A few months later;
Month of June, Year 2016;
Averton City, Lushan Province, North Qudour;
The afternoon sun pressed itself through the dusty windowpanes of the small store, its light fractured into thin golden strips that stretched across the wooden floor and climbed lazily over the shelves. Each beam carried with it the faint shimmer of suspended dust, drifting slowly in the heat, while rows of monster eggs rested quietly in their places, their surfaces giving off soft, uneven glows like sleeping embers waiting to be stirred awake.
Behind the counter, Arceus sat slumped forward, his elbows planted firmly on the table as though they were the only thing keeping him upright, his chin sinking into his palms. His hair had long since lost any attempt at order, strands falling loosely over his forehead, and beneath them, his eyes held a dull heaviness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. This was deeper, quieter, the kind of fatigue that came from effort without reward, from pushing forward only to remain trapped in the same place.
In front of him, the holographic screen hovered with quiet indifference, its faint glow reflecting in his tired eyes as the same message displayed itself once again, unchanged, unmoved.
Main Quest: Sell 1000 System-Provided Eggs (Progress: 963 / 1000)
He stared at the numbers as if they were something alive, as if they might shift under the weight of his gaze alone, his focus narrowing, breath slowing, waiting for even the slightest flicker of change.
Nothing happened.
Of course, nothing happened.
A slow breath escaped him, slipping out like something deflated, and his head tipped forward until his forehead nearly touched the counter, the holographic panel continuing to blink softly above him, uncaring and silent.
"It's been four months…" he murmured, his voice muffled slightly against the wood, each word dragging itself out with effort. "Four months since I regressed… since I came back… and awakened this system."
His fingers twitched faintly against the surface, as if remembering something they could no longer grasp.
"I inherited it from Dad… inherited the Main Quest he couldn't finish…" His lips pulled into a tired, humorless curve. "But look at those prices… who would even buy these?"
He lifted his head slightly, just enough to glance at the shelves again, at the eggs that glowed faintly as though unaware of the burden they carried.
"They're only rare quality… max potential Level-29… just Elite Tier…" His voice dipped lower, frustration threading through it now. "They can't even reach Commander Tier…"
His forehead tapped lightly against the counter.
Once.
Then again.
A soft, dull rhythm that carried no real force, only the quiet release of building irritation.
"1000 credits each…" he muttered, eyes half-lidded. "Not even a single credit less…"
His jaw tightened slightly as memories surfaced, sharp and recent.
He had tried.
He had smiled, negotiated, lowered his voice, even offered to cover the difference from his own pocket just to close a sale.
And every time—
System Error: Mission Violation.
The words had appeared cold and absolute, followed by the egg vanishing from the customer's hands, dissolving into nothing before reappearing back in his inventory as if reality itself had rejected the transaction.
Some customers had stumbled back in shock, eyes wide, whispering about tricks and illusions before rushing out of the store.
Others had stiffened in place, offended, their expressions hardening as if they had just been mocked.
Deals collapsed.
Trust evaporated.
And the store grew quieter with each passing day.
"In the end…" Arceus exhaled slowly, turning his head sideways until his cheek rested against the counter, his voice barely above a whisper. "After all that… I only managed to bring it down to thirty-seven…"
The number hung in the air, small and stubborn.
The store answered with silence.
Above him, the broken fan creaked as it rotated unevenly, its blades cutting through the thick air with a tired groan, stirring nothing but a faint, useless breeze that barely brushed against his skin before disappearing.
Outside, the world moved on without him, distant and detached. A delivery van honked somewhere far down the street, the sound muted by the heat and distance, like a reminder of a life that continued elsewhere.
"I'm cursed…" Arceus muttered, the words slipping out without resistance, as if they had been waiting for an excuse to exist. "No grades. No family. No money. No customers…"
His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the counter.
"In the novels, protagonists get systems and suddenly everything bends for them…" His lips pressed together, a faint bitterness creeping in. "But me… I couldn't do a damn thing."
His chest rose slowly, then fell.
"To survive… I sit here the whole day waiting for customers who don't come…" His voice grew quieter, rougher at the edges. "And at night, I work part-time just to keep this place alive…"
A pause.
"I barely slept these past few weeks…"
His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, unfocused.
"At this rate… I'll need another job…"
Numbers surfaced in his mind, uninvited, precise.
"Fourteen thousand credits…" he whispered. "That's all I have left…"
His fingers tightened.
"Barely enough for EMIs… barely enough for bills…"
The weight of it pressed down, slow and suffocating.
"Ugh…" His eyes closed briefly. "Do I really have no choice but to sell this building…?"
