"…That little green bastard sold me a cosplay prop."
The blade sat on the floor where he left it. Still chipped. Still fake. Frank hadn't touched it in over an hour.
The light above him flickered again. Then steadied. Then flickered twice, like it couldn't make up its mind. His eyes stayed locked on the system window hovering in front of him. The glow hadn't faded. Not even once.
He rubbed his face. His hands were cold.
"Of course it's a scam," he muttered. "What did I expect—free gear and god-tier loot?"
The system didn't answer. It just waited.
He tapped the air. Tabs unfolded one by one. [STORE], [INVENTORY], [TRADE LOG], and a new one—[CREATE SHOP]—lit up gold at the bottom.
He clicked it.
___
A message appeared in smooth, serif font.
▌Create Dimensional Shop
Setup Cost: 350 Tokens
Warning: Setup irreversible. Token cost non-refundable.
___
Frank leaned back. The chair creaked under him.
"Three-fifty," he whispered. "Out of five hundred. I'd be a bigger idiot than the blade guy."
But he didn't close the window.
He looked around the room. One mattress. One broken fridge. A plastic chair with a cracked leg. Ramen cup from yesterday still on the table. This was it. His whole kingdom.
And the system still hovered. Still waiting.
His jaw locked tight.
He tapped [Confirm].
The token counter dropped. 150 Tokens Remaining. The room didn't shake. No fireworks. Just a new window that blinked into place:
____
▌Name Your Storefront:
____
The cursor blinked inside an empty field. Frank stared at it. Long enough to wonder if this part mattered. Long enough to think about closing the whole thing and going to sleep.
But then he started typing.
____
Hagan Supplies: Reliable Goods for Unreliable Worlds
____
He hit enter.
The system responded with a soft chime. Beside him, the air warped like heat rising off pavement. A glowing circle formed on the floor—blue, smooth, perfectly round. A message appeared beside it.
____
Upload up to 3 local items.
Place each item into the Sync Field.
____
Frank blinked. Then stood. The air shimmered beside him like a pond waiting for stones.
He moved fast. Not because he trusted it—because he didn't want to stop and think again.
He tore open the kitchen drawer and found a half-full bag of sugar chews. Still sealed. He dropped the whole thing into the circle. The light pulsed. The bag vanished.
He opened the mini-fridge. Not much left.
four tomatoes. Fresh enough. He added them.
Last—he checked under the counter, where he kept his "don't-touch-unless-dying" stash. seven energy drink, dented can, label worn halfway off. Still cold.
He dropped it in.
The sync field pulsed with light—one flash for each item. Then it vanished. Gone. Nothing remained but the window in front of him.
Items Synced:
– Sugar Chews (x10)
– Tomatoes (x4)
– Energy Drink (x7)
Storefront Active
Visible to Tier 1 Realms
Frank sat down hard.
The chair wobbled, but didn't break.
He stared at the token counter. Still 150. No sales yet. No buyers. Just the faint hum of the system in the air and the city noise outside his taped window.
The thrill faded fast. Now there was just waiting.
He crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Tapped his fingers on the chair leg. Then stopped.
No lights changed.
No new messages.
He exhaled through his nose and muttered, "Figures."
But the store was live.
And for the first time since his Awakening, the system hadn't laughed at him.
Not yet.
He didn't realize how long he'd been staring until the light in the window faded from amber to deep blue. Arcadia's streetlamps hummed on outside. The glow filtered through his taped window, slicing across the floor like quiet warnings.
Still no sale.
Frank scratched at the back of his neck. His shoulders had started to ache from how stiff he'd been sitting. He adjusted in the chair, then froze at the soft chime.
Not from the fridge. Not from the broken tablet.
From the system.
A window expanded in front of him, crisp and clear.
____
▌ITEM SOLD▐
Product: Sugar Chews
Buyer: Ikran'Ten
Race: Insectoid
Realm: Ember Wastes
Quantity: 10
Earnings: +240 Dimensional Tokens
New Balance: 390 Tokens
____
Frank didn't move.
His brain clocked the numbers, registered the total, but didn't send the signal to breathe. It took another few seconds for his lips to part.
"Two… forty?" he whispered.
He stood too fast and the chair toppled behind him. It crashed against the wall, one leg snapping off completely. He didn't care.
"That… that actually sold?"
He pulled the system window closer, tapping it with shaky fingers. The transaction details stayed firm—no errors, no glitches, no rollback warnings.
The balance was real.
He backed up a step, then leaned forward again, like the window might vanish if he blinked too long. His eyes scanned every detail. The buyer's name—Ikran'Ten—sounded like some sci-fi bug general. Ember Wastes? He didn't even know what that was. But they bought the candy. All ten pieces.
For more than half a month's food budget.
His breath left him in one sharp exhale, and he laughed. Just once. Sharp. Bitter. Almost cracked.
He stumbled around the tiny room, stepping over the broken chair, hands in his hair.
"I sold sugar," he said aloud. "To a freaking alien bug thing."
Another chime.
This time, a message.
____
[NEW MESSAGE – Buyer Inquiry]
Ikran'Ten: Do you have anything else with fast-digest sugar or concentrated energy?
____
Frank's fingers hovered in the air. The system had a reply option. No keyboard, no voice—just a thought-linked input field. He tapped it mentally and replied:
Not at the moment. Why?
A pause.
Demand is rising. Sugar fuels short-range flight. Our harvest season failed. Will check back tomorrow.
Frank typed back one word:
Understood.
He closed the window and stood still in the dark, the hum of the system sinking into his chest like heat. He crossed to the counter, pulled out the notebook he hadn't touched since his delivery shifts. He tore out the old route maps, flipped to a blank page.
Wrote in sharp, block letters:
____
Buyer: Ikran'Ten
Race: Insectoid – Realm: Ember Wastes
Needs: High-sugar goods – energy dense, fast metabolism
Item sold: Sugar Chews (x10) = 240 Tokens
_____
He stared at the page.
Then flipped to the next one.
More notes. Categories. He labeled them: Sweets, Stim Drinks, Light Meals, Preserved Snacks. Left room under each.
He stopped once to look at the can of energy drink still spinning slowly inside the sync field record—unsold, but listed.
He looked back at the token count: 390.
He sat on the mattress, cross-legged, the broken chair still on its side.
Then he opened the [STORE] window again. Saw his listings. The tomatoes were still there. So was the drink.
But this time, something else hovered above the screen.
A sense.
A hook in his chest.
The blade may have been fake—but the tokens weren't.
He tapped open the main interface again.
The glow sharpened around him.
His voice came out low, but steady.
"Okay… okay. If this is real…"
He stared at the numbers, the balance, the buyer tab, the sync field—everything still alive and ticking in the air around him.
"…then I'm done being poor."