"I quit! I'm fed up with this shitty old shop! I'm fed up with all of you—and I'm even more fed up with the lousy pay!"
The scream tore through Simeon's mind, loud and violent, echoing against his skull. But on the outside, the 32-year-old employee stood frozen, his mouth clamped shut, his hands clasping the hem of his faded yellow uniform.
He couldn't voice it out. Not in front of him.
Barren Took, the elderly owner of the "Grand Dream Market," sat behind his cluttered desk. The name of the shop was a lie now; it was neither grand nor much of a dream anymore. It was a dusty relic, just like the man who had inherited it from his father.
Barren looked pitiful. He was small and frail, his skin hanging loosely on his bones. He was the reason Simeon had endured working in this stagnant, low-paying job for nearly four years.
Barren was kind. He was a good man. But kindness didn't put food on the table.
Everyone knew the story. Barren's wife was sick—a long, draining illness that sucked the shop's profits dry every single month. The medical bills were a black hole, leaving only crumbs for the employees' salaries.
Simeon looked down at his worn-out shoes.
I can't do this anymore, he thought, panic tightening his chest.
He had a pregnant wife at home. Her belly was growing, and so were the expenses. The meager salary he earned here wasn't enough to buy prenatal vitamins, let alone save for the hospital bills. He needed a second job. No, he needed a better job.
But looking at Barren's tired, wrinkled face, Simeon's soft heart betrayed him. He felt like a traitor.
But I have to be a husband first, he told himself, clenching his fists behind his back to stop them from shaking. I need a stable income. I need to survive.
The office was small, smelling of stale coffee and old paper. Stacks of unpaid invoices and supplier notices were piled high on the desk, forming a wall between the two men.
"Boss. I really need to resign. My sick mother needs me," Simeon said firmly, forcing himself to stare bravely at the old man's face.
I'm sorry, Mama, he apologized internally, a sharp pang of guilt hitting him. I know you're already in the Creator's paradise, but I need a strong reason. One he won't question.
Barren didn't get angry. He didn't shout. Instead, he took off his thick, smudged glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to rattle in his chest.
"I see," Barren whispered, his voice sounding incredibly tired.
He looked down at the paperwork on his desk—the evidence of his failing business.
"If it's for your mother... then I cannot stop you," Barren continued, offering a weak, sad smile. "Family is everything, Simeon. You are a good son for prioritizing her."
The praise twisted the knife of guilt deeper into Simeon's gut. He shifted his weight, looking at the peeling paint on the wall to avoid Barren's gaze.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
"Don't be," Barren said, waving a trembling hand. "But... this puts me in a tight spot. With you gone, and the shelves needing to be stocked... I don't know who I can find to replace you. Not with..."
He trailed off, glancing at a framed photo of his wife on the desk. He didn't need to finish the sentence. Not with the wage I can offer.
Barren opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small cash box. He counted out a few bills—fewer than Simeon deserved, but it was clearly all that was there.
"Here. Your salary for the week," Barren said, sliding the money across the desk. "You can go immediately. Take care of your mother."
Simeon took the money. His hands were shaking. "Thank you, sir."
He turned to leave, but his feet felt heavy. He couldn't just walk out. His mind flooded with memories of when he first started working here.
Back then, this place had been lively, vibrant, even if the building looked ancient. Barren used to have a full staff. Customers flowed in non-stop, children ran happily down the corridors, and Barren's laughter used to echo off the high ceilings.
Now, the place felt like a funeral home. Simeon was the only worker left. The beautiful girls who used to work the registers were gone; now, the cashier was Barren himself.
Simeon watched Barren quietly return to reading the pile of debt notices. The room was filled with a heartbreaking silence, broken only by the rustle of paper and the rhythmic click-click-click of the old ceiling fan spinning overhead.
"H-how..." Simeon's voice broke. He stopped, cleared his throat, and turned back. "How about I look around town for my replacement? I can find someone who—"
"No need, Simeon," Barren interrupted softly, not looking up.
"Everyone knows my situation. Who would dare work at my dying business? I can't even give you the proper amount for your salary."
Barren picked up a pen, his hand trembling, and signed a document.
"I think the right time has come," the old man whispered. "It's time to let this place go."
Simeon's eyes widened. "But Mr. Took! You need this place to support your wife's hospital bills! What about your children? Will they support you now?"
