Back at the internet café, Ethan didn't rush to sit down at the counter or turn on a computer. The very first thing he did was walk across the street to the little apartment building where his landlady lived. Rent had been on his mind for weeks, and with the new flow of money thanks to the treasure hunting system, he finally felt confident enough to handle it.
The old woman who managed the building had always been sharp-tongued, always scolding him for being late. This time, however, Ethan counted out the bills without hesitation and even paid two months in advance.
The moment the cash landed in her wrinkled hands, her entire demeanor transformed. Gone was the fierce glare and nagging tone. Instead, she called him "dear boy" and "sweet grandson," her voice sugar-sweet, as though she'd always adored him. She even patted his arm with grandmotherly affection.
Ethan left her building shaking his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Money really is a magical thing. It can turn even the grumpiest person into a completely different human being.
When he returned to the café, that small exchange had put a spring in his step. Confidence surged in him like never before. For the first time, he began to truly imagine what the future could look like—his future.
One day, when I have enough, I'll open the biggest, most luxurious internet café in the city.
The vision formed vividly in his mind: rows upon rows of computers with the latest hardware, all connected to 32-inch e-sports monitors. Every desk would have top-of-the-line mechanical keyboards and precision gaming mice worth more than most people's monthly rent. Even the chairs would be luxury items—plush, ergonomic, with built-in massage functions.
And food—there would be food everywhere. Drinks on the house, steaming bowls of noodles, platters of fried chicken, pitchers of soda, coffee strong enough to keep a man awake for three days straight. The staff wouldn't just be waiters, either. No, they would all have graduate degrees, sharp suits, and flawless manners.
For the VIPs, there would be private rooms: soundproof sanctuaries furnished with sofas, beds, and even their own bathrooms. A player could grind through games all day, take a nap, and roll right back into the action without ever leaving.
And the price? Ethan grinned to himself. One hundred an hour as the baseline. But who am I kidding—make it two hundred. If they can afford one hundred, another hundred won't make them flinch. Exclusivity is the key. Even with money, not everyone gets to be a VIP.
The thought sent him into a fit of chuckling, his imagination spiraling. Who told us to be rich? Who told us to be self-willed?
Just as he was about to start sketching out floor plans in his head, a sudden voice chimed from behind him.
"Hey! What are you grinning about?"
The sound was bright, mischievous—like a silver bell being struck. He nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to see Chloe, lollipop tucked between her lips, staring at him with raised brows.
"Scared me half to death!" Ethan pressed a hand to his chest, pretending to recover. "You're here already?"
"Already?" she scoffed, flicking the lollipop stick with her tongue. "Do you even know what time it is? It's almost noon, you lazy bum." Without waiting for an answer, she moved past him and flicked on the café switches like she owned the place, her hands practiced and swift.
Ethan glanced down at his watch and realized she was right—eleven already. He'd lost himself in daydreams.
"What, hiding from the landlady again? A couple of customers came by earlier, but when no one answered the door, they went somewhere else. You're lucky I stopped by when I did."
"Don't worry," Ethan said, pulling out his phone. The screen was black—dead battery. He plugged it in to charge. "I already handled the rent. Paid up in advance."
"Oh?" Chloe tilted her head, clearly surprised. "That's new. Usually, you're avoiding her like she's the devil herself."
Ethan only smirked. His eyes drifted to the counter—and there, sitting half-forgotten, was a half-empty bottle of Mirinda orange soda.
Almost forgot about this…
He snatched it up and quickly summoned the system's exchange screen in his mind. If he could turn it in, maybe he'd get some points. But the moment he tried, the system chimed coldly: [Item is partially consumed. Exchange not allowed.]
Ethan groaned and set the bottle down. Figures. If I'd known this would happen, I wouldn't have touched it in the first place. What's a few gulps of soda worth compared to points?
His frustration sparked another thought. Wait… the swimming cap.
"Chloe," he called, "where's my swimming cap?"
She looked up from the computer she was booting. "Your swimming cap? You mean the one you gave me? Don't tell me you want it back now."
Ethan hesitated. He'd almost said he would buy her a better one later, but seeing the faint storm brewing in her eyes, he swallowed the words. Instead, he shrugged casually. "Nah, forget it. Just a point or two. I'll earn it back later."
He let it drop.
