Ethan leaned back on the creaky bed in the back of his café, eyes still glued to the glowing interface in his head. At first he'd been thrilled, practically bouncing like a kid in a candy store. But the longer he scrolled, the more his grin melted into something closer to despair.
Every card on the counter—every shiny, impossible miracle—came with a number he couldn't touch.
One hundred points. Two hundred. Some even in the thousands.
He had twenty-five.
Twenty-five miserable points.
"Damn it…" he muttered, covering his face with both hands. "I'm broke in real life and broke in a damn system too. What kind of protagonist is this?"
He let out a long sigh, the sort that rattled from the bottom of his chest. For a few moments, he just stared at the dim ceiling, tracing cracks that looked like rivers splitting across a map. His heart had soared when the cards appeared—visions of invisibility, flight, even resurrection dancing through his mind—but now he felt like a balloon pricked with a pin.
Still, even in disappointment, curiosity tugged at him. Ethan wasn't the type to wallow too long. He sat up again, leaned closer to the interface, and forced himself to study the details.
The store wasn't just a random mess. Everything was neatly divided into categories, as if the system wanted to tempt him in four different ways.
The first shelf glittered with system cards. These weren't flashy, but they were practical—things that bent the rules of the game itself. A Delay Card to stretch out mission deadlines. An Enhancement Card to boost the radar's range. He whistled low. "Could've used that earlier. Might've saved me from digging through half the city like a rat."
The second shelf was where his pulse really quickened. Functional cards. These were the kind of things you only dreamed about in comics. He skimmed past the names, each one sparking a new image in his mind. A Wall-Phase Card—he pictured himself walking straight through locked vaults. A Mind Reading Card—imagine sitting at the poker table with that. And the Invisibility Card… Ethan nearly laughed out loud. "High school me would've killed for that one."
The third shelf was stacked with suppression cards, a reminder of the tank he'd just pressed into his storage. These weren't about gaining powers, but about packaging oversized or dangerous items into something portable. Handy, sure—but they all came with hidden costs. The tank alone had nearly bankrupted him.
And then there was the fourth shelf.
Ethan sat forward, his eyes narrowing.
Transformation cards.
The name didn't sound like much, but the descriptions made his skin prickle with anticipation. These weren't about storing or delaying. They were about changing the very nature of treasures. Items that only worked in certain worlds, or for certain people, could be reshaped into cards usable by anyone.
He scrolled to the examples. A pill meant for some mystical fantasy world? Turned into a card anyone could use, no side effects. A cursed blade tied to a single bloodline? Converted into a weapon card anyone could wield.
And then he saw it. His pulse jumped.
The Nine Talons of the Abyss.
That eerie, nightmarish fighting style he'd picked up before—the one that felt too dark, too heavy, almost impossible to learn. The system marked it as a Level 9 treasure. Theoretically priceless. But it wasn't like he could just walk out into the street and start training in secret death-claws. Not without people noticing. Not without consequences.
But what if…
What if he transformed it into a card?
No training. No years of blood and sweat. No side effects. Just raw, terrifying power at his fingertips.
Ethan could see it in his mind—the claws ripping through steel, the shadows curling around his hands. He imagined stepping into a fight, smiling as his opponent's bravado shattered the moment the talons appeared.
He laughed, then caught himself. The laugh sounded a little too sharp. A little too eager. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Easy," he muttered. "Don't go full supervillain yet."
Still, he couldn't deny the temptation. He quickly tapped the details.
Ninety points.
That was the cost to convert the Nine Talons into a card.
Ninety.
He only had twenty-five.
The system might as well have reached out of the interface and slapped him in the face.
"Figures," Ethan groaned. He flopped back onto the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling again. "Of course the one thing I actually want costs four times what I've got."
But the seed had been planted. He knew now where his points were going, no matter how long it took. Ninety wasn't impossible. Not forever. He just had to grind harder, take on more missions, and keep his eyes on the prize.
