Infinite Cashback: My Wealth Rebate System

Jason adjusted the strap of his bag, letting the rhythm of walking settle the thought into place.

The twelve dollars hadn’t suddenly become important. It had probably been quietly loitering in the back of his mind the entire lecture, buried under resonance structures, Professor Warren’s interrogations, and Marcus’s daily, unprompted campaign to become a public spectacle.

Now that the day had finally gone quiet, his brain had apparently decided this was the moment to hand it back, unpaid bill and all, like a coworker returning a stapler you didn’t remember lending out.

Convenient

He fell into an easy pace, cutting through the streets bordering campus. Students drifted past in loose clusters, already plotting what to do this afternoon.

He passed a pharmacy, a corner store with sun-faded drink posters peeling off the glass, and a roadside food stand run by a woman who could apparently clock her regulars from a hundred meters out, no eye contact required.

Some people have facial recognition he thought. She’s got stomach recognition. Knows you by what you usually order before she’s close enough to see your face

His thoughts drifted again, easy and unforced, landing somewhere they’d clearly been circling back to all day.

*Sarah.*

He still didn’t have her number.

Then a second thought surfaced, more practical, less humiliating.

He could’ve just transferred the money. Max’s account was already saved on his phone, one tap away from settling the whole debt without ever needing to see the man’s face.

His hand drifted toward his pocket, then dropped again.

"Nah"

That would’ve been efficient. And efficient, apparently, wasn’t really the mood he was in today.

It also would’ve robbed him of watching Max pretend to be irritated that he’d actually paid him back, squinting first, demanding to know where exactly Jason had magically produced twelve dollars from after that whole pitiful memo note negotiation

That, Jason decided, was worth more than any bank alert could ever hope to be.

By the time the thought finished playing out, the shop had come into view at the end of the street, the same weathered sign, the same OPEN placard leaning at its familiar crooked angle, less like someone had hung it that way on purpose and more like gravity had simply given up trying to correct it years ago.

Rows of phone cases and charging cables sat behind the glass, alongside a graveyard of old devices waiting on repairs, a few of which had clearly been there long enough to qualify for permanent residency and possibly voting rights.

Jason smiled without meaning to, picked up his pace, and headed for the door.

He drew a slow breath, reached for the handle, and pushed it open.

The bell above it rang out its usual bright, slightly ancient jingle, not loud, just distinct.

The specific sound of a bell that had spent years announcing the occasional customer wandering in to ask, with real hope in their voice, whether a phone could be fixed without spending too much.

The smell hit him next , warm solder, old electronics, cardboard, a faint edge of machine oil. Not exactly pleasant but familiar in the way a place gets when things are constantly being taken apart.

Max was hunched over a phone behind the counter, tiny screwdriver in hand, and didn’t look up right away.

The bell did its job anyway.

Without lifting his hands from the device, Max raised his head, eyes finding Jason and narrowing with startling speed.

"No."

Jason stopped mid-step. "I haven’t even said anything."

"Exactly." Max set the screwdriver down with the exaggerated care of a man bracing for a natural disaster, folding his arms across the counter and studying Jason the way most people studied an email promising a free inheritance. "I’m getting ahead of it this time."

"Every time you walk in here looking like that," Max continued, gesturing vaguely at all of him, "something happens that costs me money. I’ve noticed a pattern."

"You’ve seen me twice."

"And I’ve already started recognizing the signs. I’ve developed instincts for you."

Max nodded to himself, thoroughly persuaded by his own logic. "The worst part is you’ve only walked into this shop once before, and somehow that’s already enough data."

Jason couldn’t help smiling. "I’m actually here to pay you back."

Max’s expression didn’t shift so much as sharpen. "With what?" He leaned in, like the answer might reveal itself under closer inspection. "What exactly are you planning to pay me back with?"

Jason reached into his pocket. "Money."

Max waited, unmoved.

"The traditional kind."

For a long second, neither of them spoke, the standoff of two men both fully committed to the bit.

Then Max leaned back, arms folding shut like a verdict. "That’s exactly what someone about to scam me would say."

Jason let out a quiet laugh. "You think I’m trying to scam you by paying you."

"Twenty-three years fixing phones." Max said it like a credential, like a badge he’d earned the hard way. "You learn confidence is rarely free. Somebody walks in smiling like that, they either owe you money or they’re about to."

Jason shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a real lesson."

"It is in this shop."

For the first time since he’d walked in, the corner of Max’s mouth twitched, barely a fraction of an inch, just enough to give away that he’d been enjoying this the whole time, starting from the moment he’d opened with "no."

Max sighed, more theater than surrender, and reached under the counter for a small card with his account details, sliding it across like he was handing over evidence in a case he hadn’t quite lost.

"If this somehow ends with my account emptied, I’m blaming you specifically. Not the banking system. You."

"I don’t think that’s how bank transfers work."

"You’d be shocked what young people are capable of when unsupervised."

Jason unlocked his banking app and keyed in the number. It was already saved, but there was something quietly satisfying about doing it properly this time, the way finishing a chore you’d been avoiding always felt better than it had any logical right to.

$15.00

He paused. The actual debt was twelve.

His thumb hovered a beat before he shrugged and confirmed it anyway. Three extra dollars, not enough to make either of them emotional about it, but more than enough to keep himself from hearing you still owe me the change

A second later, Max’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then back at Jason, doing the math slowly, like he suspected a trick.

"You paid fifteen."

Jason slid his phone back into his pocket. "Rounded up."

Max checked the screen again, like the missing three dollars might file its own explanation if he stared long enough. "You know the debt was twelve."

"I do."

"You also know I can count, right?"

"So I’ve heard."

Max huffed through his nose, the closest thing he apparently allowed himself to laughing without conceding the point outright. "I give you one loan and suddenly you’re tipping me. This is how spoiled customers get made."

"Keeps the customer service standards high."

"You were never a customer. You were a crisis with a cracked screen."

Max shook his head, pocketing his phone with the resigned air of a man who’d lost an argument he never technically agreed to have. "You’ve got dangerous habits."

"Paying people back?"

"No." He pointed, precise. "Trying to sound clever right after doing it. That’s the habit. The paying back I can live with."

Jason accepted the verdict with a small nod. "Fair."

Jason adjusted the strap of his backpack. "I should get going. I’ll see you around."

"If you come back tomorrow asking for another loan–!"

"I won’t." Jason cut in

Max narrowed his eyes. "You answered that a little too quickly."

Jason laughed and then turned for the door, already mentally halfway through the walk home.

His hand was nearly on the handle when the door swung open on its own.

The bell rang its usual bright, cheerful jingle.

He looked up on reflex and so did Max.

Someone had just stepped inside.

Jason’s eyes landed on them, and every other thought in his head stopped mid sentence.

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