Vale didn't sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, the pressure in his chest reminded him it was still there—heavy, steady, unnatural. Not pain exactly. More like something leaning against his ribs from the inside, testing how much space it had.
By dawn, his body felt exhausted and his mind restless.
Vale sat up slowly, half-expecting dizziness or blood in his mouth. Nothing happened. His heart beat steadily. His breathing was normal.
"Am I dying," he muttered, "or just cursed?"
The money lay scattered on the floor where he'd emptied the bag the night before. He stared at it for a long moment.
Real money.
Enough to leave town.
Enough to disappear.
And yet, instead of relief, all he felt was unease.
The clinic smelled like disinfectant and old paper.
Vale sat on the edge of the examination bed while the doctor flipped through his chart with obvious disinterest. The man looked tired, like he'd seen too many people complain about nothing.
"No fractures," the doctor said. "Heart rate's fine. Lungs are clear."
Vale frowned. "But my chest feels… heavy."
The doctor sighed. "Stress. Gastric irritation. Anxiety."
Vale laughed weakly. "So I'm not dying?"
"Not today," the doctor replied, already writing the bill. "Try eating properly."
Vale paid in cash and left, relief mixing with frustration.
The pressure didn't go away.
On his way home, hunger pulled him toward a small food stall near the crossroads. The vendor glanced up as Vale approached.
"Two breads," Vale said, placing money on the counter.
The vendor took it, paused, and frowned.
"You already paid."
Vale blinked. "No, I didn't."
The vendor turned the small digital screen toward him. "See?"
The transaction log showed a name.
VALE
Time slowed.
"That's not possible," Vale said quietly.
The vendor shrugged. "You want the food or not?"
Vale took the bread and walked away, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.
The pressure in his chest pulsed once.
Hard.
Back in his room, Vale locked the door.
He emptied his bag onto the bed—money, wallet, keys.
The watch.
Gold. Heavy. Too heavy.
He picked it up.
Instantly, the pressure intensified. His vision blurred slightly, like the world was slipping out of focus.
Vale dropped the watch.
It hit the floor with a dull thud.
"What are you?" he whispered.
The pressure eased.
Vale stared at the watch, fear creeping up his spine.
He wrapped it in cloth and shoved it into a drawer, slamming it shut.
Only then did his chest feel lighter.
The knock came that evening.
Vale froze.
The pressure returned immediately—stronger than before.
He opened the door.
Two men stood outside.
One was well-dressed, older, his expression controlled but cold. The other was familiar.
The watch dealer.
"Are you Vale?" the older man asked calmly.
"Yes."
"I believe you sold a watch yesterday."
Vale swallowed. "I didn't know it was registered."
The dealer scoffed. "Limited editions are always registered."
The older man raised a hand. "Let's be civil."
He stepped inside and placed a document on the table.
"Serial number. Purchase record. Ownership certificate."
Vale stared at the paper.
Every detail was perfect.
Every detail listed the same thing.
Owner: Vale
Silence filled the room.
The pressure in Vale's chest surged, hot and suffocating.
The dealer leaned closer. "What kind of trick is this?"
"I didn't change anything," Vale said, gripping the table to stay upright.
"Check again," the older man said sharply.
The dealer pulled out his phone.
His face drained of color.
"It's… still his name."
The pressure eased slightly.
Vale inhaled shakily.
"I swear," he said. "I don't know how this happened."
The dealer's anger snapped. "Who's your insider?"
"I don't have one!"
The dealer raised his hand.
The older man caught his wrist. "Enough."
Outside, voices gathered.
"Isn't that the thief?"
"He's done something again."
"Call the police."
Vale's heart pounded violently.
The pressure returned—stronger.
The older man folded the document slowly. "Whether you cheated or not doesn't matter."
He tapped the paper.
"This says the watch belongs to you."
The dealer clenched his fists. "So that's it?"
The older man exhaled. "Legally? Yes."
They left without another word.
That night, Vale sat alone in the dark.
Every sound outside made his muscles tense.
He opened the drawer slightly.
The watch gleamed faintly.
The pressure surged instantly.
Vale slammed it shut.
His breath came fast and shallow.
This wasn't something he could control.
This was something that reacted.
The next morning, a stone shattered his window.
"Thief!"
Another followed.
"Get out!"
Vale pressed himself against the wall as glass scattered across the floor.
Someone kicked the door.
A man's voice rose above the noise.
"We don't want trouble," the voice said. "But you don't belong here anymore."
Vale closed his eyes.
He already knew.
That night, another knock came.
Vale opened the door slowly.
A man stood there, calm, hands in his pockets.
"Name's Alfred," he said. "I think you and I have a problem."
Vale felt it immediately.
Not pressure.
Recognition.