By the time Adam finally stopped walking, the park and the campus were far behind him.
Good.
The farther the better.
He kept his head down as he moved through the city. Morning had fully settled over the city now. Shops were opening.
Adam barely registered any of it.
One thought kept circling in his mind.
What now?
No, not what now.
What first?
That was the question.
He had already changed one thing.
In his last life, he had stayed in that park too long. After waking there, he had just sat and drifted until those same three bastards found him. They had beaten him, kicked him, searched his things, and taken the money his parents had sent from the village.
Forty thousand dollars.
Tuition money and Hostel money.
This time, they had missed him.
Which meant the money was still with him.
Adam's hand tightened around the strap of his backpack.
Forty thousand dollars sounded big when people said it out loud, but he knew how fast money could vanish when a person had no room and enemies who could keep pushing problems toward him from the shadows.
And the worst part was that this was not even his money to waste.
His parents had sent it for his studies.
For the future they believed he still had.
Even thinking about spending it carelessly made something twist in his chest.
But there was another problem.
John would not stop.
Why would he? If the whole point was to break Adam, then one failed attempt meant nothing. And if John knew about the money, then those three would keep looking until they found him or confirmed the cash was gone.
That was why Adam never stayed on one road for long.
He crossed a main street. Since leaving the park, he had been moving like prey trying to learn how hunters thought.
He hated that feeling.
But hating it did not make it untrue.
His stomach tightened.
He had not eaten since yesterday.
That was bad. Hunger slowed thinking, and he needed his head clear now more than ever.
Still, the answer in front of him was obvious.
He had a skill.
That changed the board.
If he used it well, money was no longer a dead end. Not stupid money. But enough to create room for himself.
So think.
What can be done first?
Adam ran through what he knew from the future and discarded ideas one by one. Eventually he settled on the only short-term solution that made sense.
Pawn shops.
Find an item worth something.
Copy it.
Take the copy somewhere else.
Sell carefully.
Repeat only when needed.
But right now, it was still a plan.
His stomach cramped again.
First food, then strategy.
Adam exhaled and turned onto a street. A small cafe had just opened.
He had enough real money to walk in and buy breakfast.
But should he?
Every bill in that bag mattered. Every bill spent reduced the time he had left before desperation started making choices for him. If he could avoid touching the real money, he should.
Adam stepped into the alley beside the cafe and set his suitcase down.
Then he opened his bag and took out a single hundred-dollar note.
He looked at it and thought, Last check.
If the skill could perfectly copy stone, then it could copy paper. That part was easy.
The real question was how perfect the copy would be.
Adam touched the note.
"Copy," he said quietly.
The blue window flashed for a moment. A faint drain passed through his body. Not pain. More like a little weakness, as if some of his stamina had been shaved away.
So the cost is real too.
The inventory opened.
A new image sat inside one slot.
The note.
Adam focused on it.
Paste.
Another hundred-dollar note appeared in his hand.
He now held two.
At first glance, they were identical.
Same color. Same texture. Same stiffness. Same printed details.
Adam narrowed his eyes and checked the numbers.
There.
Serial number.
Same.
Exactly the same.
He let out a slow breath.
So that is the limit.
Of course it was. The copied stone had appeared with every crack and grain untouched. Why would money be different?
That killed the dumbest dream right away.
No infinite cash.
No printing money forever.
If too many notes with the same serial number appeared, people would notice. And if people noticed, questions would start. Questions led to records. Records led to problems.
So the skill could make money.
Just not lazily.
Good.
That was fine.
Better to know the limit now than die because of greed later.
Adam put one of the notes into his inventory. The other stayed in his hand for a moment while he reached into his bag and took out another bill from the money already there.
If someone casually looked, it would just seem like normal cash pulled from a messy bag. Nothing worth remembering.
He closed the bag, picked up the suitcase, and stepped out of the alley.
The smell of coffee and warm bread hit him.
His stomach clenched even harder.
He walked inside, kept his face calm, handed over the money without hesitation, and ordered enough food to settle his body and buy himself a little time to think.
That was enough for now.
Food.
A few minutes.
Then the pawn shops.