The air conditioning in the security office of The Grove mall blasted with an arctic chill, making the exposed skin on Mason Cooper's arms prickle with goosebumps. Yet, his back felt as if it were held over an open flame, soaked through with cold sweat that glued his cheap hoodie to his skin. The air in the cramped space seemed to solidify, the pressure emanating primarily from the woman named Emily.
She sat perfectly upright in her chair, arms crossed, her slender fingers gripping her elbows. Her impeccably tailored beige pantsuit stood in stark contrast to Mason's shabbiness. Beneath the hem, the tear in her black stockings gaped like an ugly slash across elegant canvas. Her gaze was a razor's edge, methodically scraping over every minute twitch on Mason's face, radiating unmistakable, icy fury and condescending scrutiny.
"I expect this matter to be taken seriously," Emily's voice was low but carried an unyielding hardness. "It has caused me significant distress and alarm. I demand appropriate compensation." Her eyes shifted to the security guard, Jack, seeking validation.
The other woman, Samantha, sat to the side, sniffling softly into a tissue as she dabbed her eyes. Her complaints focused more on "psychological trauma," but it was clear the cool, steely Emily was driving the confrontation.
Security Guard Jack stood behind the desk, his expression neutral, the picture of official procedure. A younger colleague lingered by the door.
"Mr. Mason Cooper," Jack tapped the notepad before him. "Ms. Emily's claim is for two hundred dollars for the damaged stockings and five hundred dollars for emotional distress, totaling seven hundred dollars. Ms. Samantha has made a similar claim. This means you are currently facing a total compensation demand of fourteen hundred dollars."
Fourteen hundred dollars. The figure plunged into Mason's chest like an icicle, stealing his breath. The pitiful $144.50 in his bank account felt like a pathetic joke in comparison.
"I… I didn't!" Mason's voice was hoarse, desperate. "The first time was an accident! Someone pushed me! It wasn't intentional! As for Ms. Samantha… I…" He faltered. He couldn't explain the motivation behind the second, near-perverted act—to complete an absurd ritual for supernatural abilities? That would only bury him deeper.
"Intent isn't solely determined by your statement," Jack's tone dripped with impatience. "There were witnesses. We have the accounts of both ladies. If an agreement cannot be reached, they reserve the right to involve the police and press formal charges. You understand what that entails."
Mason's face drained of color. Formal charges? Sexual harassment? He knew it meant social death—eviction by his landlord, fired by Miller, ostracized, left with nowhere to stand in Los Angeles.
A wave of sheer, paralyzing fear and despair washed over him. His limbs turned to ice, his head swam. Fourteen hundred dollars! An impossible sum! Overtime? Borrowing money? These fleeting thoughts were instantly crushed by reality.
Just then, a distinct, searing heat flared on the inside of his left wrist, precisely where the faint golden symbol had appeared earlier. Simultaneously, a stream of cold, mechanical information flooded his consciousness, as if a pre-programmed subroutine had activated:
[System Log Review]
[Host has completed the novice tutorial mission.]
[Mission Recap: Successfully executed the "Stocking Tear + Finger Snap" process on a designated female target (Samantha R.) today at 15:47.]
[Ability Acquisition Successful: Can Never Buy Authentic]
[Ability Type: Passive, Continuously Active]
[Status: Activated (Remaining Uses: 3/3, Duration Countdown: 23:18:41)]
[Current Permissions: Daily Ability Status Query (Available)]
The information flashed through his mind in an instant. Mason flinched violently. It wasn't a hallucination! Everything that had happened in the mall was real! He had indeed acquired that seemingly cursed ability called "Can Never Buy Authentic"! The system had activated the moment he completed the ritual; this prompt now felt more like a status sync or log review.
"Mr. Cooper!" Jack's sharp tone cut through his shock. "Your cooperation determines the outcome. Are you seeking a solution, or shall we wait for the police?"
Mason's head snapped up. The crushing fear was still there, but the sudden system prompt was like a powerful beam of light piercing the absolute darkness of his despair, illuminating a wildly insane possibility. He recalled Samuel's words in the alley: "Luck is opportunity in disguise." Could this absurd ability be his damned "luck"? The "opportunity" disguised beneath the perverted acts?
Opportunity. The thought took root in the desolate soil of his mind and grew with desperate ferocity.
He had to seize it. At any cost.
"I… I need some time…" Mason's voice remained ragged, but something shifted deep in his eyes—a desperate, reckless resolve began to replace some of the panic. "I need… to get the money."
Jack frowned, seeming ready to press further, but observing Mason's deathly pale face and trembling body, he finally waved a dismissive hand. "We'll do our best to negotiate with the ladies. You have seven days. If the compensation isn't paid within that week, we will have no choice but to proceed officially. Consider your next steps carefully."
Seven days! Another tightening noose. 144.50 vs. 1400. A one-week deadline!
Mason didn't argue. He just nodded numbly. Like an empty shell drained of its spirit, he was escorted out of the office by the guards, left standing alone amidst the mall's bustling crowd. The surrounding laughter, chatter, and dazzling lights blurred into a distant, meaningless haze.
He trudged toward the subway station, each step leaden. But contrary to his external despair, his mind was now racing like an overheated processor, frantically analyzing two core facts: 1. The system and the ability were real. 2. He had to acquire $1400 within seven days.
The description of the ability, "Can Never Buy Authentic," echoed relentlessly in his head: You cannot purchase any genuine item. Regardless of the source, you will only receive counterfeit goods.
It sounded like an absolute curse. But… what if he flipped the premise?