When they shoved me forward, I finally understood something.
In this world, roads weren't made for people.
They were made for rules.
The alley was narrow. Rainwater clung to the stones, turning them slick as oil. Moss traced the base of the walls in thin green veins. Every step I took made the rope bite a little deeper into my wrists, carving fresh pain into skin that already felt too raw.
The man in gray walked ahead of me, counting time with his beads—click, click, click—quiet enough to pretend it was nothing, steady enough to make my spine tighten anyway.
The broad man stayed at my back, close enough that I could feel his breath on the damp air. He didn't need to speak. His body was the threat.
I had a hundred questions.
What era was this? What did thirty taels buy? What was a registered seal? What was a guild mark? Would an official court even care what a pawnshop did in its back rooms?
But I didn't ask.
Because here, questions were weakness.
So I lowered my gaze and stole answers from details instead: the cut of sleeves, the way hair was tied, the signboards above shop doors, the words people used when they thought no one important was listening.
"Shopkeeper."
"Guild head."
"No token, don't pass the street gate."
Token.
Another word that landed like a weight.
It wasn't about whether you could do business.
It was whether you had the right to exist.
The pawnshop's sign hung high over the street. Gold paint. One blunt character—PAWN—like a verdict. A red lantern swayed in the wind, an eye watching every person pushed to the edge.
They drove me into the inner hall.
It was brighter than the back room, but the light was colder. A desk stood at the center like a judge's bench. Behind it sat a man in his thirties, wearing a dark robe so clean it looked wrong in a place like this. He flipped a copper coin across his knuckles, letting it dance from finger to finger as if someone's life was entertainment.
He looked up.
That gaze fell on me and my skin prickled.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it was precise.
Like a blade that didn't cut yet—only measured.
"This her?" he asked.
The man in gray bowed fast. "Master, yes. In the back room she suddenly changed—started talking about seals and officials, trying to frighten us."
The master snapped the coin down.
Clink.
The sound was small.
It tightened the room anyway.
"Name," he said.
I opened my mouth.
And then the truly terrifying truth hit me.
It wasn't that I didn't remember the name.
It was that the space where it should have been felt… scooped clean.
Blank.
I chased it in my mind like someone trying to grab smoke. A courtyard gate. A trembling lantern. A woman's muffled crying. Fragments—sharp, useless.
No name.
My chest compressed. A high ringing buzzed in my ears.
The master watched me, amused in the way predators were amused when prey forgot how to run.
"What," he drawled, "debt so heavy you've forgotten your own name?"
The man in gray sneered from the side. "She always acts. Don't believe her, Master."
The broad man shoved me forward. "Speak."
My feet slid half a step. The rope cut deeper. For one second I almost broke—not from pain, but from the certainty that one wrong syllable would turn into a thumbprint, and that thumbprint would become a chain around my neck.
I told myself: Calm down.
But my calm was paper-thin.
And then—
That voice returned.
From deep inside my skull.
It sounded almost bored. Almost disappointed.
"I told you," she said, "you'd die if you hesitated."
In my mind I snapped back: I don't need you.
She laughed softly.
"You do."
The laugh was brief.
Brief as metal on glass.
"Give me the body," she said. "Five minutes."
My throat tightened. The question came out like instinct:
What's the price?
She didn't answer right away.
Instead she asked, casually—like choosing fruit at a stall:
"Which memory will you trade?"
I couldn't breathe.
The master tapped the desk. "I'm waiting."
The broad man's hand lifted, ready to pin my shoulder down.
I closed my eyes.
I knew I shouldn't rely on her.
I also knew that if I lost this moment, there would be no tomorrow.
In the dark of my mind, I whispered:
Take it.
The world twisted—just slightly.
My breath fell into place. My spine straightened. Pain stayed, but it turned into a number I could ignore.
I lifted my gaze.
My eyes found the master.
And my voice changed.
Lower. Steadier. Colder.
With something almost gentle in it—like a hunter soothing prey.
"You asked my name," I said. "Then answer me one thing first."
The master's brow lifted. "Oh?"
I smiled.
The smile was clean.
It still made the room feel colder.
"What you want," I said, "is money. Or do you want someone who can make you more money?"
