By the time dawn approached, the basement light had burned out, leaving only a faint stream of sunlight through the ventilation shaft spilling onto the bed.
Mason sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the golden symbol on his wrist, feeling a sharp, heavy sense of urgency settle over him.
The notebook and his phone lay in front of him. $144.50—that was all he had for the next seven days. Meanwhile, the two women's compensation demanded a total of $1,400. He had to gather the money within the limited time, or the situation would escalate formally, and his life would collapse entirely.
Suddenly, he remembered a nearby secondhand consignment store—one he had noticed a few days ago. The shelves were filled with inexpensive electronics, watches, and small appliances.
His mind raced with calculations: in reality, most of the items in that store were fakes or low-quality knockoffs.That meant: for him, they were still fake—but once his ability triggered, others would see them as genuine.In other words, this was the first safe experiment where he could use his power in reverse to make money.
Mason drew a deep breath, stood up, and pulled on his jacket. Each step on the cold, damp concrete floor made his heartbeat quicken. Today, he had to act.
He skipped his shift at the convenience store and headed straight for the consignment shop. The streets were quiet, occasionally punctuated by a car passing by, its lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
The bell above the door chimed as he pushed it open. The shop was silent. Behind the counter sat a young girl, who glanced up at him briefly before returning to her paperwork.
Mason's gaze fell on a mechanical watch on the counter. Its dial was simple, its appearance ordinary, with no brand markings—but the price was reasonable, and it was highly resellable.
He knew this was the perfect target for his ability experiment. The shop's merchandise was almost entirely low-quality knockoffs—for him, fake, but for others, potentially genuine once his power took effect.As long as he could sell it, he could use his ability to earn money for the first time.
He picked up the watch and paid.Nothing in the air felt different. No sound, no signal—just the act of buying, quietly triggering the ability. No snap of the fingers was required.
Mason walked to a corner café, sat down, and opened his phone. He uploaded photos of the watch to a secondhand trading platform. Each angle was carefully considered, ensuring buyers could not easily spot the fakes.
He priced it slightly below the market average to guarantee a quick sale.
Within half an hour, the first message came: someone wanted to buy it.He clicked confirm. The money instantly appeared in his account: $336.
Not $1,400—not even half.But this was the first time in seven days he had seen a positive number arrive.He leaned back in the chair, exhaled, and felt a faint, real sense of relief.
Yet the urgency in his chest remained.Though the ability triggered passively, once randomly unlocked, he only had three opportunities within 24 hours. Each had to be used carefully, or it could be wasted, possibly missing the optimal chance to settle the compensation.
Mason stared at the account balance: $144.50 + $336 = $480.50Still far from the target—but the first step meant that despair was no longer absolute.
He looked out at the gradually brightening street. People were starting to appear. The convenience store opened, delivery trucks rolled by—the city was alive, noisy, and indifferent in the morning light.
Mason put his phone away and tucked the mechanical watch back into his bag. He knew this was only the first step.In the remaining days, every purchase had to be carefully chosen. Every action might be his last chance.
He whispered to himself:
"No turning back. Must think. Must win."
Today, the first earnings from his ability weren't just a number—they were a lifeline.In the future, he would continue walking this rule-bound path, using his intelligence and courage to carve out every possible opportunity.
The pipes continued their steady drip. But this time, it no longer sounded like a countdown—it sounded like a rhythm, reminding him—every action must be taken with everything he had.