The glass doors slid open and a blast of cold air from the AC hit John Markus in the face.
He tugged at his jacket, hand gripping the strap of his backpack. Inside was forty grand he'd just withdrawn from the bank that morning.
The weight of that money on his shoulder made every step feel different.
Last time he came here, he was just a rookie stumbling into the world of superpowers, counting every bill, flinching at every price tag.
But today, he couldn't hide the thrill in his stride. Like some nouveau riche who'd just gotten a VIP card.
At the counter, a receptionist in a black suit stood stiff and proper. One glance at John, and his eyes changed.
Last time, that look was indifferent, sending him to the common section.
This time, no one stopped him as he walked straight through the gate into Tier 2.
Above, a glowing sign hovered in the air, blue letters drifting: "Tier 2 Superpower Users – Equipment, Materials, Accessories."
John lifted his head, heart pounding, a smile tugging at his lips before he could hold it back.
Tier 2. In this world, that was the line between a lucky awakened civilian and someone truly stepping onto the endless path.
To hit that threshold, your body had to absorb over a hundred units of energy.
And absorption wasn't easy. You had to guide the energy through every meridian, delicate as water flowing through fragile glass tubes.
In the end it all pooled at the dantian, the core that stored and circulated power.
One mistake, one broken meridian, and you'd be crippled forever.
John knew that. He was still getting used to it himself.
The first nine months after awakening, the body was like a newborn—soft, frail, vulnerable.
Rush absorption, and the consequences could be brutal.
So no matter how much money he had, he couldn't let himself forget: he wasn't Tier 2 yet. He was just learning how to survive in a strange, dangerous world.
The equipment section caught his eye first.
White light poured down from the ceiling onto rows of glass cases, reflecting off weapons and armor on display.
At the very center, in the prime spot, stood a spear.
The tip was sharp as an arrowhead, the shaft over two meters long, carved with cloud-like patterns, silver gleaming along it like moonlight rippling over water.
John froze.
His breath slowed. Both hands clenched tighter on the backpack strap, palms sweating.
That was exactly the kind of weapon he used to dream about as a kid. Long, commanding, full of presence.
He stepped closer, eyes locked on the thick glass.
But as he bent down, the bright red numbers on the price tag slammed into him: 150,000 dollars.
"..."
Inside his head, a cold crack rang out, like someone hitting his skull with a hammer.
His lips twitched into a stiff smile. His feet backed away, like a guy caught loitering in a luxury store with no money.
"Yeah, it's gorgeous. But that price… sorry, not my level yet."
He muttered, trying to sound casual, then turned his back, avoiding the gaze of the nearby security staff.
His shoes clicked loud against the floor, the echoes thudding inside him like a missed heartbeat.
But the disappointment faded quick, replaced by curiosity as he turned down the aisle toward the materials section.
Hundreds of preservation boxes lined the metal shelves, each holding meat, bones, crystals, glowing faintly.
Labels marked every box: beast origin, traits, suggested effects, price.
John walked slowly along the rows, eyes flicking over the words.
In his mind, images of Little Fire popped up again and again.
Ever since he learned his tiny bird could absorb beast traits by eating their meat, he hadn't stopped planning for its future.
Choose right, and it would grow stronger.
Choose wrong, and both of them would pay.
He stopped in front of a special box.
Inside lay slabs of meat tinted pinkish blue, the surface glistening like it was coated in crystal.
Under the white lights, each strand seemed to glow.
On the label, bold print read: "Glimmerspike Meat – 8,000 USD / kg."
John tilted his head and read the notes.
"Glimmerspike beast – a crystal porcupine from the fae realm. Gentle, herbivorous. Quills hard and sparkling like crystal. Can reflect light for camouflage and defense."
His eyes lit up.
If Little Fire could absorb that, its feathers wouldn't just be tougher, they'd shine like natural armor.
In his head, he saw it already: Little Fire spreading its wings, each feather glinting, enemies striking only to hear the clang of metal, unable to pierce through.
"Perfect," John thought, eyes gleaming.
But then, the image shifted.
He imagined the day Little Fire grew big enough to ride.
Him on its back, wind howling, looking glorious like something out of a movie.
Except… under him, instead of soft feathers, thousands of needle-like quills. Tiny, hard, razor sharp.
Not just tearing through his pants, but stabbing straight into his skin.
A shiver shot down his spine.
John flinched, shoulders hunching, lips pressed tight.
He could almost feel the sharp sting spreading from his ass up to his brain.
"No… nope. I want to live, not torture myself every damn day."
He shook his head. His hand slipped off the box.
The Glimmerspike meat stayed where it was on the shelf.
The store clerk glanced at him, waiting for a different choice, but John only gave a faint smile.
"Thanks, I'll pass on this one."
His footsteps echoed down the quiet aisle, the sound ringing against the tiles like a firm refusal.
The fluorescent lights above glared down, catching the sweat shining on his forehead. Not from heat, but from an imagination too vivid.
The forty grand in his backpack was still untouched.
But he knew every choice here wasn't just shopping.
It was gambling, staking his life and future on each piece of meat, each weapon.
John gripped his strap, drew a deep breath.
Then he turned away, leaving the shimmering Glimmerspike box to fade behind him, while his shadow slipped into the next row of counters.