Kyle woke slowly, blinking at the ceiling from where he'd crashed on the sofa. I heard the faint rustle as he sat up; his back probably protested a little, but nothing life-threatening.
The house felt quiet.
Too quiet.
He stood, stretching, and I sensed him looking toward me. I was already at the dining table, bracelet glowing faintly as I reviewed last night's information. My posture might've looked relaxed, but my mind was anything but.
He approached, voice still rough with sleep.
"Morning."
I didn't bother turning. "Morning."
He grabbed a glass of water and leaned against the counter, studying me like he expected trouble hiding behind my eyes.
"Did something happen?" he finally asked.
I lifted my gaze to him. "The system activated a night feature."
He waited—patient, steady, the way he always is when he senses something important.
"What kind of feature?"
"Transparent walls," I replied. "Surveillance mode. Only house owners can see outside."
His nod was slow, thoughtful. "So… you saw?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"A Shadow Walker appeared."
My tone didn't shift. "It eliminated everyone sleeping outdoors."
Silence.
Then his jaw tightened the slightest bit.
"So the system doesn't bluff."
"No," I said. "It doesn't."
He exhaled through his nose. "Good thing you told me to stay inside yesterday."
I gave the smallest flicker of acknowledgment. "You'd have been an unnecessary loss."
He huffed a soft laugh. "Nice to know I'm valued for my usefulness."
"It's better than not being valued at all."
That made the corner of his lip tilt. "Fair point"
Kyle stretched again, blinking like a sleepy cat, hair standing in every direction. He looked at me—already fully dressed, boots tied, mind focused—and sighed the way someone sighs when they know they'll never catch up.
"So… we're still following yesterday's plan? Scouting?" he asked.
"Yes. You scout. I'll go to the market for supplies and information."
He nodded once. "Alright."
After washing up, we both stepped out of the modern house. The air felt charged, buzzing faintly with system energy. Kyle adjusted his jacket and shot me a look that translated to: don't get yourself killed while I'm gone. Then he headed off to map the area.
I turned toward the marketplace—undistracted, calculating risks, profits, timings—
And then the sky exploded with light.
A massive holographic banner stretched across the skyline, cold blue and impossible to ignore.
The system's voice thundered:
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
Night Protocol Update:
1. Shadow Walkers appear only at Night.
2. Anyone outside a registered property is classified as Exposed.
3. Exposed survival rate: 0%.
4. Owned houses activate Night Surveillance Mode.
5. Shelter sharing allowed ONLY with registered persons.
6. Bodies cleared during Morning Reset.
7. No compensation for lost players.
The final line pulsed:
Survive intelligently. Only the capable progress.
The hologram vanished.
---
Inside the grocery shop, I picked up a bottle of water.
The faint blue glow beneath it instantly vanished.
I paused.
Interesting.
I paid for it, teleported it home, then wandered through other aisles. When I walked past the water shelf again—
The bottle had returned.
Same angle.
Same placement.
Same glow.
I narrowed my eyes.
"Oh? So you respawn."
I took another. Same behavior.
Ten minutes later, the glow reappeared. A perfect copy sat where the original had been.
Automatic restocking.
Infinite supply.
A warehouse that could never empty.
My thoughts clicked rapidly into place.
Shops = black holographic glow
Houses = blue holographic glow
Last night, the shop's cube had flickered—same as the houses, but darker.
"Black glow means active restock," I murmured. "If that glow disappears… the shop becomes normal."
And normal buildings?
Those can be purchased.
The calculation hit instantly.
If I bought every item—even temporarily—the shop would sit at zero stock for at least ten minutes.
No stock.
No restock.
No glow.
No glow = normal building.
Normal building = purchasable.
My lips curved.
Slow. Dangerous.
"I could own a shop."
A shop with infinite resources.
A shop no one else could ever buy.
The entire city's economy—
mine.
Of course, the risk was massive.
Worst case?
I lose everything.
Best case?
I control water, food, medicine—everything they need to live.
My pulse quickened.
"Tonight," I whispered. "Tonight I test it. Riches… or bankruptcy."
Either way, it would be fun.
I will only buy necessary food to save money so I can test my theory.
Food packs first.
I tapped one. The price blinked above it:
[Food Pack — 20 coins]
(Contains 3 meals → 1 day for 1 person)
Perfect.
Cold. Efficient.
Just like I needed it.
Kyle and I… two people meant 2 packs per day.
One week meant 14 packs.
My mind lined up the math effortlessly, like it was muscle memory.
14 packs × 20 coins = 280 coins.
Easy.
Next: water.
[Water Bottle — 10 coins]
Also one bottle per person per day.
Same count—14.
14 × 10 = 140 coins.
Still on track.
My eyes slid to the last shelf, where a sad little row of energy bars stared at me like abandoned children.
Kyle would pretend he didn't need them.
Kyle always pretended things.
I grabbed seven.
[Energy Bar — 5 coins]
7 × 5 = 35 coins.
The total formed instantly in my head.
280 + 140 + 35 = 455 coins.
Under budget.
Safe.
Optimal.
---
I had barely teleported a crate of food home when the vultures noticed.
Eyes full of jealousy, greed, desperation.
A small group rushed toward me.
"We saw you buying so much! You have money! Please let us stay in your house tonight!"
Then more joined.
"Yeah, let us stay!"
"We bought a house, we're broke now—just register us!"
"Your place must be big!"
I inhaled slowly.
Here we go.
Before I could answer, my bracelet projected the modern house's stats:
[Occupancy Limit: 2]
[Registered: Alice (Owner), Kyle (Resident)]
[Slots Remaining: 0]
I flicked my wrist.
"Modern house. Limit two. Someone's already registered. I can't add anyone."
The crowd stared—and instantly turned childish.
"Remove him and add me!" a woman snapped.
I looked at her like she'd asked me to donate my brain cells.
"No."
The woman sputtered. "No?! Just—no?!"
"Yes. House full. System doesn't care about your feelings."
Then the classic idiot shoved through the crowd—broad shoulders, clenched fists, temper bigger than his IQ.
"You think because you have money you can ignore us?" he growled. "You need a lesson."
He raised his hand.
The crowd gasped.
Some stepped back.
Some leaned forward like they wanted popcorn.
I didn't even blink.
He swung down—
and I caught his wrist with one hand.
Effortlessly.
My voice was soft, but sharp enough to flay bone.
"If you touch me, you won't keep this arm."
His bravado shattered instantly.
I tightened just slightly—enough to make him gasp—then flicked his arm away. He stumbled like a startled child.
"If you try again," I added, "you'll never raise this hand again. Understand?"
Everyone took a step back.
But I wasn't done.
"Before you swing next time," I said, "read the system rules."
I tilted my wrist.
A red warning flashed:
[Unauthorized Registration Attempt = Penalties]
[Modern House Limit: 2]
[Slots Remaining: 0]
[Additional Entry Will Trigger: Defense Drop, Shadow Walker Attraction, Owner Liability]
I smiled thinly.
"You want me to die with you? Because that's the only outcome."
The man froze completely.
The woman stammered, "B-But the system must allow—"
I cut her off.
"Small Shelter: one occupant.
Modern House: two.
Elite: three.
Master: five.
Sovereign: ten."
My tone stayed calm, almost bored.
"You hit your limits. Not my problem."
Silence.
Finally.
And as I walked past them, one final thought echoed in my mind:
Tonight, I'll test the shop theory.
Tonight, I might become rich enough to reshape the city.
Or lose everything.
Either way—
I won't hesitate.