The cold followed him into the room like it had a key.
Jun woke abruptly, curled around himself, a sharp shiver rolling up his spine.
Air pierced through the threadbare blanket that barely clung to his shoulders.
The mattress beneath him—thin, sunken, and uneven—offered little warmth, and even less comfort.
He curled tighter, instinctively trying to conserve what body heat remained.
His neck ached.
His shoulders popped with a dull crack as he sat upright.
---
His stomach growled—loud, hollow, bitter.
The kind of hunger that made sound but felt like a burn.
Last night's skipped dinner hadn't passed quietly.
The final pack of instant noodles was long gone—used like a celebration he hadn't earned.
Like a luxury he couldn't afford twice.
He sat still for a while, letting the cold and emptiness layer over each other.
The window nearby was cracked open slightly.
Cold light spilled through the bent blinds—pale and sterile.
Dust floated lazily in the beam like snow caught between shallow breaths.
Jun rubbed his arms.
Friction didn't help much, but it gave him something to do.
Movement made the silence easier.
Then something flickered—just above his knees.
---
He blinked.
Turned his head slowly.
Floating in the air—sharp, silent, and undeniably real—was the same thing from the night before:
---
> [First Task: Brew Real Coffee – Reward: Beginner Brewing Set + 50 XP]
---
Jun stared.
The letters hovered steadily, glowing just faint enough to feel like they didn't belong here.
He waved a hand through it.
It shimmered—rippling softly like mist—but stayed.
> "Real coffee," he muttered, a dry sound escaping that was almost a laugh.
"Sure. Got any to spare, system?"
---
He looked around the room like some miracle might answer.
No beans.
No grinder.
No kettle.
Not even a paper filter.
Just a dusty packet of instant stuffed behind the water jug.
And even without asking, he knew deep in his gut:
That didn't count.
---
He stood slowly, each movement stiff from sleep and strain.
Picked up the empty paper cup left by his mattress.
It was crumpled slightly at the rim, the way it always was after reusing it too many times.
He walked to the water jug in the corner.
Rinsed the cup.
Set it down again.
Didn't drink.
His body wanted something warm.
But there was nothing warm left in this room.
---
Then—
a knock.
Short. Sharp. Final.
---
Jun moved toward the door.
His fingers were still cold from the night, bones stiff beneath the skin.
He opened it slowly.
Mr. Lin stood just outside—slippers on, arms crossed, frown already carved into place.
That frown had probably been there since Jun moved in.
Maybe longer.
> "Rent," the old man said, voice flat as concrete.
"Three days late."
Jun swallowed hard.
His throat felt dry—like sleep had left dust in it.
> "Just a little longer," he said, voice even.
"I'm working on something."
Mr. Lin raised an eyebrow.
He didn't speak.
Just scanned Jun's face and posture—like he was taking mental notes.
Not angry.
Not hopeful.
Just tired.
The kind of tired that came from hearing too many promises, watching too many dreams rot in quiet rooms like this one.
He exhaled through his nose.
> "Three days. No more. After that, you're out."
No argument.
No insults.
Just fact.
---
The door clicked shut.
Jun stood there for a moment, hand still resting on the knob.
His breath was soft, like he didn't want to disturb the quiet that had settled again.
He turned back toward the mattress.
Sat down slowly, chest tight with something that wasn't quite panic—just pressure.
It didn't lift.
It shifted—like weight being redistributed inside him.
---
The system notification still hovered in the air, pulsing quietly like a heartbeat he didn't own:
> [Time Remaining: 12 hours, 36 minutes]
---
Twelve hours.
To brew one cup of real coffee.
With no tools.
No ingredients.
And no plan.
---
> "No pressure," he muttered, rubbing his face with both hands.
Still—he stood again.
---
He pulled on his jacket—thin canvas, frayed at the sleeves, stiff near the cuffs.
Slipped his feet into his shoes—no socks.
He didn't have socks anymore.
They'd disappeared one by one—like a slow vanishing act he never applauded.
He grabbed the empty cup again and slipped it into his pocket.
> Just in case.
---
The city outside was already breathing.
Storefronts still asleep.
Steel shutters half-drawn.
Air sharp with dew.
The sidewalk was cold beneath his soles, every step reminding him what he didn't have.
He passed a bakery just as its shutters rattled open.
The smell hit him like a punch—
warmth, butter, heat, memory.
He kept walking.
A man crossed in front of him with a paper cup.
Jun watched the steam curl upward—jealous of how casually the man held it.
A puddle rippled as a bus rolled past, wheels slicing through the edge of the curb.
Jun stepped aside. Kept moving.
Hands in pockets.
Breath forming soft clouds.
---
> "Coffee first," he whispered to no one.
"Survival later."
---
> [System Record – Storyline ID: S08-Origin]
Logged User: Stylsite08
Path: Stillness to Mastery
Unauthorized copies may trigger system disruption.
Original work by Stylsite08. Do not repost or distribute without permission.
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