The words had barely settled when—
The door creaked open.
Ding!
The mechanical chime rang out clearly, cutting through the stagnant air of the store like a sudden spark.
To Arceus, it didn't sound mechanical at all.
It rang bright.
Sharp.
Alive.
For a brief second, it felt like something divine had answered him.
His head snapped up instantly, his body straightening as if pulled by invisible strings, his hands moving quickly to push his hair back, to smooth the creases of his shirt, to gather whatever fragments of composure he could find.
A man stepped in.
Middle-aged.
Well-dressed.
A dark suit that fit cleanly against his frame, glasses resting neatly on his nose, his posture relaxed yet firm, carrying the quiet weight of someone used to being listened to.
To Arceus, he didn't just look like a customer.
He looked like hope.
"Good afternoon, sir," Arceus said quickly, his voice lifting with a forced brightness, energy rushing into it despite the exhaustion that still lingered beneath. "Welcome to Origin Pet World. We sell the finest monster eggs this side of the district."
The man did not respond immediately.
His eyes moved first.
Across the shelves.
Over the eggs.
Along the worn edges of the floor.
Through the faint scent of incense mixed with dust that lingered in the air.
He took everything in, piece by piece, his expression unreadable, before giving a small, acknowledging nod and stepping closer to the counter.
"Hello," he said calmly, his voice low and steady. "My name is Harrison. I represent the Hughes Group."
The name settled heavily, carrying with it an invisible weight that seemed to shift the air slightly.
"We're interested in acquiring this property."
Arceus blinked.
Once.
Then again.
"I'm sorry?" The words came out slower this time, confusion threading through them.
Harrison remained composed, as though this conversation had already played out in his mind.
"We're purchasing all the buildings on this block," he continued, his tone even, businesslike. "The group is planning to build a flagship supermarket in this area."
His gaze met Arceus's directly.
"Your store is part of the plan, Mr. Blaze."
For a brief moment, Arceus felt something tighten inside his chest.
"Sorry, I'm not selling," he replied quickly, almost instinctively, the words leaving him before he had fully thought them through.
Then, softer—
"This place… is all I have."
The admission lingered between them, fragile and unguarded.
Harrison did not argue.
He did not persuade.
Instead, he reached calmly into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone, tapping it once before placing it gently on the counter and sliding it forward.
The screen lit up.
A document.
Clean.
Precise.
Merciless.
Arceus's eyes dropped to it.
And then—
They froze.
His bank details stared back at him with brutal clarity.
Negative balances.
Overdue interest.
Rent deferrals.
Power bill extensions.
Even the late fees from the city's merchant license authority.
Each number felt like a quiet accusation, laid bare without hesitation.
For a moment, his throat tightened, the air refusing to move properly.
Harrison's voice followed, steady as ever.
"Mr. Blaze," he said, "the offer is 1,150,000 credits."
The number landed with weight.
"It includes clearing all your debts," he continued, each word measured. "Your student loan. Your housing mortgage."
A slight pause.
"If you agree, you walk away debt-free… with enough capital to restart your business elsewhere."
Arceus didn't respond immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the screen, his thoughts beginning to move, slowly at first, then faster, calculating, weighing, resisting.
"That would mean…" His voice came out quieter now, strained. "I will lose this house too."
Harrison nodded once.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No softening.
"But you walk away clean."
The words were simple.
Clinical.
Final.
He adjusted his cuffs slightly, the faint rustle of fabric cutting through the silence.
"Let us be honest," he continued, his tone sharpening just enough to carry intent. "You've been running this place alone for five years."
A small pause.
"And quite frankly… you are very bad at running this business."
The words didn't come loud.
They didn't need to.
They settled heavily, precise and undeniable.
Arceus's lips parted slightly, as if to respond, to argue, to deny—
But nothing came out.
Because it was true.
Five years.
Since high school.
Five years of effort that had led him here.
And even with the knowledge of the future, with the chance to correct everything—
He still stood on the edge.
The thought flickered.
If he had capital… real capital… he could invest.
He could change things.
He could fix this.
But without it—
Banks wouldn't lend.
Not to someone like him.
Not with his records.
Harrison watched him quietly for a moment, then pulled the phone back, the screen disappearing from view as easily as it had appeared.
A faint, knowing smile touched his lips.
"Think about it," he said, straightening his posture.
"I'll return in two days."
He turned, his steps measured, unhurried, the door already within reach as his hand moved toward it.
The hinges creaked softly as it began to open—
"Wait!"
Arceus's voice cut through the moment, sharp and sudden, carrying more weight than he expected, as if something inside him had finally surged forward before it could be stopped.