Eric got out of bed with a heavy body and a pounding headache.
He hadn't slept at all.
The adrenaline from the night before—mixed with fear, euphoria, and pure disbelief—had erased any chance of rest. He looked down at himself and realized he was still wearing the same black T-shirt, worn jeans, and brown sneakers he had come home in. He hadn't even had the strength to change.
His heart was still racing, as if something inside him was on the verge of bursting.
At the same time, he felt weak.
Exhausted.
And hungry.
The hunger he had ignored during the chaos of the night now hit him all at once.
He opened the tiny fridge in his tiny apartment.
Inside: water… and two dried-out slices of pizza, forgotten there for days.
Nothing else.
Eric let out a tired, almost ironic laugh.
"This is ridiculous… I have gold, but nothing to eat."
The contrast between the empty fridge and the gold in his pocket was almost comical—a cruel joke played by life itself.
For a moment, all he wanted was to grab his phone, call his boss, and finally say everything he had been holding back for months. Insult him. Humiliate him. Tell him he'd never come back.
He imagined Mr. Foster's face turning red with anger, unable to respond.
It would've been perfect.
He even unlocked his phone.
His finger hovered over the screen—
And then a thought hit him like cold water:
Yes, Eric had gold…
But he still depended on ordinary coins.
And right now—
He had none.
As bad as his job was, it was actually the best place to get what he needed. The store was just a few meters from the beach, and tourists came in constantly to buy ice cream, water, drinks, souvenirs.
And many of them paid with coins.
Coins that, for him, were literally worth gold.
The Midas System needed them.
Without ordinary coins—
He had no gold at all.
Quitting his job would be the same as killing—or at least starving—his golden goose.
With an irritated sigh, Eric put his phone away.
Still exhausted, but now driven by a strange fear of losing his only reliable source of coins, he started getting ready to leave.
Before anything else, he carefully hid the remaining twenty-six gold coins.
As carefully as he could.
He had always suspected his landlord snooped around the apartment when he wasn't there. The last thing he needed was for her to find hundreds—maybe thousands—of euros in pure gold.
He kept one coin.
The one he planned to sell later.
Then he took the bus to work.
Despite the exhaustion, he felt strangely light.
Maybe it was hope.
Maybe it was madness.
But it felt like he could float.
Selling those coins would be difficult.
Dangerous.
But honestly… it was the kind of problem anyone in the world would love to have.
When he arrived at the store, Mr. Foster was already standing at the entrance, arms crossed, irritation written all over his face.
"Who do you think you are?" he snapped. "You think you own the place, showing up at this hour? I had to do all your work!"
Eric knew that was a lie.
Foster never worked if he could force someone else to do it.
But he kept his expression neutral.
"Sorry, sir… I had trouble finding money at home."
It was only half the truth—but enough.
He knew Foster would misunderstand—assume Eric meant he didn't have money for the bus. And honestly, that worked in his favor.
The man grumbled but let him in.
The day dragged on.
Eric moved on autopilot.
Serving customers.
Taking payments.
Handing out change.
Always watching the coins.
Every small piece of metal that dropped into the register seemed to shine in his mind.
He didn't see cents—
He saw pure gold.
When his shift finally ended, Eric approached his boss carefully.
"Mr. Foster… would it be possible to exchange part of my pay for some coins from the register?"
The man frowned, ready to complain.
But when Eric placed two twenty-euro bills on the counter and pointed at a handful of coins worth far less, his expression softened instantly.
"Of course… of course… no problem," he said, smiling with almost greedy satisfaction.
Eric pretended not to notice.
Money had that kind of power.
Even the pride of greedy men melted in front of it.
With a small pouch full of coins, Eric changed clothes, put on his regular outfit, and stepped outside.
The street where the pawn shops were located was a more run-down commercial strip, filled with signs that read "We Buy Gold" and "Cash Instantly."
It was the kind of place frequented by desperate people—
And by the ones who made others desperate.
He was just a few meters away from the shop where he had sold his first coin when a scream cut through the air.
"STOP! YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO DESTROY MY STORE!"
It was a woman's voice.
Desperate.
Coming from the sidewalk nearby.
Eric turned immediately, his heart racing for the second time that day.
He searched for the source of the voice, trying to understand what was happening.
Despite everything—
The fear.
The tension.
The impossible situation he was already in—
There was still room for curiosity.