"The Xianzhou Luofu, I, Skott, have returned." The merchant wearing sunglasses stepped off the starskiff.
Before him stretched the streets of Aurum Alley, a place tied to painful memories of nearly being demoted.
But this time, things were completely different.
As the closest specialist to this area, the big shots of the Strategic Investment Department had transferred him here to buy that Curio Shop for the company.
The task was so simple, the plan practically ready-made, yet the credit he'd earn was enormous.
A promotion by three whole ranks! Jumping levels even after P30—this was something unprecedented in the company's history.
"Hmph! A little shop barely open for a day, and we're supposed to buy out its stock? Ha, I really don't see what's so hard about that."
Skott thought of the honor and wealth this job would bring him, and he almost burst out laughing. But he wasn't a fool—he had already investigated the shop's situation.
Selling Curios was indeed rare in the cosmos. But after careful analysis, he concluded that the only truly valuable Curio there was the handgun already bought by the Master Diviner of the Luofu. Everyone else so far hadn't pulled anything close to that level.
From his experience, the shopkeeper was most likely just a marketing trickster. The company was full of those types, even more despicable than him, and utterly unworthy of concern.
"Tch. The big bosses of the Strategic Investment Department are really paranoid, letting themselves get fooled by such a small fry. But if that guy could trick them with such low-level tricks, he won't fool me! These are games I've been playing since before he was born."
Skott was brimming with confidence. That shopkeeper was just using street-level gimmicks to dupe the higher-ups. After all, the executives only dealt with master strategists and had no clue about the tricks of small-time hustlers.
But as for those hustler tricks—this was Skott's comfort zone. As the company's lone wolf, it was exactly these methods that had earned him the title of specialist.
"Minions! Have all the funds been confirmed?" The company employees checked the loans they had been issued and nodded one by one.
Skott was very satisfied. These people had only managed to scrape together the cash because of some half-baked scheme to bypass a ridiculous purchase limit. The company didn't trust them at all—otherwise, why issue the money as loans?
But none of that mattered. To a lone hunting wolf, these obedient watchdogs were the perfect packmates.
…
Inside the Curio Trash Cans Shop, a customer pulled open one of the trash cans. An object materialized on the counter.
It was a clock.
"Whoa, the hell is this?"
The man stared at the plain mechanical clock he had just spent a million Credits on.
His brain crashed.
No—no, wait. This was something pulled from a Curio Trash Can. Which meant it had to be a Curio clock. It had to be valuable.
Night had already fallen, and he was probably the last customer of the day. Though so many before him had failed to get anything special, that only made him feel even more like the chosen one.
He had carefully counted: seventy trash cans had been opened before him. He had a strong feeling that the odds of finding something good were about to skyrocket.
He looked at Sylvester expectantly, his heart pounding thump-thump. He hoped his theory—that going last meant the best reward—would finally be proven right.
The moment the clock appeared, Sylvester knew exactly what it was, without even checking the description. This was indeed a Curio. And he had to admit—the guy's luck was really "good."
"This thing is called the [Black Forest Cuckoo Clock]. A very rare Curio indeed."
Extremely rare, in fact. Seventy trash cans had been opened, and this was the first negative Curio!
He gave the customer a sympathetic look. Truly the chosen unlucky child. This thing had tortured him back in his pre-reincarnation days, and now it had popped out again to torment someone else.
"What does it do?"
Hearing it was a rare Curio, the man's pupils almost lit up like Credits.
Strength didn't matter. Path didn't matter. Money was the only thing that mattered.
This thing had to be valuable!
"As long as you carry it on you, everyone will want to hit you," Sylvester said with grave seriousness. "In every single fight, you'll always be the first one to get hit."
"The hell! What kind of crap is that?!"
Yeah—what kind of crap indeed. Back when Sylvester first encountered this thing in the Simulated Universe, his reaction was about the same.
But now, sitting behind the counter and watching someone else suffer, he could only laugh.
First, people paid money to sell themselves out. Now, they paid money to get beaten up.
The world was full of wonders.
Sylvester felt, deep in his bones, the joy of being the house. You could bleed them dry, but you never lost.
"Did you rig the trash can?"
The man who pulled the cuckoo clock was about to lose it. He pointed a trembling finger at Sylvester, teeth gritted.
That was months of hard-earned wages—gone, just like that, on a piece of scrap?!
Sylvester, however, was completely unbothered. He had seen this countless times. Gacha addiction, emotional highs, bad pulls—it was normal, understandable.
He replied smoothly, "Food you can eat carelessly, but words you cannot speak carelessly. Everyone who enters this shop agrees: whatever comes out of the trash cans, you bear the consequences."
"And besides, it's not like no one ever pulls something good. Take the Master Diviner, for example. And the guy right before you—he pulled the long-lost painting, [The Cheshire Cat's Grin]. Ten billion Credits would be an understatement for its value."
"Not to mention someone else got the gaze of an Aeon. If you don't believe me, ask… oh, look, here she comes."
While speaking with the customer, Sylvester glanced up and spotted a familiar tuft of gray hair approaching in the distance.
Huh, finally get to meet the legendary Trailblazer in the flesh!
The first time they met, she had bought a trash can and was promptly dragged away by the Cloud Knights. They hadn't had a proper conversation yet.
'Without my player dialogue options… will the Trailblazer still be that much of a troll?'
Stelle and Qingque walked straight into the Curio Trash Cans shop.
The disgruntled customer looked at her and asked, "You're that new Emanator?"
"That's right." Stelle nodded. "This shopkeeper's too shady. He actually tried to sneak the trash can away, and after some so-called Aeon glanced at me, he just brushed me off. Not happening! I, the Galactic Baseball Bat Hero, won't let that slide!"
Mm! Sylvester raised a secret thumbs-up. As expected of the Trailblazer—her shamelessness had the same flair as his younger self! Perfectly in character.
But the customer nearly exploded on the spot.
Hark, dost thou hear her words?!
What did she mean by 'some so-called Aeon'? That was something they couldn't even dream of receiving. No, not even dream of—unless they were willing to kneel. And even kneeling might not be enough!
Not just the customer—even the surrounding onlookers wanted to smack Stelle square with a baseball bat.
Was this Child of Fortune here just to rub salt in their wounds? Outrageous!
But after considering their superior morals—and the immense power of this new Emanator—they decided to let it slide. They would forgive her offensive words.
With a returning Child of Fortune now present, no one else had the mood to keep opening trash cans.
They decided to come back another day. Absolutely no way they were letting the Child of Fortune enjoy their misfortune.
"Welcome to the Curio Trash Cans." Sylvester recited his fixed greeting.
Qingque found a chair, sat down, and looked bored.
Stelle, however, bounded forward, eager to pick a fight with Sylvester. "So—are your trash cans rigged or not?"
Sylvester looked up, and he could almost hear a boss-themed BGM rising in the background.