Renting a car turned out to be easier than Dylan had initially expected: no exhausting paperwork, no tedious procedures. Just a quick call to an acquaintance from the office, and the deal was done. That particular colleague, the one he'd chatted with the most during the recent farewell party, wasn't exactly in the best financial shape.
Between laughter and drunken confessions, the guy admitted to having lost half his paycheck on a football bet with his friends—a week after payday. Now, he was struggling to make it to the end of the month. Worse yet, he was terrified his wife would find out.
With that little piece of intel in mind, Dylan contacted him, pretending to check in after their drunk night, and casually mentioned that he needed a car.
During the call, the man's voice sounded dull: a side effect of his hangover. Even so, he couldn't hide his enthusiasm upon hearing how much Dylan was willing to pay.
Less than ten minutes later, they arranged to meet on Monday at a park near the call center where they used to work together.
The deal was simple: Dylan would pay the full amount upfront, and the guy would drop off his car at the agreed spot, leaving it in his hands for a week. No contracts, no receipts; just a verbal agreement between two people who, despite not knowing each other well, decided to place a bit of trust in one another.
However, when they finally met up, the guy's attitude was completely different from the previous night. His wife had gotten into his head. She filled it with worries, making him paranoid that Dylan would wreck his precious baby.
Curiously, he spoke of his car with great affection, yet his eyes gleamed with excitement the moment he received the promised money and started counting it. Shortly after, he even suggested selling his ''baby'' to Dylan for a low price.
'This idiot...' he thought with pursed lips.
If Dylan had to guess, that 'football bet' probably wasn't with his friends. It was much more likely he had blown his money at a casino.
As expected, he turned down the offer without hesitation.
His total budget didn't exceed $10,000. Even if the car was below that value, buying it would leave him with no room to carry out his future plans. He knew better than to put the cart before the horse, especially when that metaphor applied so well.
The guy visibly deflated at the immediate rejection, even making an exaggerated pout that looked downright ridiculous on someone as tall and built as he was. With a dramatic sigh, he waved goodbye and sprinted off to work, muttering something about being late.
Watching him act as lively as ever, Dylan shook his head, trying to erase that unpleasant image from his mind, then turned to inspect the car in question: an old '90s gray sedan. A Hyundai, though he had no idea what model. He had never been a car enthusiast. At first glance, it looked as unremarkable as any other, and that was all he could say about it.
The exterior was in decent shape, considering its age, but the interior was another story. The moment he opened the door, the overpowering stench of stale tobacco hit him hard.
Curious, he rummaged through the compartments, finding nothing but old receipts and invoices, which he barely glanced at. Then, he started the engine and rolled down the front windows, hoping to air out the stuffy cabin.
. . .
While Dylan had spent more money than he usually would on transportation, he had no regrets. Having his own ride was leagues better than relying on buses and taxis.
And the sedan proved its worth immediately. After hitting a hardware store and an outdoor supply shop, he was able to toss everything straight into the trunk—no need to haul bags around like some pack mule.
After nearly three hours of shopping, he crossed everything off his list. Each item had been carefully chosen, not added on a whim.
A compact hatchet that would serve him well in close quarters—both as a tool and a weapon. A survival axe, though heavier, was ideal for chopping wood or, in the right situation, bartering. He had also picked out a few blades: a tactical machete, three knives, and several retractable ones.
In the world he remembered, staying armed was a matter of life and death.
Other key supplies included rope, fire starters, high-strength duct tape, a roll-up pocket saw, a first-aid kit with gauze, bandages, and scissors, a sewing kit, and a small metal canister for storing water or cooking. Besides, a few extra items had found their way into his cart; things he hadn't planned for but deemed useful at the last minute.
For protection, he chose thermal clothing, gloves, boots, and a sturdy leather vest to wear over his other garments. He also picked up an insulating blanket, but deliberately avoided tents or sleeping bags—anything that might slow him down in a crisis.
