By the time Liam stumbled back to his shabby home, the clock had ticked past eight in the evening.
Exhaustion weighed on him like a lead coat—mentally drained from the day's chaos: evading pursuit, killing three thugs, and disposing of evidence. Even with his enhanced physique, the emotional toll of taking lives left him trembling slightly.
He collapsed onto the cardboard sofa, staring blankly at the wall. Outside the window, a slimy, tail-less scorpion scuttled across the glass, its segmented body glinting faintly in the starlight. Liam let out a bitter laugh. "I'd love to taste what it's like… but experimenting blindly is asking for trouble."
Still, he grinned, thinking of his Sequence. "Risk and reward go hand in hand. The bigger the risk, the greater the gain."
Satisfied with his [Greedy Marauder] status, he forced himself to his feet and rummaged through the pockets of the pants he'd worn the day before—the ones he'd taken from the thugs. When his fingers brushed against something cold and round, he froze.
Pulling it out, he stared in disbelief: a silver coin, glinting faintly in the dim light.
"A silver coin? How did these bums get their hands on something so valuable?"
In the United Government's currency system, 10,000 copper coins equaled one silver coin—though due to inconsistent copper purity, it often took 12,000 coppers to make the exchange. For Liam, a silver coin was like a fortune from a fairy tale, unattainable just days ago.
"Why bother robbing me if they had this?" He frowned, then suddenly realized. They'd targeted his schoolbag, convinced it held treasure.
Little did they know, their greed would cost them their lives—and their ill-gotten silver would end up in his hands.
But the excitement faded quickly. "How am I supposed to spend this? Pulling out a silver coin in the slums would scream 'suspicious.' If someone reports me, I can't explain where it came from."
Holding the coin felt like clutching a hot potato. He sighed, stuffing it back into his pocket.
After heating up the leftover cafeteria food—dry, tasteless three-winged flying fish—he took a bite and frowned. "The cafeteria's consistency is impressive… impressively bad."
He forced himself to finish, then dumped the empty lunchbox in the sink. Just as he reached for the kettle to pour water, his hand slipped. The kettle teetered off the table, plummeting toward the floor.
Time seemed to slow. Liam watched in awe as the water splashed out in slow motion, each droplet arcing clearly in the air. Without thinking, he reached out and caught the kettle effortlessly.
"I'm faster… my senses are sharper!"
He set the kettle down, then froze. A deep handprint was indented in its metal surface.
"This is mine?" He clenched his fist, testing his strength. With a slight squeeze, the kettle's shape warped again. "And I can control it?"
Memories of the [God-Slayer Camp] forum flooded back—he'd read that Sequence users could visit the Sequence Administration Bureau for information, but only if they proved their abilities. He wasn't ready to go public yet, not until he understood his powers better.
Which meant [God-Slayer Camp] was his only source of information. But accessing it required a computer or phone—luxuries he couldn't afford.
The only option was the internet café. Even thirty minutes there cost ten copper coins, a fortune for him.
In the slums of the safe zone's edge, jobs were scarce. Adults fought tooth and nail for menial work, so there were no part-time gigs for students. The only way Liam could earn money was through the school library's work-study program: ten copper coins a week, thanks to Ms. Zhu's sympathy for his orphan status.
"I'll have to wait until next week to get paid and go to the café," he muttered.
Liam walked to the window, staring at the endless night and the gods wandering beyond the safety glass. A grin spread across his face. "If I could eat all of them… I can't even imagine how strong I'd become."
Today had been chaotic, but it had given him hope—a rare commodity in this apocalyptic world. For the first time since rebirth, he believed he might truly be the chosen one.
He washed his dusty coat, took a cold shower to calm his nerves, and climbed into bed. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he let sleep wrap around him like a blanket.
When he woke the next morning, Sunday's light (or lack thereof) filtered through the curtains. He flexed his arms, admiring the subtle definition of his muscles, and smiled.
"What to do today? Head back to that trash can for more god remains?"
The thought was quickly dismissed. The disappearance of the remains from Exit 89757's bins would surely attract attention. Venturing out to hunt gods directly was too risky—he had no idea how to fight them, and one wrong move could turn him from hunter to prey.
After pacing the tiny room for a minute, he snapped his fingers. "Hit and run! If one bin's too hot, just find another!"