***
# Kaede's POV
The system—or shop, or whatever that inventory thing was that Tryl had raved about—felt like the most bizarre tool imaginable. He'd explained it as some kind of subspace pocket, just one cubic meter of storage, but honestly, it made me feel like I'd stumbled straight into an anime. One minute we were normal people; the next, we were poking at glowing holographic menus, buying survival gear with "points" like it was a video game. My heart raced as I swiped through the options, the blue interface hovering in my vision like an unwelcome ghost.
Akira was hugging my arm, muttering alongside me. Feeling the soft press on my skin I glanced at her, which made me feel abit sour inside... Hisss, she grew abit in the winter holidays. Pushing the sour feelings inside, I scrolled through the items on the screen.
The items ranged from gleaming weapons to basic food, clothes, and tools, but it all boiled down to one cruel truth: you needed the system's currency to get anything. After huddling with Akira, we pieced it together—we'd each started with 2,000 points. It sounded generous at first, but it was barely enough for a decent bow or sword, plus some crude staples like bread and water. "This is insane," I muttered to him, my voice trembling. "We're rationing our lives like it's a budget."
# End of POV
Tryl's voice boomed across the clearing once more, his holographic form flickering with mocking elegance. "My dear participants, the system shop brims with delights for your indulgence. Buy what you require, arm yourselves, and strive to survive just a little longer..." He paused, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. "On a further note, I've graciously bestowed upon you all mutual communication. You can understand every tongue now, no matter the barrier. Of course, you might not live long enough to savor such perks by dawn."
A chorus of nervous gulps rippled through the group, undercut by raw fear. "Heh heh he... you'll need all the weapons you can muster." With that, Tryl dissolved into wisps of ethereal smoke, vanishing into the twilight air. *That fucking bastard,* everyone thought in unison, the words hanging unspoken like a shared curse. A few fists clenched; one woman let out a shaky sob.
The language translator was a marvel, sure—imagine chatting with someone from across the globe without a hitch, no need to learn their language—but at the moment our own necks were on the line. Survival trumped wonder every time. "Forget the chit-chat," barked a burly man, his voice thick with urgency. "Browse fast. What's the best we can afford?"
People dove into their interfaces, eyes widening at the prices. A legendary mithril( Mithril? The legendary ore found ingames and fantasies? People were in awe at such absurd items they never thought they would see) sword gleamed at a staggering 1,000 points, its edge promising death to foes. The cheapest iron sword? A measly 80 points—serviceable, but it felt like betting your life on a rusty nail. Leaders emerged organically in the chaos: the burly man for the men, a sharp-eyed woman called Lena for the others. "No splurging," Lena urged, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "We don't know how to earn more points. Tryl didn't say shit. Play safe—not just for tomorrow, but the long haul, we don't know if we'll get more points later."
The group nodded grimly, a fragile pact forming amid the dread. Gruff men snatched iron swords and maces, hefting them with grim satisfaction. "This'll crack skulls," A huge tall man grunted, swinging his experimentally. Women favored bows, their fingers itching for distance from the bloodshed. A few grabbed shields, faces pale but resolute. "Better a coward alive than a hero dead," one whispered.
Some splurged a little for peace of mind—a reinforced leather vest here, a sharper dagger there—but no one touched modern guns or gadgets, There weren't any to touch or gaze. The shop was strictly medieval fantasy: no bullets, no bombs, just cold steel and sinew. The smartest buy? A portable restroom for 200 points. "Sanity first," Lena said with a wry smile, ignoring the awkward chuckles. "Unhygienicness kills slower than swords, but it kills."
Food flew off the digital shelves next—crude bread loaves at 10 points, hardy fruits for 5. Most burned through 500-600 points in minutes, stocking up on rations. "If we're dying, at least let it be on a full stomach," Akira said to me, forcing a grin as she bit into an apple. Her eyes betrayed the lie: terror coiled tight in her gut, mirroring mine. We were eating for strength, for clarity, clinging to any edge before the arena's jaws snapped shut.
Whispers buzzed about the shop's absurd depths. "A whole building for 10,000 points? Useless brick in this hellhole," scoffed a teen named Miko. "Or a car for 6,000? Where do you drive that? Off a cliff?" Laughter erupted, brittle and desperate. Then someone spotted the crown jewel of idiocy: a "Background Music Player" for 1,200 points. "What the hell does *that* do?" A tall man who called himself Arthur roared, half-laughing, half-enraged. "Play funeral tunes while we bleed out? Only a fool would waste points on bullshit like that. Save it for real survival!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled. "Idiot-proof," Lena added. "No one touches it. Points are life."
But someone did.
**DING!** The sky lit up with a deafening chime, shaking the leaves. **ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: FIRST PERSON TO BUY THE BACKGROUND MUSIC PLAYER!**
A massive hologram bloomed overhead, projecting the culprit's face for all to see. Gasps froze the crowd. Tools clattered to the ground. Eyes bulged in collective disbelief, then swiveled as one toward the edge of the clearing.
There, beneath a gnarled tree, sat Akhu—calm as a monk, munching a juicy hamburger he'd somehow conjured from the shop. Ketchup smeared his chin; he took a long sip from a bottle of water, savoring every bite like it was his last meal in paradise. He glanced up, catching the sea of shocked stares fixed on him. Tilting his head, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, posture radiating pure, oblivious confusion. *What's up with you lot?*
***