Eric got up from the bed with a heavy body and a throbbing head. He hadn't slept at all. The adrenaline from the previous night — mixed with fear, euphoria, and pure disbelief — had wiped out any chance of rest. He looked down at himself and realized he was still wearing the same black shirt, worn jeans, and brown sneakers he had come home in. He hadn't even had the strength to change.
His heart still beat quickly, as if expecting something inside him to explode at any moment. But at the same time, he felt weak, exhausted, and hungry. The hunger he had ignored during the chaos of the night now hit him with full force.
When he opened the tiny fridge of his tiny apartment, he found only water and two dried-out slices of pizza — forgotten there for days. Nothing else.
Eric let out a tired, almost ironic laugh.
"This is ridiculous… I have gold, but nothing to eat."
The contrast between his empty refrigerator and the gold in his pocket was almost funny — a cruel joke from life.
For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to grab his phone, call his boss, and finally say everything he had been holding back for months. Insult him, humiliate him, shout loudly that he wasn't coming back. He imagined Mr. Foster's face turning red with anger, unable to respond. It would be the perfect revenge for all the arrogance and rudeness.
He even unlocked the phone. His finger hovered over the numbers when a thought struck him like a bucket of cold water: Eric had gold, yes… but he still depended on ordinary coins.
And at that moment, he had none.
His job, awful as it was, was actually the best place to get what he needed. The store was a few meters from the beach, and tourists came in constantly to buy ice cream, water, drinks, souvenirs. And many paid with coins. Coins that, for him, were literally worth gold. The Midas System needed them. Without ordinary coins, he had no gold at all.
Quitting his job would be the same as killing — or at least starving — his goose that laid golden eggs.
With an angry sigh, Eric put the phone away. Still tired, but with a strange fear of losing the only safe source of coins, he began to get ready to leave.
Before anything else, he hid the twenty-six remaining gold coins very carefully. As well as he could. He had always suspected his landlady snooped through his apartment whenever he was at work or college. The last thing he needed was for her to find hundreds — or thousands — of euros in pure gold.
Eric separated one coin — the one he planned to sell later.
He took the bus to work. Despite his exhaustion, he felt strangely light. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was madness. But it felt like he could float.
Exchanging those coins would be difficult. Dangerous. But honestly… it was a problem anyone in the world would probably love to have.
When he reached the store, he saw Mr. Foster standing at the entrance, arms crossed and an irritated expression on his face.
"Who do you think you are?" the man snapped. "Think you own the place to show up at this hour? I had to do all your work!"
Eric knew that was a lie. Foster never worked if he could force someone else to do it. But he kept his expression neutral.
"Sorry, sir… I had trouble finding money at home."
That was only half true, but enough. He knew Foster would interpret it the wrong way — he'd assume Eric meant he didn't have money for the bus fare. And, in a way, it was better that way.
The man grunted but let him inside.
The day dragged on. Eric operated on autopilot. He served customers, took change, handed over products, always keeping an eye on the coins. Every little piece of metal that dropped into the register seemed to gleam in his mind. He didn't see cents — he saw pure gold.
When the shift finally ended, Eric approached his boss cautiously.
"Mr. Foster… could you exchange part of my pay for some coins from the register?"
The man frowned, ready to complain, but when Eric placed two twenty-euro notes on the counter and pointed at a handful of coins worth far less than that, Foster's expression softened.
"Of course… of course… no problem," he said, smiling with almost greedy satisfaction.
Eric pretended not to notice the pleased look. The power of money was so great that even the pride of the greedy evaporated in front of it.
With a small pouch full of coins, Eric changed out of his uniform, put on his regular clothes, and left. The street where the pawnshops were located was a more rundown commercial strip, full of signs promising "We buy gold" and "Cash on the spot." It was the kind of place frequented both by desperate people and by those who caused desperation.
He was only a few meters away from the shop where he had sold his first coin when a scream cut through the air.
"STOP THAT! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DESTROY MY STORE!"
It was a woman's voice — desperate — coming from the sidewalk next to him.
Eric spun around immediately, heart racing for the second time that day. He searched for the source of the voice, trying to understand what was happening — and whether that scream could somehow be the start of yet another turn in his already chaotic fate.