Chapter 1 – Rain on a Rooftop
...
The rain tapped gently against the tin rooftop like fingers brushing a forgotten memory. Dhaka was quiet that afternoon, at least from where Abid sat—cross-legged on a faded plastic stool, his knees brushing the edge of an old folding table stained with ink and time.
Outside the grilled balcony, beyond the rows of laundry lines and water tanks, the city shimmered under a curtain of drizzle. Vehicles honked far off in the haze, muffled by weather and distance. A kite fluttered, caught in power lines, struggling like a broken wing.
Abid watched it for a while, unmoving.
His drawing tablet was powered on. A white screen waited, blank. The stylus rested lightly in his hand, but his fingers hadn't moved in twenty minutes. Or maybe thirty. It was hard to tell when every day blurred into the same rhythm: wake up, make tea, scroll art forums without posting anything, and sit at this desk trying to draw something—anything.
But nothing came.
He exhaled softly and leaned back in his chair, letting the sound of rain fill the small room. A fan creaked overhead, spinning too slow to matter. A stack of old sketchbooks leaned against the shelf, untouched for months.
The hunger to create used to be there. Back when his parents were still around. Back when drawing felt like breathing and not an obligation. Now it was just... quiet. Not painful. Just quiet.
A drop of rain splattered through a leak in the corner, landing on a dusty cardboard box. Abid turned his head lazily, blinking. That box hadn't been touched in years. Probably since the last time he shifted furniture around. Curiosity stirred—not excitement, just a faint tug.
He got up and crouched beside it. The box was taped once, but the seal had long peeled away. Inside were a few tangled wires, old sketchpads, some burnt-out pen nibs... and a flash drive. An odd one. Sleek black plastic with no brand. Just the faint engraving of a stylized ink brush curled around a globe.
"Huh..."
He turned it over in his fingers. Something about it felt… off. Not new. Not broken. Just... waiting.
He plugged it into his laptop.
For a second, nothing happened. Then the screen blinked, flickered once, and a new icon appeared in the center of his desktop:
[ULTIMATE MANGA SELLING SYSTEM - Initialize?]
Abid squinted.
"Must be some kind of fan project," he muttered. A prank? A virus? The minimalist design made it feel oddly clean. Not malicious, just strange.
He clicked it.
The screen shimmered, not like any program he'd seen. A pale blue interface unfolded like paper being turned—soft animations that felt hand-drawn rather than coded. A single line of text appeared, written in a calligraphy-like font:
[Welcome, Creator. You are the 1st user of the Ultimate Manga Selling System.]
"...What?"
[This system allows you to sell Earth manga to connected bookstores in another world.]
Abid blinked.
He closed the program.
Waited.
Opened it again.
Same interface. Same calm font. It didn't feel like a joke anymore, but it didn't feel threatening either.
Another line appeared:
[Do you wish to upload a manga to begin your trial? Reward tier: Based on Interdimensional Reception.]
He leaned back, staring at the text. Something about the quietness of it unsettled him—not loud, not dramatic. Like the system was absolutely confident in its offer, no need for flashing lights or sound effects.
Abid rubbed his chin. "Well... it's not like I have anything better to do."
He clicked "Yes."
A new window opened:
[Please upload a completed manga volume (ZIP or PDF).]
His finger hovered.
His hard drive wasn't full of content—he hadn't drawn much lately. But his folder labeled "Favorites" was packed with downloaded manga for reference. Death Note. One Piece. Fullmetal Alchemist. The works that had made him fall in love with storytelling in the first place.
"...If this is a scam, at least it's a nostalgic one."
He selected Death Note Volume 1 and dragged it in.
The system flickered.
[Uploading to multiversal network…]
[Processing…]
[Transfer successful.]
A beat of silence.
Then—
[First copy sold: Bookstore of Windridge Street, Kingdom of Myr.]
[Reward: 1 Gold Coin | Access Level Unlocked: Starter Merchant]
Abid sat still.
No fanfare. No dramatic sound. Just those plain words, calmly delivered.
He checked his reward tab. A small golden coin shimmered on screen with a minimalist "1" embossed on it. He tried clicking it. It spun once, made a quiet chime, and dropped into a digital pouch with a pleasant tink.
Then he laughed.
A soft, uncertain laugh. It had been a while since something made him feel... interested. Even slightly.
Outside, the rain had slowed.
He glanced toward the stack of sketchbooks, then the open system tab.
"[Starter Merchant]," he whispered. "Right..."
He turned off the fan, stood, and made a cup of tea.
Later, as he sipped it, a new notification arrived.
[Reader Review Received: "What is a 'Shinigami'? Why does this Ryuk feel so real?" – Anonymous, Elf, Age 42]
The smile crept onto his face before he could stop it.
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