The Zenith System

Chapter 003

The morning sun filters through the curtains and into the apartment. Zack stretches and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He had a wonderful dream — about being a hero and saving a princess from peril.

As he stumbles towards the kitchen, he finds Celeste standing by the open door which is leading to the balcony. Her gaze is lost in the distance. He’s been living with her for a few years, so he has become used to this side of her.

“Morning, Celeste,” he mumbles, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Celeste’s on mid-shift, and sometimes she works from home, especially when she is in these spells.

“You’re up early,” he adds, although he’s not sure if she can hear him.

“Hmmm,” she mumbles as she sips on her cup of coffee. “What’s for breakfast?” she asks.

“Eggs maybe? What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, her voice becoming distant and hollow.

“There are still some vegetables here.”

“You can decide. I will eat anything.”

He glances at her. Her shoulders are tense and there is a strain in her posture, as if there is some kind of burden that’s weighing on her soul. Probably, some quirks of people who are born with talents. Celeste is very smart. Always at the top of her class. Normally kind to others, despite having a sharp tongue sometimes, mostly to him anyway. She even blossomed when she started working and promotions after promotions came her way. That is, until she starts to reject them. She doesn’t have the needed ambition to rise further. She says the stress of the new position is not worth the amount of money that she will earn.

“Something bothering you?” he asks, just to make conversation.

Besides, Celeste never shared these things with him. He tried before, but she only laughed at him, telling him that he’d rather help himself.

Celeste moves to the kitchen table and sits. Her eyes are still elsewhere, ignoring his question.

Zack keeps quiet and continues to cook their breakfast. Even when they are eating, they are oddly quiet. It’s how Celeste wants it to be. That is why she rented a place hours away from her family's house. It’s also the only condition she set for him before she allowed him to live with her, that is, in addition to being her house cleaner, laundry man, and everything else.

It works for him, though. He doesn’t need her nagging, and he prefers her silence.

*********************

As the bell above the Quickfix door announces the arrival of yet another customer, Zack braces himself. But nothing can prepare him for Mrs. Hargrove, the human equivalent of a tempest, who storms into the store while clutching a lottery ticket like a battle standard.

“This ticket’s a dud!” she bellows, slamming it onto the counter with a force that threatens to split the table, a bit of an exaggeration, but then again… Zack doesn’t understand how a lotto ticket can be a dud, aren’t all of them dud except the winning ones?

“I demand a refund!” she adds.

“Let me see what I can do, Mrs. Hargrove,” Zack replies, his tone a blend of calm and apathy. He knows the policy — no refunds on lottery tickets — but he hopes to soothe the raging customer without invoking the wrath of his manager.

“Hmm, according to our policy—”

“Policy or not, you’ll give me my money back, or I’ll have your job!” Her voice rises, sharp as the edge of his avatar’s sword, slicing through the quiet of the store. He laughs at that thought.

“Unfortunately, the store is strict about the no-return policy,” Zack explains, mustering all the patience he can get. “But let me check your ticket again and have my manager take a look at it.”

Mrs. Hargrove huffs, her eyes narrowing into slits of suspicion, but she relents and allows Zack to take the ticket. He goes to his manager, and he clicks his tongue as he takes the matter into his hands.

“Mrs. Hargrove!” Mr. Thompson greets. “Zack said something about your ticket.”

“Well, your stupid cashier is being stupid again!”

Zack flinches at that, but he turns a blind eye, or a deaf ear, whichever, just so he won’t get hurt by her words. Pretending that he is not in the same room — it’s like an armor.

“Ah, you will need to pardon him. You know how it is with college dropouts,” he says, glancing at him.

Mr. Thompson leans conspiratorially to Mrs. Hargrove and adds, “By the way, Mrs. Hargrove, this ticket may not be a winning ticket, but you did win a free entry for the next draw.”

“Next draw?” she asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I am also throwing in a free basket of groceries,” he says, winking at her. “As an apology to my stupid worker. So, will you please let it slide this time?”

Mrs. Hargrove groans. “Okay, fine,” she snaps, her anger subsiding into a grumble. “I will let this slide.”

As Mrs. Hargrove leaves with a basket of free groceries, Mr. Thompson approaches him and says, “I will deduct that basket of free groceries from your salary this cut off,” he informs.

“But, Mr. Thompson—”

“Do you want this job or not?!”

Zack stops complaining.

“If you do, then you better do your job well next time! It’s just a single customer and you can’t even handle her. How incompetent can you be?!”