Eric returned to work as if he were walking inside a bad dream. His mind seemed disconnected from reality, as though it were floating while his body kept functioning on pure instinct. He served customers mechanically, scanned products without paying attention, handed out change without really seeing the coins in his own hands. Everything felt distant, muffled, as if he were underwater.
His legs trembled. The weight of the gold coin in his pocket was almost unbearable—not because of its actual mass, but because of the idea that it could exist. With every movement, the small metal piece felt like it was dragging him toward the ground, reminding him that his life had changed in a simple twenty-minute break.
Every time he felt the coin brush against his thigh, a shiver crawled up his spine.
"Is this really real?" he wondered for the tenth time. "Or am I losing my mind?"
When his shift finally ended, Eric changed out of his uniform and put on regular clothes: a simple black shirt, slightly worn jeans, and a pair of brown sneakers. The kind of outfit no one would notice, as ordinary as he felt.
He left the shop and headed down the dark street leading to his small apartment. The cold night breeze did nothing to clear his thoughts. He walked in short steps, constantly touching his pocket to make sure the coin was still there—as if it could vanish at any moment, taking his last hope with it.
"Who created this system?" he wondered. "Why would anyone exchange regular coins for gold? Pure gold! This makes no sense. What kind of rich lunatic would do something like that?"
As he walked, he took the coin out once more. Under the dim light of the streetlamp, he saw the only detail engraved on it: a large X. No official symbol. No date. Nothing to explain its origin.
"This has to be an illusion… but if it's real…"
He pocketed the coin again and took a deep breath. He needed to find out its true value. Or at least find out if he wasn't going insane.
When he arrived home, he quickly searched on his phone for nearby pawnshops. He found one a few blocks away, still open. The reviews weren't exactly encouraging, but for someone with nothing, there wasn't much to lose.
His heart tightened as he left his apartment again. With each step toward the pawnshop, his anxiety grew. What if the coin was fake? What if he really was losing his mind? Or what if… what if it was all real?
When he arrived, he pushed the glass door open. A bell chimed, and an elderly man appeared behind the counter with an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth.
"How can I help you?" the man asked, squinting as he tried to get a better look at the visitor.
Eric took a deep breath and pulled the coin from his pocket.
"I want to sell a family heirloom," he said, trying to sound confident.
"Heirloom, huh?" The man let out a short laugh. "That's what everyone says."
He grabbed the coin dismissively, but when he adjusted his glasses for a better look, his cigar nearly fell from his mouth.
"Where did this come from?" he asked, suddenly serious.
"Family heirloom," Eric repeated firmly. "It's pure gold."
The man wrinkled his nose.
"Do you have any documents to prove that?"
"No… it belonged to the family. I don't have anything."
The expert analyzed the piece from every angle. Finally, he let out a long breath.
"I can pay around 300 euros."
Eric felt something strange—like he was being cheated, but at the same time… 300 euros? That would pay almost all of his overdue rent.
"Thank you, but I think I'll keep it," he said, reaching for the coin.
The man held onto it a second longer than he should have. His gaze was almost desperate.
"Wait. I can pay 500 euros."
There was urgency in his voice, almost a feverish glint.
Eric realized that only made things more suspicious. But 500 euros… that was nearly his entire monthly salary. A salary that required him to work until almost midnight every day. And even that hadn't been enough to keep him from dropping out of college. Even with a scholarship, the expenses were too high.
"I accept," he finally said.
The man, visibly relieved, took the money and handed the bundle of bills to Eric.
"If you have another heirloom like that… bring it here. I'll pay another 500."
Eric just smiled. If that old man only knew…
He took the money and headed home. When he reached the building, he found his landlady at the door—an elderly woman with a perpetually irritated expression.
"Are you hiding from me?" she snapped.
Eric didn't argue. He immediately handed her 300 euros.
"Sorry for the delay."
The woman blinked, surprised, and pocketed the money without complaint.
"Make sure this doesn't happen again."
When she left, Eric entered his messy apartment, closed the door, and threw himself onto the bed. He pulled open drawers, pockets of old pants, cans, even empty jars. He gathered every coin he could find and dumped it all onto the white bedsheet, which now shone under the metallic reflections.
"What was the command again?" he muttered in desperation. "System… open system…?"
He tried to remember. Then, almost like a whisper escaping on its own:
"Open Midas System."
Instantly, a blue screen appeared in the air. Bright. Sharp. Real.
Eric smiled—a smile he didn't know he was still capable of giving.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't crazy.
He had, in fact, found a goose that laid golden eggs.
Or rather: a system that laid golden eggs.