Lin Zhao waited until the noodle house was empty before cornering Nico.
"We need to talk."
"Now's not a great time—"
"It's never a great time. Sit."
Nico sat. When Lin used that tone, you sat.
She placed a tablet between them, pulled up spreadsheets. "I've been running numbers. Not your official accounts—those I know you track. The hidden costs. The sustainability math."
"Lin—"
"Quiet. Listen." She tapped the screen. "You're spending 165,000 credits weekly. That's 8.5 million annually. You have approximately 15 million left. Simple division says you have roughly 21 months before you're broke."
"I know the math."
"No, you know the obvious math. Now watch." She pulled up a second sheet. "This accounts for inflation, increased demand as word spreads, emergency costs like last month's medical crisis, and the fact that you can't say no to anyone. Real burn rate: closer to 200K weekly. That's 10.4 million annually. You have 17 months. Maybe."
Nico felt the number like a punch.
Seventeen months.
A year and a half until everything collapsed.
"That's assuming," Lin continued, "no major disasters. No corporate crackdowns. No unexpected costs. Best case scenario: seventeen months."
"I can cut costs—"
"How? Stop feeding people? Close the clinic? End housing subsidies?" Lin's voice was sharp. "Every line item represents lives. You can't cut costs without hurting people."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Change the model." Lin leaned forward. "Right now, you're the system. Everyone depends on you personally. When you run out of money—and you will run out—the whole thing collapses. People starve. Go homeless. Die. Because you built everything on your bank account instead of their power."
"I'm helping them!"
"You're enabling them!" Lin's fist hit the table. "I spent thirty years organizing in this hellhole. You know what actual change looks like? It looks like people helping themselves. Collective power. Not a benevolent king doling out favors."
"I don't want to be a king!"
"Then stop acting like one!" Lin's voice cracked. "Child, I see what you're trying to do. I respect it. But temporary help that creates dependency isn't help—it's a bomb with a timer. Seventeen months until it explodes."
Nico's hands went to his vape pen. Automatic. Needed.
Lin watched him take the hit. "How many of those a day now?"
"I don't count."
"I do. Yesterday you went through four cartridges. That's not functional use. That's accelerating addiction."
"I need it to handle the stress."
"You need it because you're carrying impossible weight. Weight you refuse to share because you think you're the only one who can."
"I am the only one with the money!"
"Money isn't power. Organization is power. People are power." Lin pulled up another document. "Look at this. Food cooperatives formed after you started feeding people. They're still running. Ninety families feeding themselves through collective buying and cooking. No benefactor needed."
"I inspired that—"
"Exactly. You inspired it. You showed them it was possible. But you didn't build it. They did. That's sustainable." She pulled up more examples. "Housing collectives. Shared childcare. Tool libraries. Medical cost-sharing. All inspired by you. None dependent on you."
The list went on. Nico had no idea so much organizing had happened.
"This is what survives," Lin said. "When your money runs out, when Corporate shuts you down, when you're arrested or killed—these survive. Because they're not about charity. They're about power."
"I'm not trying to build power structures—"
"Then you're wasting everyone's time!" Lin's patience finally snapped. "You think feeding people for seventeen months and then abandoning them is kindness? It's cruelty. You're showing them a better life and then ripping it away. Wright was right—temporary help that ends badly is worse than nothing."
The words hit like a slap.
"So what do you want from me?"
"I want you to spend your last seventeen months teaching instead of doing. I want you to use your money to seed cooperatives, not fund dependency. I want you to build something that outlasts your bank account."
"That's not what people come to me for. They want immediate help—"
"Because you've trained them to! Every time you solve their problem personally, you teach them they can't solve it themselves. You're creating helplessness while thinking you're creating hope."
Nico stood, pacing. "So I should just... what? Tell the baby formula mother to start a cooperative? Tell the kid needing medical care to organize his neighbors?"
"Yes. And then help them do it. Teach them how. Fund the startup. Then step back and let them run it."
"That's slower."
"That's sustainable. Fast help that disappears is slower than slow help that lasts."
Nico stopped pacing. Looked at the tablet with its spreadsheets and timers and impossible math.
Seventeen months.
Then nothing.
Unless.
"I don't know how to organize," he admitted. "I'm a dealer who got lucky. I don't know anything about cooperatives or power structures or—"
"Then learn. I'll teach you. So will Maya. There are dozens of people in Level 8 with organizing experience. You're not alone in this."
"But the people who need immediate help—"
"Still get it. But you also teach them to help each other. Dual track. Charity for today, organizing for tomorrow." Lin's voice softened. "I'm not saying stop helping, child. I'm saying help differently. Help in a way that builds power instead of dependency."
Nico looked at the numbers again. Seventeen months.
Seventeen months to build something that lasted.
Or seventeen months of feeding people before the inevitable crash.
"If I do this," he said slowly, "if I try to change the model... people will be angry. They come to me for solutions, not lessons in organizing."
"Some will be angry. Some will understand. The question is whether their temporary anger matters more than their long-term survival."
Another impossible choice.
But Lin was right. She was always right, damn her.
"Okay," Nico said. "Teach me. Show me how to do this. But—" he held up a hand, "—I'm not cutting anyone off cold. We transition. Keep the immediate help running while building the long-term structure."
"That'll burn money faster."
"Then I have less than seventeen months. But I'm not going to let people starve while they learn to build cooperatives."
Lin smiled. Actually smiled. "There's the king I've been waiting for. Not the one who grants wishes. The one who builds kingdoms that don't need kings."
"That's a contradiction."
"So are you. Might as well make it useful."
She stood, gathered her tablet. "Tomorrow, we start. I'll bring people who know organizing. We'll teach you. Then you'll teach others. Chain of knowledge."
"Tomorrow I have petitions—"
"Tomorrow you have a new job. Building something that outlasts you." Lin headed for the door, paused. "Oh, and Nico? Cut back on the Veil. You need to be clear-headed for this. Can't organize revolution while high."
"It's not a revolution—"
"Not yet. But give it time."
She left.
Nico sat alone with the spreadsheets and the timeline and the weight of it all.
Seventeen months.
Might as well make them count.