"Actually, Mr. Aventurine, you…"
Sylvester wanted to tell him that he had enough control over these Curios, that he could help remove the curse of misfortune.
But Aventurine gave him no chance to speak.
"Mr. Sylvester, there's no need to say more. I know exactly what I am doing."
His face was calm as he spoke, showing no signs of losing reason.
But why was his choice so extreme?
"Mr. Sylvester. This so-called luck has always been my curse. Because of this curse, my family was buried in the yellow sands, while only I managed to survive; because of this curse, the Avgins were buried in history, while I managed to survive. Today, I am a man of renown across the universe, I can obtain almost anything I desire. But everything I once had has already been buried in the past."
Aventurine exhaled slowly and looked directly at Sylvester. "No matter the curse, I must face it completely."
"Only by discarding reason does one truly gamble!"
"Tsk."
But brother, you don't have to force a double curse while pulling, you know…
Sure, it sounded artistic, but hard-pulling like that never ended well.
Sylvester watched the silent, raging inferno burning in Aventurine's eyes and ultimately chose not to stop him any further.
Abandoning his compulsion to help, he chose to respect the fate of another.
Aventurine turned toward the last three Trash Cans on the shelf.
He closed his eyes, but his hands did not hesitate—the three Trash Cans were opened one after another.
He didn't even look at the light as they opened.
Three items dropped onto the counter.
A talisman slip.
A small glass vial filled with clear liquid.
A small but unusually thick book.
Sylvester stared at the items, carefully trying to form the right words.
He wasn't a devil, after all. The man before him deserved sympathy.
"How is it, Mr. Sylvester?"
The Trash Cans were now empty, all chips spent. Aventurine wiped away the thin sweat from his brow, his expression strangely relaxed, as if back to when he opened the very first can.
"What did I pull?"
He dragged over a chair and sat opposite Sylvester again.
He had never seen these things before, but compared to that Minor Healing Pill and the four-leaf clover, they at least seemed better.
"…" Sylvester kept silent.
See? Didn't I say so? Forced pulls never end well.
[Phase Charm:Stick it on your forehead, and for five minutes, you can move through any building unhindered.]
[Fire Tea:The latest experimental beverage from Aurum Alley. Though its alcohol content is above 53%, the inventor insists on calling it tea.]
[Almanac:When luck is poor, consult this.]
"Mr. Aventurine, how was your meal yesterday?"
"Yesterday, I dined with the elders of the Luofu, the dishes were excellent." Aventurine frowned slightly. "Why ask this? Do these things have something to do with chefs?"
This digression filled him with unease.
But the next words chilled him to the core.
Sylvester said, "Well… there are many famous vendors in Aurum Alley. Eat whatever you like."
"Huh?"
Aventurine froze. Wasn't this the kind of thing Xianzhou people said to those with terminal illnesses?
Sylvester rubbed the back of his neck. "The first item is the [Phase Charm]. Place it on your forehead, and even the thickest stone walls cannot stop you."
"The second is called [Fire Tea]. Well… it's just high-proof liquor with tea leaves thrown in. They say the Trailblazer from the Astral Express was invited to test it. During those days, they were either delirious for entire system cycles or drunkenly rampaging in the streets."
"The third is called an [Almanac]. A Xianzhou specialty fengshui compendium. It uses the yin-yang five elements to calculate changes in fortune over the week."
"Using yin-yang five elements to calculate fortune over the week…"
The first two were bad enough, clearly worthless.
But that last explanation, dripping with Xianzhou mysticism, gave Aventurine pause.
Could this be some legendary tome of metaphysics? Had he struck gold? Broken the curse?
That illusion shattered as soon as he opened the little book.
Aventurine stared at the entries, feeling a headache.
On such-and-such day: Auspicious for betrothal, marriage, and burial. Inauspicious for travel and interment.
On another day…
What nonsense is this?
Marriage and burial on the same day—auspicious?
Was marriage a funeral? Or was burial a celebration?
And inauspicious for travel and interment…
So, the deceased should just be buried in the family yard?
Hands trembling, Aventurine slammed the Almanac on the desk, his figure darkened by the sunlight at his back.
Sylvester silently admired him.
Excellent. Truly worthy of the Ten Stonehearts.
If it were Skott here, he would've been cursing already.
But Aventurine, after all this, still held himself together. That kind of composure was rare.
"Sev… seven…" Aventurine's voice trembled as he stammered, lips quivering. "Seven million Credits… for this useless junk?"
O Mother Goddess, have You shut Your eyes on me completely?
All his life, Aventurine had held conflicted feelings toward his so-called 'luck.' He had often wondered: if he had perished alongside his mother and sister beneath those endless sands, would that have been another kind of happiness?
But such thoughts were meaningless now. His only tether to the past had been severed.
That peculiar ability—never wholly joyful—was the sole thing he carried from the Avgins. Now it was gone.
Truly gone.
Back in Penacony, through the power of Harmony, he had already made peace with past and future. Yet now, confusion returned.
He suddenly reclined, arms dangling back over the chair, succumbing to gravity.
Was this… liberation?
"Mr. Aventurine, you need not be so heartbroken."
Sylvester, unable to bear his despair, finally spoke.
"No need to console me, Mr. Sylvester." Aventurine waved his hand. "I've long known my ending. My methods are clever but leave no room for retreat."
"As Professor Ratio once said, 'A damned gambler.' I was always destined to fall in a failed gamble. That is the gambler's end."
"I just never expected this imagined gamble to arrive so suddenly, so irresistibly."
Aventurine laughed bitterly. He had not fallen in some grand finale but instead lost his stake quietly, helplessly.
And yet, he was still alive. Was that another kind of fortune?
Watching his melancholy, Sylvester could no longer hold back.
Brother, can't you just let me finish talking for once?
"Actually, this curse—I could remove it with a single cough."
Aventurine, who had been mentally eulogizing his life, shot upright.
"Why didn't you say so earlier?"
Then just now… I was like a clown, wasn't I?
I… I wasted five green Trash Cans for nothing?
What?
"You never let me speak." Sylvester looked at him, exasperated.
You cut me off thrice. Three fudging times!
"You—" Aventurine bristled, but relief after near ruin also left him oddly glad.
Still, he couldn't help but retort, "Are you a worshipper of the Aeon of Elation? What's your relationship with the Masked Fools?"
"Hey, hey, hey, don't talk nonsense. I'm not a jester."
Sylvester rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
Well… at least not a professional one.
"But your very name has meaning in relation to 'joy' in it." Aventurine shot back.
"…" Sylvester was left speechless.
…
Carrying two garbage bags, Aventurine left the little Curio Trash Can shop.
Sylvester looked at the now-empty shelves and nodded in satisfaction.
He hung the [Closed] sign at the door, but instead of heading to the second-floor recliner, he shut the doors and windows tight, then pulled out his own exclusive Trash Can.
With a swipe across the system panel, a crystalline, sapphire-blue, noble Trash Can appeared on the tea table.
It no longer resembled a trash can, but a flawless crystal chest, like something a noble family might use to store heirlooms. If not for the system's label, no one would call it a Trash Can.
Sylvester glanced at his teacup. The pale green tea shimmered with blue light, reflected from the Trash Can.
With such a resplendent Trash Can, surely it would yield the highest-tier of Curios.