Kaizen stepped into the maw of the Downtown Market, and immediately regretted having working eardrums.
Merchants were screaming at the top of their lungs about "limited time offers," customers were haggling over the price of fish like their lives depended on it, and the air itself was a thick, suffocating soup of grilled lizard, cheap perfume.
Kaizen ignored them all. He engaged his internal "ignore ads" filter and pushed forward.
He wasn't here for the tourist traps. He had zero interest in the "Fresh Potions" that were clearly just tap water with blue food coloring, or the "Dragon Scales" that looked suspiciously like painted plastic shards.
He pulled his hood up to obscure his face and tightened the straps of his backpack.
He walked past the main bazaar, dodging a goblin selling socks. He turned left down an alleyway that smelled vaguely of wet dog and sewage water. Then he took a sharp right. Then another left into the shadows.
The noise faded behind him, replaced by an eerie silence. The sunlight seemed to get dimmer here, choked out by the leaning buildings.
Welcome to the Second-Hand District.
Or as the veteran players called it: The Scrapyard.
The shops here weren't floating on magical clouds. They were sagging into the mud.
Rotting wooden shacks leaned against each other like drunk friends trying to stay upright. Dirty blankets were spread directly on the muddy ground, covered in junk that looked like it had been dug out of a grave five minutes ago.
Kaizen walked past a man sitting on a crate, cradling a rusted iron pan like a baby.
The pan wasn't just old. It was practically a fossil.
The iron was so rusted it looked like a biological hazard waiting to happen. The handle was wrapped in a filthy, grease-stained rag because the metal edges were probably sharp enough to give you tetanus just by looking at them.
"Authentic antique!" the man wheezed, shaking the death-pan at Kaizen with trembling hands. "Used by the Fire Demon himself! One million crowns! A steal!"
Kaizen didn't even break stride.
'Fire Demon? That pan was used by a caveman to club a dinosaur. If I touch it, I'm getting a permanent debuff.'
"Hey kid! Wait!" the man shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. "Since you are a kid, how about a 95% discount? I will lower it just for you! Special price!"
Kaizen just shook his head and kept walking.
As he ventured deeper, the atmosphere changed.
It got heavy. Sticky. Malicious.
People stopped what they were doing to watch him pass. They looked up from their piles of garbage with hungry, predatory eyes.
They saw a sixteen-year-old boy walking alone. They saw a clean, expensive academy backpack. They saw a Walking Loot Box with legs.
Kaizen felt it instantly.
The prickle on the back of his neck intensified. The feeling of eyes tracking his hitbox was unmistakable.
'Petty thieves,' Kaizen noted, his pulse remaining annoyingly steady. 'Three of them. One at six o'clock trailing me. One at four o'clock flanking. And one hiding in the shadows at nine.'
They were closing in, tightening the net like hyenas circling a limping gazelle.
They saw an easy target. A lost student. A payday that would feed them for a month.
But Kaizen wasn't deterred.
He didn't speed up. He didn't run. He walked with the casual, bordering on arrogant, stride of a man who had Quick Save loaded and wasn't afraid to reload.
'Let them look. Let them drool. They can't touch me.'
He stopped in front of a shop at the very end of the lane.
There was no sign. There was no door. Just a heavy, greasy curtain made of wooden beads that clicked softly in the wind.
Kaizen pushed through. Clack-clack.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap incense and perfumes.
Behind the counter sat a man who looked like he had melted into his chair.
He was large, pot-bellied, with skin the color of weathered leather. He looked like every shady merchant in every RPG ever made—the specific archetype who sells you a "Mystery Box" that turns out to contain a single rock.
He was chewing on a stalk of wheat, staring at the ceiling.
He looked down as Kaizen entered. He scanned the boy from his clean sneakers to his hoodie.
Ptoo.
He spat the wheat onto the dirt floor with practiced disrespect.
"Get lost, kid," the merchant grunted. "We don't sell toys here. Go back to the candy shop before you get hurt."
Kaizen didn't move.
Outside the bead curtain, shadows shifted. The thieves had gathered. They were blocking the exit, cutting off his escape. They were waiting for the rejection. Waiting for the kid to walk back out dejected so they could strip him clean in the alley.
The merchant saw them too. A cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He didn't warn the kid. Why would he? This was the Scrapyard. Survival of the fittest.
"I said beat it," the merchant growled, his hand drifting toward a heavy wooden club under the counter. "I'm not asking twice."
Kaizen smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I'm not here for toys," Kaizen said, his voice smooth and calm. "I'm here to do business."
"Business?" The merchant laughed. It was a wet, wheezing sound that turned into a cough. "With what? Your lunch money? Don't make me laugh."
Kaizen didn't answer with words.
He reached into his pocket slowly.
The thieves outside tensed, muscles coiled, ready to pounce the moment he moved.
Kaizen pulled out a card.
It was a sleek, black rectangle made of obsidian-glass. Gold engravings shimmered on the surface. A holographic crest spun faintly in the dim light of the shack.
He placed it gently on the greasy counter.
Click.
The sound echoed in the silence.
[ Zenith Academy Student ID ]
[ Name: Kaizen Renji Asahina ]
The silence that followed was deafening.
The merchant's eyes bugged out of his head. He choked on his own spit.
He stared at the card. He looked at the gold crest. He looked at the magical seal that screamed 'Do Not Touch.'
It was the ultimate status symbol.
In this kingdom, that card was worth more than 80% of peoples lives. It meant power. It meant backing. It meant that if this kid went missing, an S-Rank Mage would come down from the sky and turn this entire district into a glass parking lot.
The merchant's sweat glands activated instantly. Beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead.
"A-ah..." The merchant stammered, frantically wiping his greasy hands on his dirty vest. "I... I see... My apologies, young master..."
He looked past Kaizen. He saw the shadows of the thieves lingering at the door, oblivious to the danger.
The merchant raised his hand.
He scratched the hair above his ear casually, pretending to itch.
Then, he made a sharp, aggressive fanning motion with his fingers toward the door.
Shoo.
It was a subtle signal. But in the underworld, it was law.
'Abort. He's a VIP. Touch him and we all die.'
Outside, the shadows vanished instantly. The thieves scattered like roaches exposed to a sudden flashlight, terrifyingly aware that they had almost mugged a walking nuke.
Kaizen felt the pressure lift. The malicious gazes were gone.
'Too easy.'
"Now," Kaizen whispered, leaning forward over the counter, his eyes gleaming.
He tapped his finger rhythmically on the black card.
"Let's talk about candies."
.
.
.
[A/N: what do you prefer?]
[Fast paced?]
[Slow paced?]
......
[Was this novel slow paced?]