Sean—or rather Jack, the current owner of this body—supported himself against the oak bar counter that seemed ready to crumble at any moment, swaying to his feet. A dull ache behind his head persisted, as if a blacksmith were relentlessly hammering his nerves, while with each breath, he could smell the stale agave that churned in his throat.
He nudged his round-framed glasses that had slid to his nose, and the crack in the lenses made the world before him look as if it had been forcibly split in two.
"Boss Nate," Sean spoke, his voice as raspy as sandpaper grinding rusted iron, yet carrying a deliberate rhythm Jack, the original owner, had never known. "I think we should reach an informal agreement to defer payment for this liquor that could kill an adult bull on the spot."
Net, who had been wiping the bar counter, paused his work. His face, swollen with bloodshot veins and resembling an old potato, slowly lifted. He first fixed his gaze on Sean's bloodshot yet strangely calm eyes for a second, then abruptly threw the dirty cloth he was holding onto the counter.
"Delay payment? Jack, you've got a better line than any hymn in church!" Boss Nate yelled, his voice hoarse and spittle flying. "That's accounting! That's default! You still owe me for last month's pie, haven't you? The broken cup from two months ago? That's still unpaid. And now you want to take that damned poison money to the grave?"
Sean felt the vibration of his eardrums and slightly furrowed his brow. If this were in 2026, anyone who dared to shout at him would have their desk piled high with legal letters by the next day. But now, he merely calmly adjusted the collar of his yellowed shirt.
"Money will be there. Not just for this bottle of wine, but also to fix your piano that's been falling apart," Sean said, pointing to the old piano in the corner that had lost all its tuning due to dampness, his tone brimming with unshakable arrogance. "After all, the greatest lawyer of Manhattan... no, this town, shouldn' t die because of debt. This was just an accident. I promise you, once I earn enough money, I'll settle it all, principal and interest included."
"Get out of my sight!" Boss Nate waved his thick arms like a fly, "Don't show me that sullen face again—unless you're clutching those gleaming gold coins!"
Shaun chuckled, grabbed the dusty woolen hat from the bar counter, and shuffled out the door.
The tavern's door slammed shut with a loud clink.
The fury on Nate's face receded like a tide, replaced by a deep sigh mingled with helplessness and heartache. He stared at the door, speechless for a long moment.
"This kid's completely out of his mind," muttered the boss Nate, pulling out a tattered ledger from under the counter. He deftly scribbled a new entry beneath Jack's page of jumbled numbers. "Still fixing pianos... If he survives, that'll be a miracle."
Nate watched Jack grow up.
In this town scarred by the aftermath of the Civil War, Jack stood out as an oddity. Orphaned and raised on a meager diet from his earliest words, he would now hold a potato in the Zhang family's porch one day and sleep in the Li family's stable the next. Every resident had once been his temporary guardian.
Nate still remembered how, twenty years ago, that little mud-faced boy had crouched at the tavern entrance, cursing the passing carriages and vowing to study law in a big city someday, determined to make every wronged person in the world get their due.
Back then, the whole town pooled their money to cover the tuition fees—just five cents and ten cents each. Jack didn't let anyone down; he actually passed that damn bar exam and returned to his hometown with a tattered suitcase, eventually hanging up a sign for a "law firm" in that leaky shack on the street corner.
But the law is not only about justice, but also about the predatory trusts and the even more treacherous financial tycoons' defenders.
Jack is too inexperienced. His courtroom arguments, steeped in 'justice,' are as fragile as a sheet of paper against the seasoned litigation machinery. Over the past decade, he has lost more lawsuits than the beers Nate sold.
"What legal knowledge do you have, Jack?" Nate stared at the ledger, his eyes welling with tears. "You're just a soft-hearted country boy. The favors you owe here will never be repaid in a lifetime."
He knew Jack was settling the accounts out of desperation. Those three sheep were not just Hank's property—they were Jack's last shred of pride. Losing the lawsuit meant breaking his backbone. While Nate called him a scoundrel, he secretly feared Jack might jump into the White Water River outside town—after all, the boy had lost everything but the debt.
Meanwhile, Sean (Jack), walking through the swirling dust, squinted his eyes to take in the unfamiliar world, brimming with primal energy.
He felt the heavy guilt toward his hometown people left by the original owner of this body, which was Jack's most fatal weakness.
"Having been raised on the food of a hundred families, is that so?"
Sean stopped by a puddle by the roadside, gazing at the reflection of a disheveled man with a cold, piercing gaze.
Jack, your kindness has left you utterly defeated in this era. But now, Sean Voss has taken over. The potatoes and bread that once nourished you, I will reclaim from those vampires at the highest cost in the world.
He looked up at Hank's farm across the town.
There, not only were the three sheep present, but also the first stepping stone for his return to the pinnacle as the 'Ghost of Law'.