It began with another odd request.
Actually, not even a request—a desperate offering.
The man who walked into the shop wasn't a stranger. He was the one who sold me the pen. Only this time, he wasn't alone.
He brought someone else.
A younger man, maybe in his twenties. Disheveled hair, skin pale like he hadn't seen the sun in days. Eyes sunken, hands trembling. The kind of person you might pass on the street and immediately feel guilty for doing so.
They didn't say much.
The younger man stepped forward, not speaking, just looking at me with this... haunted expression. Then, without a word, he pulled something from his coat and placed it on the counter.
A silver coin.
Plain. Smooth. Completely featureless—no symbols, no markings, no national crest. It gleamed faintly under the shop light, but not in a way that reflected. More like... it absorbed the light. Drank it.
Then he did something I didn't expect.
He pressed a leather pouch into my hand.
"Please take it," he whispered. "Please."
I opened it.
Inside were neatly stacked notes and a silver receipt: 1000 paiks. That's... absurd. Enough to buy a small plot of land or two dozen guns.
"I don't—what do you want in return?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just take it," he said. "Take it. Keep it away from me."
I looked at the coin again.
It gave off a chill. Not metaphorically. It was cold. The kind of cold that clings to your bones. And yet… it called to me.
I didn't want to take it. Not really. But the man was on the verge of breaking, and the other one—my previous client—just kept staring at me with dead eyes.
I sighed and pocketed the money. I'm not proud of it, but someone had to take it. That coin… someone else might've thrown it away or tried melting it down.
Me? I saw another opportunity to experiment.
"You should be careful," I told the young man. "There's… something on you."
I activated a new technique I'd been working on—an eye-enhancement method inspired by all the nonsense I used to read in MTL webnovels. It wasn't much, just channeling moonlight energy into my eyes, letting me see spiritual fluctuations.
And there it was.
Black mist. Not smoke exactly. More like… a clinging aura. It wrapped around his shoulders, barely visible unless you looked through soul-sense.
The man trembled when I said that. He didn't ask how I knew. He just nodded and left with a stiff, jerky bow.
And then it was back to my routine.
Mornings at the antique shop. Evenings at the shooting club. Nights... devoted to the slow, lonely crawl of cultivation.
I was getting better.
My aim had improved. My stamina, too. I started setting up a schedule—running, light workouts, nothing too intense. I didn't want to become a fighter. I just wanted to survive. And to survive, I needed to run fast and shoot straight.
Some days I met my grandfather's old friend, Mr. Harven. A historian. Older man, sharp tongue, sharper eyes. He used to visit our house often when I was young. I'd see them drinking tea, talking about forgotten wars, lost cities, mythic kings.
I tried keeping in touch. Borrowing books from him now and then.
This time I visited him at his apartment—lined with shelves, floor to ceiling. The whole place smelled like old paper and ink.
"You again?" he said when I knocked.
"I brought back the Empire scrolls," I said, holding up the leather-bound book.
He squinted at me. "You actually read them?"
"Every word. And I brought wine."
"Ah, now that's how you visit an old man."
We sat for a while, talking about kings who ruled for one hundred years, cities swallowed by earthquakes, and civilizations that worshipped the moon directly.
"Tell me, boy," he said between sips. "Why do you ask about forbidden rituals and forgotten cults?"
"Just curiosity," I lied. "Makes good reading."
He chuckled. "Your grandfather always said you were a strange one."
I smiled. I never told him the truth. Not yet. But one day, he might be useful.
I also kept up appearances in the neighborhood.
Miss Lin from across the street always liked to gossip. She used to stop by under the excuse of checking prices or asking about her late husband's clock.
"Oh Kaiser," she'd say, dramatically brushing her hair back, "did you hear about the girl who fainted near the chapel? They say she saw a demon!"
I'd smile. "Really? Sounds like she just needed water."
"You're too grounded. You need a woman in your life."
"I have one. Her name's Stability."
She'd laugh. "You always were a charmer."
I made sure to keep that charm up. Complimented her gardening, offered her extra tea leaves from the shop, even gave her a music box once when she was feeling nostalgic.
Why?
Because you never know who will be useful when things go south.
Despite all that, I felt... lonely.
Maybe it was the weight of the secret life I was building. The knowledge that I was walking a path no one else could see.
So I started studying. Deeply.
History. Human psychology. Ritual behavior. Comparative mythology. I took notes, cross-referenced texts. There were patterns, I was sure of it. The old civilizations weren't primitive. They knew things we didn't. Things they weren't supposed to.
And I started training seriously. Not just light workouts anymore—I needed to be faster, stronger, sharper. Because running might not always be an option.
I kept a gun with me at all times now.
Tucked under my coat. Cold steel gave me comfort. Not because I wanted to kill anything. But because I knew something might come looking for me.
The pen, the mirror, the bell… and now the coin.
Each one tugged at the edges of reality, hinting at a world deeper, darker, stranger than anything I imagined. And I wasn't sure how much longer I could pretend to be ordinary.
So I smiled at neighbors. Paid my bills. Haggled over prices.
And when the sun went down, I studied the coin.
Another piece in the puzzle.
Another whisper in the dark.