The man in gray tried to cut in— "Master, she—"
The master raised a hand.
The man in gray swallowed his words like he'd been slapped.
"Continue," the master said.
I lifted my bound wrists just enough to show the blood marks.
"Indenture is a one-time profit," I said. "You get paid today, and tomorrow you hunt the next dying person."
The copper coin stilled in the master's fingers.
I caught the flicker of interest.
"I'll give you two things," I went on. "First: I recognize the principal. Thirty taels. I do not recognize your interest."
The man in gray's face snapped tight. "You—"
I didn't even look at him. I only raised my eyes slightly.
That glance was light.
It was still a blade.
His voice died in his throat.
The master smiled. "You don't recognize the interest?"
"No," I said. "Because your interest paper is too pretty."
The master's smile widened. "Pretty is bad?"
"Pretty means you're nervous," I said.
The air thinned.
The beads in the man in gray's hands clicked together by accident.
"Second," I continued, "you don't have my registered seal."
The man in gray barked, "She's lying—"
I turned my gaze to him at last, as if finally granting him the honor.
"Are you brave enough to take an indenture to the officials?" I asked. "Are you brave enough to let them inspect your interest?"
His face went green.
The master leaned back, entertained.
I knew I'd hit the right place.
They could eat people in the dark.
They didn't dare stand in the light.
"You want your money back," I said. "Then don't sell me as a single use."
"Give me one month." I raised a finger. "Thirty days."
The master's eyes sharpened. "Why?"
I raised a second finger.
"Because of this mouth you're listening to," I said. "Because I can reopen that sealed shop."
A third finger rose.
"Because you can use me," I said, "to take business you can't reach."
The man in gray blurted, "Master! She's insane!"
The master didn't look at him. He watched me, eyes dark as ink.
"Do you know what you're saying?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
Too fast.
Fast as if the words had been practiced a hundred times.
That speed made the master narrow his eyes.
"How will you save the shop?" he asked.
I didn't hesitate.
"Stop the bleeding first," I said. "Cut the bad debt. Find the altered ledger."
"Then build heat," I said. "Not shouting—credibility. Make people believe the shop is alive."
"Then turn it into cash," I said. "Deposits. Pre-orders. Split delivery. You give me a little silver to circulate—I give you speed."
The master tapped the desk.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each sound was a nail.
On the third tap he stopped.
"Fine," he said. "Thirty days."
The man in gray choked. "Master—!"
The master pulled out a fresh contract sheet and slid it toward me.
"Sign," he said. "Thumbprint."
I extended my hand.
The moment my fingertip touched the ink pad, her calm—her cold—stuttered.
As if someone in the dark had grabbed her sleeve.
I heard her inhale, very softly.
My mind tightened: What?
She didn't answer.
She only said—
"The price. Collected."
And then she retreated.
I slammed back into myself.
Pain. Fear. The chill of the room. My finger trembled as I pressed it down.
Pop.
Red print bloomed on the paper, bright as a wound.
Contract sealed.
The master gathered the sheet without looking up. "Take her to the side courtyard," he said. "In thirty days, I want results."
The man in gray's gaze turned poisonous. "Yes."
The broad man yanked me toward the door.
I stepped over the threshold—
And my vision went black.
Not fainting.
Not dizziness.
It was like a piece of the world had been cut out clean.
I grabbed the doorframe, knuckles whitening. My breath broke.
Something was missing.
Something important.
I clawed at the memory like someone searching for a ring in dark water. The harder I reached, the more it scattered.
I remembered that I once said something to someone—serious, deliberate, like a promise.
That sentence mattered.
It had kept me alive through a night I thought I wouldn't survive.
But now—
I couldn't recall the person's face.
I couldn't even recall the person's name.
My throat tightened. Heat rose behind my eyes, sharp as shame.
In my mind I demanded:
What did you take?!
Her voice came from deep below, calm as snowfall.
"Your most precious one."
I stood at the pawnshop door, feet on wet stone, the red lantern swaying above the gold PAWN sign.
I looked up at the unfamiliar street.
I'd won the first round.
And for the first time, I understood—
In this world, my survival currency wasn't silver.
It was me.