Arin Solis stood still for a long moment, the terminal resting in his hand. The faint glow of the screen reflected in his eyes, steady and unmoving.
"…Credits."
The number appeared clearly.
His expression didn't change.
That amount… was expected. From the memories, everything that could be used had already been spent. Food, basic supplies, small necessities—slowly consumed until nothing meaningful remained.
Twelve Credits.
Barely enough for a single day.
Maybe not even that.
He navigated the interface, opening the delivery panel. A list of available meals appeared, categorized by quality and function. His eyes scanned through them carefully, stopping at the lowest range.
Even the cheapest option required ten Credits.
Below it—
delivery fee.
Three Credits.
Arin paused.
Thirteen.
He had twelve.
A single Credit short.
His fingers tightened slightly around the device. The difference was insignificant in value, yet absolute in consequence. Without food, his already fragile body wouldn't last long.
Slowly, his gaze shifted upward.
Stellar Credits.
50,000.
The number remained unchanged, almost unreal compared to the lower value. From the memories, this balance had always been zero—locked, inaccessible, or simply nonexistent in daily use.
Now it was there.
The reason was clear.
Compensation.
After his parents' deaths, the system had processed it. Not immediately, not when it was needed, but only after verification, delay, and approval. A system that functioned efficiently—yet never urgently.
Too late for the one who needed it.
Arin exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Conversion.
The option existed.
He opened the interface and found it quickly. The rules were displayed clearly, without unnecessary explanation. One Stellar Credit could be converted into one hundred standard Credits. But the reverse… was not guaranteed. Even a large amount of Credits could not ensure access to Stellar Credits. They were restricted, controlled, and tied to a higher level of usage.
Not meant for ordinary survival.
For most people, Stellar Credits were something to preserve.
Not spend.
Especially not for something as simple as food.
Arin remained silent, weighing the decision carefully. Converting now would mean loss. Not just in value, but potentially in ways he didn't yet understand. There could be hidden conditions, restrictions, or system monitoring attached to such actions.
But one thought surfaced clearly.
If he didn't act now—
he wouldn't live long enough to care about consequences.
"…Tch."
The faint sound broke the silence.
There was no choice.
His finger moved across the interface, selecting the conversion panel. The screen shifted smoothly, displaying the input field. He paused for a brief moment, confirming the decision one last time.
Then entered the amount.
100 Stellar Credits.
A notification appeared instantly.
Conversion confirmed.
Value adjusted.
Fees applied.
The values changed.
Stellar Credits: 49,900
Credits: 10,012
Arin stared at the numbers for a second, his expression calm.
The loss was there.
As expected.
Not equal. Not fair.
But acceptable.
For now, survival mattered more than efficiency.
He closed the panel and returned to the food interface. This time, his selection moved past the lowest tier. He didn't choose extravagance—but he didn't choose the cheapest either.
A recovery-grade meal.
Designed for weakened bodies.
Enough to stabilize him.
The order was placed without hesitation.
A confirmation message appeared, followed by the estimated delivery time. Arin lowered the terminal slightly and leaned back against the wall, his body still light and unsteady.
Time passed quietly.
Then—
a soft chime echoed.
Arin opened his eyes and turned toward the door. A compact delivery unit stood outside, its surface faintly illuminated. He walked over slowly, retrieved the package, and returned to the table.
The warmth of it lingered in his hands.
He opened it carefully.
A rich aroma spread into the room, subtle yet inviting. Inside was a refined meal—dense energy grain processed for easy absorption, accompanied by lightly seared protein slices infused with nutrient concentrate. A small vial of restorative broth rested beside it, clear with a faint glow.
Not luxury.
But something far beyond basic survival.
Arin sat down and began eating.
The first bite was warm and soft, carrying a depth of flavor that this body hadn't experienced in a long time. As it settled in his stomach, a faint warmth spread through his chest, then outward, slowly reaching his limbs.
Not strength.
But stability.
He continued eating at a steady pace. The emptiness within him gradually eased, replaced by a grounded sense of presence. His breathing became smoother, his thoughts clearer.
Then he lifted the vial and drank.
The liquid flowed easily, cool at first, then warm as it settled. A subtle clarity followed, clearing the heaviness in his head.
By the time he finished, the container was empty.
Arin leaned back slightly, exhaling.
The weakness remained.
But it no longer felt overwhelming.
For the first time since waking—
his body felt functional.
Stable.
His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, unfocused for a moment. Thoughts came and went, but none demanded immediate action.
Today—
he had done enough.
The risks had been taken.
The decisions made.
Tomorrow—
he would begin properly.