervous, which is often, but I can control it, I swear, I will be the best assistant you've ever had, I'll wash your shoes, I'll memorize your coffee order, please don't send me back..." Lisa's eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses, her annoyance spiking at his desperate, pleading tone. "Afonso, seriously, take a breath," she snapped, reaching over to pull off her glasses. Losing that playful bet to Jisoo in Grindelwald was supposed to be a minor headache, a funny story to share over drinks. Instead, her management team at the agency had jumped on the idea with a strange, immediate enthusiasm that made her skin crawl. They had bypassed the usual security screenings, waving Afonso's paperwork through with a speed that felt deeply unnatural. She felt a familiar, creeping dread in the pit of her stomach, the constant reminder that she owned none of her own choices. Even this boy, sitting across from her in a state of absolute terror, was somehow part of a larger plan she couldn't see yet. Her gaze fell to his hands, which were locked in a death grip around his own wrists. Raw, weeping scabs lined his cuticles. Red, irritated skin looked freshly torn, some spots still oozing tiny drops of blood where he had relentlessly clawed at himself. They were the unmistakable marks of severe, chronic anxiety. Lisa froze, the irritation draining from her face as she looked from his mangled fingers to his wide, terrified eyes. Tears brimmed in his eyelids, though he was desperately trying to blink them away, his lower lip trembling. Understanding hit her like a sudden splash of icy water. This wasn't just an annoying, hyperactive teenager trying to be funny. Underneath the loud, exhausting exterior was a deeply broken boy who looked terrified that she was about to throw him out of the plane. Memories of his childhood home flashed behind his eyelids, a place where voices were always raised and doors were always slamming. After his parents died, the foster homes had been a rotating door of temporary faces, none of whom ever bothered to learn his name. He had learned early on that if he wasn't loud, if he wasn't trying to make people laugh, he simply ceased to exist to them. Now, staring at this flawless, legendary woman, he realized his loud humor was useless here; it was only making her look at him with disgust. Softening her posture, she reached for a box of tissues on the side table and slid it toward him. "You're bleeding," she said, her voice dropping to a gentle, quiet murmur. Afonso looked down, startled, as if only just realizing what he had done to his own skin. Pulling his hands back into his sleeves, he mumbled, "Sorry. I... I do that when I get overwhelmed. I'm sorry." "Don't apologize," Lisa said, watching him wrap a tissue around his bleeding thumb. Realization settled deep in her chest: this boy was incredibly fragile, far more than she had anticipated when she made that stupid bet with Jisoo. She had brought a highly sensitive, vulnerable soul into the most ruthless, soul-crushing industry on the planet. Engines screamed louder as the massive jet began to taxi down the runway. Vibration shuddered through the cabin, forcing them both back into their seats. Just as the jet ascends, Lisa's phone lights up with an encrypted text from her agency's CEO: 'Make sure the boy is fully integrated before the Seoul paparazzi 'accidentally' find his background file.'

Chapter 2: The Price of a Lost Bet