Aaron arrived at the pawn shop, guided by the lingering memories of the body's previous owner. He stopped just outside the doorway, hesitating for a moment. The building looked old and worn, its wooden sign faded by years of sun and dust. A small part of him wondered whether he should walk in, whether this life, this routine, still belonged to him.
His doubt lasted only a second.
A gruff voice rang out from inside, sharp and impatient. "Aaron, why are you late today? Get your ass to work already!"
Aaron turned his head toward the sound.
Standing behind the counter was Mr. Broke, the owner of the shop. He was an elderly man in his late sixties, with a hunched back and leathery skin darkened by years of hard labor. His grey hair was thin and combed back, revealing a furrowed brow that seemed permanently locked in disapproval. A pair of small, round glasses sat crookedly on his nose, and his eyes, piercing and sharp, had the look of someone who'd seen too much and trusted too little.
He wore a patched-up vest over a stained shirt, both smelling faintly of metal, old wood, and ink. His fingers were thick and calloused, marked by decades of sorting through forgotten items and cheap trinkets. Despite his rough appearance, there was something reliable about him. Gruff, but steady. Stern, but never cruel.
Aaron hesitated at first, but then took a steady breath and spoke. "Mr. Broke, I've come to quit the job," he said, his voice calm but firm.
He paused for a moment, searching the old man's face before adding, "I'm going to become an adventurer."
Mr. Broke froze, the surprise in his eyes quickly turning into skepticism. He leaned on the counter and narrowed his gaze. "An adventurer?" he repeated, his tone colder now. "Aaron, are you serious? You think anyone can just decide to be an adventurer? You need a profession, an awakened one, to even qualify."
Aaron didn't flinch. He met the old man's stare without blinking, the air around him heavy with quiet conviction. "I've awakened a profession," he said simply.
The room fell silent. For the first time, Mr. Broke didn't have a comeback ready. The usual gruffness in his expression softened ever so slightly, replaced by a flicker of doubt, and maybe, just maybe, something like concern.
Mr. Broke fell silent, lost in thought. Then he let out a tired sigh and said, "Alright. Wait here, I'll settle your payment."
He turned slowly, opened an old cabinet behind the counter, and pulled out two silver coins along with a small red vial. He placed them gently on the table in front of Aaron. "Here's your payment," he said, his voice calmer now. "And this… a health potion. It might save your life if you find yourself in real trouble."
Aaron stared at the items, his thoughts spinning.
From the memories left behind in the body, he knew his monthly pay was only 50 copper coins. Two silver coins were far more than he'd ever earned, and the health potion? That was completely unexpected. He knew its cost. At least five silver coins, even when bought at a discount. It wasn't something people gave away casually.
For a moment, Aaron didn't know what to say. Gratitude, surprise, and confusion swirled in his chest. Why had Mr. Broke offered so much?
Mr. Broke noticed the conflict flickering in Aaron's eyes, the quiet tug-of-war between pride and need. With a faint smirk and a voice that carried a rough kind of kindness, he said, "Go on, take it. Once you're out there, making a name for yourself as an adventurer, this'll be nothing. If you ever feel like paying me back, that's fine. But don't worry about it. I'm not keeping score."
He turned away, pretending to tidy a shelf, giving Aaron the space to accept without feeling small. It wasn't just a gesture, it was a quiet vote of confidence.
Aaron's eyes softened with gratitude as he looked at Mr. Broke. He bowed respectfully and said, "Thank you, Mr. Broke."
There was no need for more words, his quiet gesture spoke louder than anything he could have said. Mr. Broke simply nodded in return, as if he understood without asking for an explanation.
Aaron picked up the pouch, feeling the weight of the coins and the health potion inside.
As he stepped out of the shop and into the street, sunlight touched his face. The air felt different now, full of uncertainty but also possibility. He didn't look back, but he carried the old man's kindness with him. Deep down, he promised himself that if the chance ever came, he'd help Mr. Broke in return, whenever and however he could.
Back inside the dimly lit pawn shop, Mr. Broke sank into his old creaky chair, letting his body relax for the first time that morning. The shop was quiet now, the usual clutter of dusty shelves and forgotten trinkets casting long shadows across the floor. He leaned back, arms resting loosely, eyes half-closed as if letting the silence speak.
Muttering to himself, he said, "So… the ritual really worked." A dry chuckle escaped his lips, more surprised than amused. "I figured it was nonsense, probably written by some lunatic chasing wild dreams."
He glanced toward the door, now empty, the faint echo of Aaron's footsteps still lingering in the air. "Looks like I was wrong…"
For a moment, Mr. Broke stayed still, lost in thought. A strange feeling settled over him, not quite regret, not quite relief. Just quietly wonder at what he'd witnessed.
As Aaron walked through the streets, the weight of the coin pouch reminded him of the possibilities ahead. He had five silver coins now, a small fortune compared to what he used to earn. But he didn't want to waste them. Every coin mattered, especially in a world where danger could strike without warning.
He thought carefully about what to buy. Weapons? Armor? Maybe some supplies? But then he paused and realized something, without official recognition as an adventurer, none of those things would matter. Most shops wouldn't sell specialized gear to someone without an identity badge, and without tasks from the Adventurer's Guild, he wouldn't know what kind of tools he actually needed.