Still, the weight of exhaustion pressed down on him. After staying up all night and dealing with everything that morning, his body was screaming for rest. He stretched his arms above his head, jaw cracking open in a wide yawn.
"Keep an eye on the counter for me," he told Chloe, waving as he slipped behind the partition. "I'm crashing for a bit."
Without ceremony, he flopped onto the narrow bed, limbs sprawled, out cold within seconds. Or so he thought.
Not long after, Chloe poked her head through the curtain, suspicion glimmering in her gaze. "Ethan… tell me honestly. You didn't go off playing gigolo at that nightclub, did you?"
Eyes still closed, Ethan smirked. "You got me. Seven or eight rich ladies last night. They wore me out. I'm a broken man."
Before he could even finish the sentence, something thumped against his head. The Mirinda bottle. Luckily, the cap was screwed tight, or he'd be dripping orange soda into his sheets.
"Serves you right," Chloe muttered, ducking back out.
Ethan chuckled, but when he rolled over, sleep refused to come. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the system. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the glowing interface: treasure radar, exchange screen, plane space. His curiosity overpowered his fatigue.
What dynasty—no, what time period—will I cross into next? What dangers are waiting there? How should I prepare?
The questions circled endlessly. Finally, he gave up on sleep and called the system menu to the forefront of his thoughts. He studied the plane space description again, line by line.
The rules became clearer this time:
The system would randomly select a point in history, and once chosen, it would remain in Ethan's "My Space," accessible again later.
Time was synchronized. If he spent two months in the past, two months would pass in the present as well.
Travel locations were random but safe. He wouldn't appear in the middle of the ocean or drop into a crowded square. Instead, the system would balance privacy with proximity.
He could bring anything he wanted along and return with modern items, but treasures from those historical periods had to be designated by the system. No smuggling extra loot.
The last rule stung a bit. Ethan had briefly fantasized about turning himself into an ancient merchant, building empires with modern goods. But the system was smarter than that, shutting down the loophole before it even opened.
Even so, it was still more than enough. Treasures alone could make him rich beyond imagination.
Driven by restless energy, he grabbed pen and paper and began writing out a shopping list. Food, water, medicines, tools, clothing—anything he might possibly need in some unknown ancient era. He thought through every situation, from sudden storms to unfriendly locals.
Before long, he'd filled several pages. His stomach growled loudly, breaking his focus. He blinked, realizing he hadn't eaten since yesterday.
This time, he wasn't about to settle for a greasy boxed lunch. He had money now. With a grin, he called up Pizza Hut's delivery line and ordered everything he'd once considered a luxury: double cheese pizzas, pasta drowned in creamy sauce, garlic bread, fried chicken, even dessert.
When the delivery guy arrived with armfuls of food, Chloe's eyes widened. "What the… Did you rob a bank?"
Ethan puffed up with mock pride. "Impressed? Your brother here is a man of means now."
She leaned closer, eyeing the mountain of boxes. "So being a gigolo really pays that well, huh?"
Ethan groaned, but Chloe was already laughing, digging into the food with no shame.
They ate like starving wolves. For two people who had been scraping by on instant noodles and the occasional cheap takeout, the spread was overwhelming. They devoured it, grease and sauce smearing their fingers, both leaning back with satisfied groans when it was over.
Ethan handed Chloe a spare key to the café afterward. "I'll be gone for a few days. Keep an eye on things for me."
She froze mid-lick of her fingers. "Gone? Where? You're not planning to skip town, are you?"
"Don't ask too many questions," Ethan said lightly. "Just watch the place. I'll make it worth your while."
Chloe narrowed her eyes. "And what if I sell everything here while you're gone?"
Ethan laughed. "If you can find a buyer for this junk, I'll thank you for it. Honestly, it's all just dead weight at this point."
She gave him a long look, as though trying to pry into his secrets. But Ethan wasn't about to explain. Not yet.
With the treasure hunting radar in his possession, the café no longer mattered. And yet… it had been funded by his uncle, a man who had shown him nothing but kindness. Shutting it down without thought would feel wrong.
So he left the key with Chloe, shrugged off her questions, and later that afternoon, hopped onto his electric bike. His shopping list was waiting, and preparations for his first real journey into the past had only just begun.
(End Of Chapter 11)