"Fine," he whispered. "You wait for me. One day, I'll unlock you. And when I do…" His lips curled in a dangerous little smile. "…no one's touching me again."
He lay there for a while, letting the adrenaline ebb, until another flashing arrow tugged his attention back. The Space function.
Ethan's heart gave a nervous skip. He hadn't touched it yet—not properly. After the last mission, the option had appeared, but he'd been too busy to test it. Now, though, the arrow pulsed insistently, like the system itself was saying: It's time.
With a dry swallow, he clicked.
The interface rippled, unfolding into something new. Two tabs: Space Selection and My Space. The latter was grayed out, locked. Only the first glowed.
Ethan tapped.
A block of text bloomed before him, dressed up in the system's usual self-important tone:
"This function allows treasure hunters to enter alternate planes for expanded treasure hunting opportunities. Each plane contains unique environments, cultures, and treasures. Caution: Dying within a plane results in real death."
Ethan sat bolt upright. "Real death?!"
He skimmed faster. The cheerful advertising copy made it sound like a theme park. Peerless treasures! Exotic worlds! But buried beneath it all was that ugly line again.
If you die there, you die here.
He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of it sinking in. "Great. So it's not just treasure hunting—it's Russian roulette."
The menu shifted, finally showing the choices. At the top sat Real World, already marked as his current domain. Below, neat little boxes stretched out in rows: History, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Martial Arts, Games, Animation…
His breath caught. Whole worlds, entire genres, waiting to be explored. Only two were lit right now: Real World and History. The rest were dark, locked away.
He didn't even have to guess why.
"Complete the mission," he murmured, "and the next one opens."
Sure enough, as he clicked History, the system responded with another wall of text.
"Historical Space: Step into the past to experience life as it was and recover treasures lost to time. Entry point will be randomized. Survival depends on your preparation. Do you wish to enter now?"
Two buttons blinked at the bottom: Yes and No.
Ethan's thumb hovered.
Part of him wanted to slam "Yes" immediately, to throw himself headlong into adventure. Another part reminded him that he was still sitting in muddy clothes, with less than a full night's rest, and absolutely no plan.
He let out a sharp laugh. "Yeah, not suicidal just yet." He tapped "No."
The screen faded, leaving him back on the main interface. And that was when he noticed the last glowing arrow—the one over the Tasks tab.
"Oh, right," he muttered. "Almost forgot about you."
He clicked.
The words that appeared made his stomach drop and his pulse race at the same time.
Current Mission: Enter the Historical Plane. Locate and recover 10 first-level treasures. Time limit: 1 day. Rewards: Three random treasures, 40 points, and access to the Martial Plane.
Ethan read it twice, just to be sure. Then he fell back against the bed with a bark of disbelieving laughter.
"One day? You're kidding me. I haven't even packed!"
But the laughter quickly twisted into something else. His heart thudded faster. His palms grew clammy. Because buried inside that mission text was the truth he couldn't ignore.
He was going. Whether he liked it or not.
The History plane was waiting.
And in twenty-four hours, he'd either walk away with treasures… or he'd never walk away at all.
Ethan pressed both hands to his face, then slowly dragged them down, grinning like a madman despite himself.
"Hell with it," he whispered. "If I'm going to risk my neck, I might as well risk it for something big."
Visions filled his head—walking through cobblestone streets, bartering with merchants from forgotten kingdoms, pocketing artifacts worth fortunes back home. Meeting rulers, warriors, maybe even legendary figures he'd only read about in textbooks. And the treasures—cups, blades, manuscripts—that would make any collector foam at the mouth.
Even a chipped teacup would be priceless if he brought it back.
He started laughing again, this time unable to stop. The sound echoed through the empty café, half hysteria, half joy.
"I'm really gonna do it," he said. "I'm finally going to travel through time."
His grin stretched wider. His heart pounded like a drum.
The next chapter of his life wasn't just beginning—it was waiting to swallow him whole.
(End of Chapter8)