Barren had four children. All of them were successful, living in big cities, chasing big dreams. But none of them remembered the parents who had given everything for their future. And obviously, Barren had no plan to ask for their help.
Simeon opened his mouth to complain, to fight for the old man, but stopped. Who was he to speak? He was just an employee—a man who started as a toilet cleaner and ended as a sales clerk. He was leaving, too.
"My..."
Barren placed the papers down again. He looked up, and for the first time, Simeon saw the tears pooling in the old man's eyes, magnified by his thick glasses.
"Mmm..." Barren tried to speak, but his lips trembled uncontrollably. A small sound escaped his throat, a bubble of grief bursting before he could form the words.
He took a ragged breath and finally whispered the truth.
"My wife... she died. Last night."
A tear rolled down Barren's cheek.
"So I am selling everything. I came back today only to settle my loans and credits. After this... there is no more Grand Dream Market."
Simeon's mind went blank after hearing the news. Though he rarely saw Barren's wife, the shock was physical. He had witnessed all his boss's hardships and sacrifices for her over the years. The extra hours, the scrimping, the skipped meals—it was all for her.
His chest felt tight, and his eyes started to sting with fresh tears. Am I too selfish? he thought bitterly.
Barren was now truly alone. In the past, he'd had maids in his house but let them go due to financial problems. He had no time for friends. Now his wife was gone. And to top it all off, Simeon—the last person he had—was leaving him, too. He was old, alone, and had none of his children to hold onto.
They stayed in that silence for a long time, Simeon letting Barren cry out all his grief until the old man's shoulders finally stopped shaking.
"H-how—" Simeon's voice cracked, but he pushed through. "How about I stay with you until the end of your wife's funeral?"
"No need," Barren whispered, his voice hoarse. "She was already cremated this morning. My wife and I planned it a long time ago. I also reserved a spot for myself in the crematorium service. It is already paid for."
"Is her ash... already at your house?"
Barren nodded while wiping his tears and blowing his nose into a tissue. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
"But... but I will ask for a favor for the last time."
"Anything, Mr. Took."
"You know there are still lots of items left in the market. Take anything you want. No matter how many. Bring them to your house, give them to others, it's all on you. But also... give me some of it. Bring it to my house. Fill all my fridges. Please."
He looked at Simeon with eyes that seemed to have aged ten years in a single hour.
"There is no need to say please, Mr. Took. I will do it."
"Thank you so much, Simeon. Thank you for everything. For your patience, for your effort. I know you wanted to resign for a long time. And thank you for taking care of me when I was sick. Your kindness will surely be repaid someday."
Simeon felt heat rise to his cheeks at the undeserved praise. "You're very much welcome, Mr. Took. It was my pleasure to be your employee."
Overcome with emotion, Simeon stepped around the desk and hugged the frail old man tightly. Barren felt like a bird in his arms—light and fragile.
"Maybe the Deity has a plan for you," Simeon whispered, trying to offer comfort. "If someone leaves, someone will come into your life."
*****
WELCOME TO BRIGHTWOOD.
The sign arched high over the road, its letters painted in bold, cheerful colors that curved to match the architecture of the structure beneath it.
After walking for two days, Tobey had finally reached the boundary between the wild and the civilized world. Standing before him was a massive structure reminiscent of a 19th-century masonry-tower suspension bridge from Earth. Thick steel cables stretched from the stone towers, dropping straight down to support the road deck, giving the whole structure a solid, dependable look.
Below, a river ran deep through the gorge. The water moved fast and hard, dark and churning as it rushed over rocks hidden from view. Even from the sidewalk high above, the roar of the current carried upward—a steady, echoing rush that made the height feel terrifyingly real.
Tobey took a deep breath, tasting the air.
He had enjoyed the leisurely journey from the Motahowk Forest to Brightwood. For the first time in a long time, he walked without fear in his heart, filled only with the simple happiness of freedom. His eyes had feasted on the breathtaking scenery along the way.
To avoid suspicion, he had dressed the part of a common traveler. He wore cheap, durable clothes from head to toe, and the backpack slung over his shoulder was just a decoy for his supplies.
He had stopped only for quick breaks to eat. At night, he didn't sleep on the cold ground; he simply vanished to sleep comfortably inside his personal Supermarket dimension.
