The man was a skeleton wrapped in skin. His collarbones poked through his rag of a shirt like jagged rocks.
The man didn't shout this time. He didn't try to haggle. He just sat there, looking defeated, scratching his head with dirty fingernails. The pan sat on his lap, unloved and unsold.
Kaizen felt a sharp, phantom pain in his chest.
It wasn't a glitch. It wasn't the system.
It was memory.
Not of a past life—he still couldn't remember that—but of this morning.
He remembered the cold biting his skin. He remembered the hollowness in his stomach. He remembered feeling like a ghost wandering through a world that didn't want him.
And then he met Helga.
The warm plastic bag. The scalding coffee. The gruff voice that tried to hide concern behind insults.
"You look like a stray dog about to keel over."
She didn't have to give him anything. He was just a student. A random face. But she did.
That warmth... it was still there, sitting in his inventory, sitting in his chest. It was a strange, foreign weight.
'A life isn't worth living if all I do is consume. I don't want to be someone who only takes. I want to matter… even if it's just to one person.'
Kaizen thought, gripping the coins in his pocket.
'I wanted to be efficient. I wanted to play alone. But… I didn't realize how cold loneliness could be.'
He looked at the silver coin in his hand.
One thousand crowns.
'What is my purpose in this world?'
To Gino, the black market merchant, it was pocket change. To a noble, it was trash.
To Kaizen, it was a fortune. It was potions. It was supplies. It was security.
But looking at this man... looking at the shaking hands that clutched a rusted piece of junk...
Kaizen swallowed the lump in his throat.
'I know what hunger feels like. I know what being invisible feels like.'
He stepped forward. His shadow fell over the man.
"Hey," Kaizen said softly.
The man flinched. He looked up, his eyes filled with fear, expecting to be kicked or mocked by another arrogant student.
"I don't have a million crowns," Kaizen whispered, crouching down to eye level. "And I definitely don't have enough to throw away crowns either."
He reached out. He took the man's trembling hand.
He pressed the heavy, cold metal of the silver coin into the man's palm.
"But I have this."
The man looked down.
He saw the silver glint. He saw the royal crest of the mint.
One thousand crowns.
Enough for food. Enough for a warm bed. Enough to live for a month.
The man froze. His breath hitched in a sob that sounded like dry leaves breaking.
He looked up at Kaizen.
The morning sun was cresting over the rooftops behind Kaizen's head. To the starving man, the boy wasn't just a student. He was a silhouette framed in blinding, golden light. A halo of dawn.
A god in disguise.
"Why?" the man choked out, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face. "It's... it's just a rusted pan..."
Kaizen smiled.
It wasn't the smirk he gave the merchant. It wasn't the derp face he gave the kid.
It was a pure, unadulterated smile. The kind that Helga had unintentionally taught him.
"Because you need it," Kaizen said simply. "And because... someone helped me today, too."
The man broke.
He didn't say anything else. He couldn't. He pressed the coin to his forehead, then to his eyes, weeping silently. He bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with the force of his gratitude.
Kaizen watched him.
He felt that warmth again. It surged through him, stronger than any potion, stronger than any level-up.
'Is this it?' Kaizen wondered, his own vision blurring slightly. 'Is this what connection feels like?'
To have people you can help. To have people who help you. To not just be a texture in the background, but a person who impacts someone else's story.
'Family... friends...'
He thought of Leo carrying him to the infirmary. He thought of Klaus storming in to save his "lab rat." He thought of Helga's extra scoop of oatmeal.
'I wonder how it feels... to have a place where you belong.'
To have people to call when you're sad. To share a meal with. To joke around with without fear of death.
Kaizen sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"Keep the change," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion.
He was about to turn around and walk away. He didn't want this man to see him tearing up over a charitable transaction.
"H-hey..."
"Yes?"
"Here..."
It was the pan. The Fire Demon's pan. This man's prized possession. The old man didn't even look up, just extended it to him with both hands.
"I didn't do it for the pan," Kaizen said gently.
"I know..." the man whispered. "But as a man who's refusing to keel over and beg for money, please accept this. So that our transaction is fair... and not a charity."
He didn't look at Kaizen's face. Not because of tears, but because of the pride of a man who refuses to beg.
"T-this is not enough, for what you have done. But I swear on my life, I will pay you back when I can."
Kaizen looked at the rusted metal.
"Sure, sure," Kaizen nodded, his smile returning. "Do that when you can."
Kaizen didn't argue for longer. He felt that hammering down a man's pride would only do bad for the person. If he is encouraged, then this rusty nail could become a diamond nail with enough motivation.
"I'll take good care of it."
Kaizen reached out and took the pan.
As soon as his hand touched the cold, greasy handle, a blue window flashed in his mind.
[Nonstandard Weapon Authority (NWA) : Resonance Detected]
Immediately, Kaizen's face lifted up. The tears vanished. The emotion was replaced by pure, unadulterated greed.
He wanted to laugh audibly, but he held on as he read the message...