The dim light of the bedside lamp barely illuminated the room as Eric, his hands trembling, stared at what lay before him:
Twenty-seven gold coins scattered across the white bedsheet.
They gleamed like miniature suns, each one reflecting the intense golden glow produced by the Midas System—from miserable little coins worth only a few cents.
Twenty-seven.
It was real.
They were there.
And they were his.
Eric didn't know whether to smile, laugh, or scream. His entire body seemed to vibrate with an unfamiliar energy. The shine of the coins hypnotized him—and at the same time, terrified him.
It was too much gold.
Too much value.
Too absurd to exist inside a tiny room at the end of a dark street.
Then the realization hit him all at once:
What if there were more?
What if he had missed some coins?
The thought sent him into motion.
He dropped to his knees and began tearing through the room like a madman.
He opened drawers, pulled out boxes, rummaged through the wardrobe.
He shoved his hands under the bed, under the mattress, beneath the rugs.
He even dragged the refrigerator—small, but so old it looked like it might fall apart—just to check if a coin had rolled behind it.
Nothing.
Frustrated, Eric kept going.
He opened empty medicine bottles, crushed soda cans, even an old sock stuck behind the heater. He turned his old college backpack—one he didn't even use anymore—upside down, finding only crumpled papers, a scribbled notebook, and the pen he had lost weeks ago.
Nothing.
Not a single coin.
Not even a forgotten cent spared by fate.
The frustration hit him hard.
He dropped to the floor, sitting with his head between his knees, breathing unevenly. A strange sadness took hold of him.
He had never imagined he would regret not finding one-cent coins—things he used to step over on the street without a second thought, ignore at registers, treat like garbage.
Now, each one could be worth hundreds of euros.
Another month of rent.
Another chance at life.
His heart pounded so fast it felt like it might burst out of his chest. Hope, fear, greed, panic—all collided inside him like a raging storm.
"This… this is killing me," he whispered.
He leaned his head against the cold wall, trying to breathe.
Was this feeling caused by the system? Some kind of side effect? Had converting so many coins at once drained his energy?
Or was it just too much adrenaline?
Too much emotion.
Too much gold for someone who, just yesterday, couldn't even pay overdue rent.
As he struggled to steady himself, a darker thought crept in:
Gold doesn't feel so amazing anymore.
The initial euphoria was fading, replaced by a bitter concern.
The difficulty he had faced selling just one coin now felt like a warning.
If selling one had been complicated…
How would he sell twenty-seven?
How would he even sell two?
He remembered the pawn shop owner's glassy stare, the cigar nearly falling from his mouth, the desperation hidden in his voice.
That wasn't normal.
That wasn't safe.
Eric slowly stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the gold in front of him as if it were something alive—something dangerous.
"I need to think," he said to himself.
He grabbed his phone.
Opened the browser.
And started searching.
"How to sell gold safely"
"Current gold price per gram"
"Where to sell gold without getting scammed"
"How to find trustworthy buyers"
The more he read, the worse he felt.
The gold market was a labyrinth.
A minefield.
There were shady exchange shops, pawn brokers who paid almost nothing, illegal buyers, risks of robbery, scams, manipulated valuations. Even legitimate places paid less than expected. They followed slow, bureaucratic processes, demanded documents and receipts he simply didn't have.
Yes—gold was valuable.
But his situation was far from normal.
Eric ran a tired hand over his face.
Who would've thought…
Who would've thought that getting rid of gold would be this difficult?
"It's useless…" he muttered. "I have the most valuable thing in the world—and at the same time, I have nothing."
He spent hours researching.
Comparing prices.
Watching expert videos.
Reading obscure forums where collectors discussed rare coins—and where criminals talked about gold as if it were bread.
With every new piece of information, his anxiety grew.
There were many possibilities.
But all of them felt dangerous—or unfair.
If he sold one coin a day, he'd draw attention.
If he sold several at once, he'd raise suspicion.
If he sold to the wrong person…
He might end up dead.
The night stretched on in silence.
The clock struck two.
Then three.
Then four.
Eric couldn't sleep.
The room was quiet, but his mind spun wildly. He paced back and forth, rubbing his face, whispering possibilities, discarding plans, creating new ones.
The gold on the bed seemed to mock him.
It promised wealth.
But offered fear.
He sat down again on the edge of the mattress, exhausted.
The gold was still there.
Imposing.
Impossible to ignore.
"This is going to ruin my life… or save it," he whispered.
He picked up one of the coins between his fingers.
He felt the familiar weight.
The cold metal.
The shine that seemed almost alive.
There was still something surreal about all of it—as if reality itself had bent just to give him a chance he would never have had otherwise.
But that endless night taught Eric something:
Gold never comes alone.
It comes with responsibility.
It comes with danger.
It comes with impossible choices.
And worst of all—
It comes with the certainty that his life will never return to normal.
When the faint morning light finally slipped through the window, Eric was still awake, staring at the gold as if trying to decipher an ancient riddle.
He had no answers.
Only the coins.
And the Midas System.
And from that moment on—
There was no turning back.