After what felt like hours of clicking, scrolling, and drowning in financial jargon, I finally found sothing that looked like a solution.
I had gone down the rabbit hole of online tutorials, videos with overly cheerful hosts, articles filled with complicated terms, and blogs written by self-proclaid financial gurus who thought everyone already knew what "diversify your portfolio" ant.
My brain was fried, but at least I had managed to pull out one na that kept popping up everywhere.
Blue Ice.
Apparently, it was one of the biggest and safest platforms out there.
People said It valued privacy, security, and made sure its users were "comfortable." in all way ans.
But all I cared about was that it was popular and recomnded, because at this point, following the herd was better than wandering blind.
So, I created an account, filling in all the boring details one by one until I was officially a part of this massive platform.
The problem was... ti. I could feel it slipping away with every second I spent scrolling.
I leaned back, staring at the screen, then muttered halfheartedly.
"How much ti do I even have left?"
I didn’t expect anything. I just said it out like that, rembering how protagonists in fictions I used to read could call out to their systems with simple commands.
And then—
[2:35:53]
The numbers appeared in my vision, glowing faintly, like a countdown.
I blinked.
"...Wait, that actually worked?"
A laugh slipped out of .
"I think I’m starting to enjoy this."
Not the investing part, that still looked like a foreign language, but the system itself.
There was sothing weirdly thrilling about it, like I was slowly peeling back layers of a ga I never signed up for but couldn’t quit.
I turned back to the screen.
Blue Ice wasn’t just an investnt site, I quickly realized.
It was like an entire marketplace. People could buy, sell, trade, even run their businesses on here.
A whole world of money flowing in different directions, and , the broke idiot, standing at the edge of it.
I rembered hearing about Blue Ice once back when I was still rich, or rather, when I lived under the sa roof as rich people.
My father’s company had used it, but back then, I never cared to pay attention.
Why would I? I was surrounded by wealth. What need did I have to learn about stocks when als were served to on silver platters?
Now... now I regretted that arrogance. Because staring at this screen, with rows of companies, products, and shifting numbers, I knew one thing clearly, I was lost. Completely, utterly lost.
There were so many options. Bright green arrows pointing up, red ones diving down.
So companies looked like they were skyrocketing, others collapsing.
For a normal person, maybe it was as simple as picking the one that "looked good" and hoping for the best. But for ?
I clenched my jaw. I had watched enough tutorials to understand one fact: if the stock crashes, your money crashes with it.
And I didn’t have the luxury of losing anything.
For , there was no safety net. No second chance. If this went wrong, I was going down with it.
I scrolled again, sighing. The weight of every number pressed on . Every choice felt like gambling, and I wasn’t a gambler.
Sure, I could wait, check the news, maybe find so "trusted source" that would tell where to put my money. But the clock was ticking.
[2:30:43]
The glowing countdown mocked . Ti was already halfway gone.
My palms were sweating as I stared at the endless options.
It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing I had to jump, but not knowing which direction would land in water and which would smash against the rocks.
I leaned forward, whispering to myself.
"One wrong move... and I’m cooked."
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