You Called Me Poor I Call You Bankrupt Chapter 1

Orientation week, day one. Ryder, the guy who’d been holding court since the moment he stepped into the dorm, proposed a trip to the new luxury retail complex downtown. An all-you-can-carry shopping spree, on him.

La Mer sunscreen that cost more than a month’s rent, Dior bags, imported snacks from a gourmet market—all of it, his treat.

The room erupted in cheers. I, however, quietly slipped my own black card into the military-grade safe under my bunk.

I’d learned my lesson. In another life, Ryder’s phone had brushed against my card for a split second. In that instant, five million dollars vanished from my account.

The exact amount our classmates had just spent.

* * *

When I confronted him, he filmed my desperate confusion and posted it online.

“I don’t have your face ID, man. I don’t have your fingerprint. How could I spend your money?” he’d said to his phone’s camera, feigning innocence. Then, turning on the crocodile tears, “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone, a welcome gift, and this is how I’m repaid?”

The clip went viral. The internet turned on me, a vicious, anonymous mob. I was cornered, with nowhere to go.

The day I was finally going to the police, I took a sip of water. It was laced with something sharp, chemical. A seizure tore through me, and then, nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back here. Back on the day it all began, with Ryder proclaiming his magnificent generosity.

“Alright everyone, listen up! Orientation is a grind, I get it. So I decided we all deserve a little something,” Ryder announced, his voice booming across the common room, no microphone needed. “We’re heading to the mall for some welcome gifts. My treat. Who’s in?”

Looking at that same triumphant smirk, the full, gut-wrenching realization hit me. I was back. Reborn.

The familiar words ignited a cold fire of hatred in my chest.

At first, most of the other freshmen ignored him, skeptical of his vague promise of a “little something.”

Then he cleared his throat and brandished a sleek, black credit card.

“Think Louis Vuitton, everyone. Top-shelf sunscreen. And when we’re tired, I’ll treat you all to a day at the Aethelgard Wellness Retreat. How does that sound?”

The Aethelgard was the most exclusive, most ridiculously expensive spa in the entire state. A single day pass cost $12,888.

The room exploded.

The change in tone was instant. People were practically fawning over him.

“Holy shit, Ryder! You’re loaded. Dude, I’ll be your personal assistant for a day like that.”

“A treat from the king himself? You couldn’t drag me away.”

I watched the scene unfold, a bitter, knowing sneer playing on my lips.

In my last life, I’d gone with them. They’d shopped like wild animals, each one racking up a bill of over a hundred thousand dollars. When it came time to pay, Ryder had made a show of patting his pockets, a look of panic on his face. He’d claimed his card was gone, and then his eyes landed on me.

Every card has a unique number. To clear my name, I showed him mine. He just needed to see it wasn’t his.

He’d glanced at it, then given it back, his face a mask of apology. “My bad, man. Guess I was mistaken.”

Then, miraculously, he found his own card in another pocket and paid for everything.

The moment the transaction went through, my phone buzzed. Five million dollars, gone. The exact total of everyone’s purchases. With no itemized receipt in my name, only a transaction record, there was nothing I could do. I was screwed.

Still, I confronted him. He secretly recorded the entire thing, turning my frantic accusations into a viral video that painted me as an ungrateful lunatic.

“I literally just glanced at your card, and you’re saying I stole from you?” he’d pleaded to his online audience. “Family, you be the judge. I buy this guy a hundred grand worth of stuff, and he turns around and accuses me of being a thief! Can you believe the nerve?”

The others, bought and paid for, all backed his story. A guy who drops a hundred grand on each of his new classmates? The internet ate it up. They were drowning in jealousy. Ryder became a minor influencer overnight, a rich-kid icon, raking in donations and sponsorships.

And me? Just as I was about to file a police report, I drank that bottle of water and my world went black.

Ryder had then forged a purchase history for poison under my name, sealing the narrative that I’d killed myself out of shame.

“Man, I was just telling the truth,” he’d said in a somber livestream, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he took it so hard. It’s all my fault. I never should have posted that video.”

My soul, or whatever was left of it, had hovered there, watching his sickeningly fake performance. It was enough to make me gag.

And Ashley, the girl I’d had a crush on for three years in high school, had thrown herself right into his arms.

“It’s not your fault, Ryder,” she’d cooed. “Ethan was always so uptight and cheap. He got what he deserved.”

Watching them together, my spectral teeth had ground to dust.

Lost in the memory, I didn’t hear Ryder calling my name until a sharp slap on my back jolted me back to the present.

“Ethan, you’re coming, right?”

“Yeah, everyone’s going. If you don’t come, it’s like you’re dissing me, man,” Ashley chimed in, grabbing my arm. “Ethan, you were such a loner in high school. This is college now. Ryder is being genuinely nice to us. Just come!”

I subtly pulled my arm away from her touch, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“Of course, I’m coming.”

How else was I going to watch him crash and burn?

The debt from my last life? This time, he was going to pay it back. In blood.