During the day, he greeted locals happily, chatting for a few minutes here and there. Many offered him a ride—perks of having a handsome, trustworthy face—but he politely refused them all. He wanted to walk. He wanted to feel the world under his feet.
But now, he had arrived.
It was 3:49 PM. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting a golden-orange hue over the river churning deep below.
The bridge acted as a gateway connecting two worlds. Behind him lay the rural north. Ahead, on the south side, lay the urban sprawl of Brightwood. It was a beautiful city—modern but not polluted. Trees lined the streets, and the water in the drainage channels below ran clear. It reminded him of the disciplined cleanliness of Japan back on Earth.
Tobey continued walking along the pedestrian sidewalk of the bridge. The cars rushing past were no different from the ones he knew, and the signage was familiar, differing only in the language used.
Then, his enhanced eyes caught something. Ahead of him, a blue electric pickup truck was parked neatly on the wide shoulder of the road, well clear of the passing traffic. It was an old model, its paint scratched and dull, with the faded words "Grand Dream Market" stenciled on the door.
And there, standing near the railing, was an old man.
He wasn't climbing. He wasn't leaning over dangerously. He was just standing there, his hands gripping the cold metal bar, staring out at the horizon where the river met the bend.
Barren Took didn't hear the cars rushing behind him. He didn't feel the wind messing up his thinning gray hair.
In his mind, he wasn't old. And he wasn't alone.
He was twenty-five again. The air was warm. Standing beside him was a woman with laughing eyes and a summer dress that fluttered in the breeze.
"Look, Barren! The boat!" she would point, her voice bright and full of life.
They used to come here every Sunday. They would park in this exact spot to watch the setting sun paint the water in shades of fire and purple. They would watch the small cargo boats drift downstream. They would talk about their future—about the children they would have, the supermarket they would build, the "Grand Dream" they would share.
She would laugh at his terrible jokes, and he would hold her hand, feeling like the luckiest man in Brightwood.
Now, the sun was setting again. The river was still flowing. A boat was passing below, just like before.
But the laughter was gone. The hand beside him was empty.
Barren closed his eyes, a single tear escaping to trace a path down his wrinkled cheek. The silence inside him was louder than the traffic.
"It's a peaceful spot."
The deep, calm voice startled him.
Barren opened his eyes and turned. Standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the railing, was a tall, mascular, handsome young man. He wasn't looking at Barren with pity; he was looking out at the same view, admiring the sunset.
"I..." Barren cleared his throat, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve to hide his moment of weakness. "Yes. Yes, it is."
"The water, the sunset..." the stranger continued softly. "It looks like a place that holds a lot of memories."
Barren looked back at the water. The stranger's observation was sharp, but his presence wasn't intrusive. It felt steady, like an anchor.
"My wife loved this spot," Barren whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "We used to come here when we were young. Just to watch the boats."
"She had good taste," the stranger replied. He turned his head, his blue eyes gentle. "I'm Timothy Gray."
Tobey offered his hand, and the old man accepted it, and they shook hands.
"Barren," the old man replied automatically. "Barren Took." Then he let out a long, heavy sigh, the exhaustion of the last two days finally catching up to him. His legs felt weak, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of his grief.
He swayed slightly, gripping the railing tighter.
Timothy moved instantly. He didn't grab him aggressively; he just placed a steady hand on Barren's elbow, supporting him.
"You look tired, Barren," Timothy said, his voice dropping to a concerned tone. "You shouldn't be driving in this state."
Barren looked at his truck, then back at the young man. He was tired. He was so incredibly tired of everything.
"I suppose I am," Barren admitted. "But I have to get back. I have... things to settle."
"I'm heading to Brightwood myself," Timothy said, gesturing to his backpack. "I don't have a car. How about a trade? You give me a ride to the city, and I'll drive the truck so you can rest your eyes."
Barren looked at him. A stranger. A drifter. In normal times, he would be suspicious. But today, with his heart hollowed out and his mind foggy with sorrow, he didn't care. This young man felt safe.
"Do you know how to drive an electric car?" Barren asked weakly.
Timothy smiled. "I can drive anything."
Barren fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the keys. He placed them in Timothy's open palm.
"Okay," Barren whispered. "Take me home."