Finally, he packed everything into two large hiking backpacks and loaded them into the car. Maybe he had gone a bit overboard, but if money were to lose its value in a few months, he wouldn't mind ditching some items along the way.
After so many hours of running around, Dylan felt he needed a break. So, he found a small cafe near the city center, a discreet spot that rarely had customers at that hour due to its limited menu. But that was the reason why he chose it: he wanted a quiet place to reflect on what else he might need.
Food? The supermarket had already covered that.
Clothes? Between what he bought and the casual outfits he had at home, there was no need for more.
Medicine? Aside from disinfectant alcohol, he doubted Earth's pharmaceuticals would be of much use in another world. Stockpiling them seemed pointless.
'Maybe I should check out a gun store…?'
The idea crossed his mind for a second, only to be dismissed immediately.
Bringing a loud, attention-grabbing firearm into a world crawling with dangerous creatures was not exactly a brilliant plan.
He had learned to handle all kinds of guns —pistols, rifles, and shotguns— during his last military years, but that same experience told him that wasn't the right move.
In his previous life, when he first crossed over, he had landed in the middle of a vast forest, surrounded by hungry beasts. In a place like that, every sound was a potential death sentence. One gunshot could bring every predator in the area straight to him.
'If that happens, I might as well dig my own grave.'
Even at the peak of his strength, fighting off dozens of enemies at once would've been a suicide mission. And now? His current body was nowhere near that level. Besides, the first day would be the most dangerous—any misstep could attract something much worse than the usual monsters.
Sure, there was a slim chance that fate would surprise him and place him near a large group of people. In that scenario, a revolver might be useful for maintaining control. Even so, he highly doubted that would be the case, and if necessary, Dylan trusted other methods to keep troublemakers at bay.
Thus, with most of his essentials secured, it was time for him to focus on long-term growth.
In that regard, there was only one clear choice...
Draining the last of his cold coffee, which he had forgotten on the table, Dylan got up and walked over to the counter to pay, leaving a small tip for the waitress. As he stepped outside, he rubbed his eyes, irritated by the sudden glare of the afternoon sun. Then made his way back to the car.
His next stop was a specialty store for anime, light novels, and manga, advertised as the biggest in the country.
With his phone's GPS mounted beside the steering wheel, he drove as an ironic thought made him smirk mockingly:
'I mean, seriously, who else but me could be so serious about buying such toys?'
And yet, he knew it was the right call because in a few years, these things would be worth a fortune.
All thanks to one person: an individual who had reached the absolute pinnacle of power and influence. A woman who, despite her status in the Alliance, never abandoned her deep-rooted love for otaku culture.
Her obsession was legendary.
So much so that a single well-preserved figure or a functional game console could be a direct ticket to a life of luxury. It was almost surreal how much she was willing to pay to indulge in that passion, and yet, Dylan knew it was the truth.
Whether fortunately or unfortunately, that rush—which had driven people of all ages to risk their lives searching for treasures in the ruins of a fallen civilization—had proven to be short-lived. Once supply far exceeded demand, the offered rewards collapsed entirely.
That's why Dylan planned to strike at the perfect moment, to build his wealth and strength without being bound by mundane restrictions. Because, at the end of the day, his elemental affinity wasn't flashy enough to catch the eye of those in power.
After driving for a little over an hour, he arrived at a two-story building with a vibrant, fantasy-like atmosphere.
The walls were covered in illustrations of 2D girls: some with childlike features, others with exaggerated curves, while plastic statues of imposing young men, clearly the protagonists of their respective stories, stood on the roof.
Dylan had never been into this niche, neither in this life nor the previous one, so he couldn't identify any of the characters. But he couldn't help but acknowledge the store's luxurious presentation and the effort put into its exterior design.
With high expectations, he stepped toward the entrance, certain he'd find dozens of those high-value relics. Though, the moment he crossed the threshold, he froze in place; completely paralyzed when he saw a familiar profile inside.