As soon as Dylan stepped into the store, he felt that something was off. He stood still for a few seconds, trying to piece things together, to grasp a memory that barely brushed against his consciousness. Unable to retrieve it, his gaze wandered over the site's decor, taking in the vibrant colors and glossy details that gave it an oddly unique feel.
Although the store had no display windows or direct access to natural light, it was well-lit by strategically placed spotlights.
The walls, painted a striking magenta, were lined with posters featuring bold illustrations. Overhead, large signs reminiscent of supermarket aisle markers hung from the exposed concrete beams, which were covered in plasterboard.
The aisles themselves were narrow, flanked by nearly two-meter-tall white shelves, each packed with price-tagged merchandise. Even the floor had a distinct look, its tiles arranged in an alternating yellow-and-orange pattern.
For a couple of seconds, Dylan felt as if he had stepped into another world—one completely foreign to him. That sensation was reinforced by the posters were filled with unfamiliar characters—Japanese, or so he assumed.
Luckily, no one seemed to notice his moment of disorientation. The store was nearly empty.
After regaining his composure, he moved on, gripping his wallet firmly inside his right pocket. Around him, the steady hum of fans placed in each corner blended with the heated exchange between the only two other customers in the establishment.
"Oh, come on! Don't be so mean! Just this once, pretty please?"
"I'm terribly sorry, miss, but I really cannot allow it anymore."
'Just two people, huh?' Dylan mused, though he wasn't all that surprised.
It made sense to him; this kind of place wasn't exactly crowded during work hours, especially considering how expensive the merchandise was.
"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, subtly turning his head to the left.
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the price tags beside the products and the numbers made him swallow hard.
Of course, he could afford everything he needed, but the thought of how much he was about to spend unsettled him. It was almost absurd that these types of items cost more than essential outdoor survival gear. Still, he was convinced that this would be an investment worth making.
'I'll make sure of it.'
Shaking his head to dispel such grim thoughts, Dylan continued walking until he reached the counter area, where his curiosity led him to take a closer look at the pair arguing—a man and a woman.
"I promise, this is absolutely the last time! Cross my heart!"
"You've said that before... Three times, to be exact."
Behind a table cluttered with plastic figurines and plush toys sealed in transparent-fronted boxes, an overweight man stood. He was clean-shaven, his curly hair slightly tousled in a way that seemed natural rather than careless. In addition, a pair of glasses rested on his freckled nose, which still bore faint scars from past chickenpox.
He wore a gray uniform with black short sleeves, and around his neck hung a pair of headphones along with a necklace featuring a red cloud pendant.
It was obvious he worked there—probably the only employee on duty. But Dylan doubted he was the owner; a spherical security camera was positioned above him, aimed directly at his spot, ensuring his every move was recorded.
Between the two, however, it was the woman who truly caught his attention—the one who had distracted him the moment he stepped inside the store.
Something about her face felt familiar, as if she resembled someone he had seen recently. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall who.
Her voice was sharp, filled with frustration as she protested what she clearly considered an unfair deal. Her stance was reckless: leaning over the glass display case, seemingly unconcerned that it might shatter. On top of that, she had both hands gripping the store clerk's collar.
'A hotheaded, annoying girl.'
That was Dylan's first impression of her.
She didn't seem to be older than twenty. She was dressed entirely in black—a long-sleeved hoodie with the hood up and loose cotton pants, a really odd choice considering the heat outside. In contrast, her feet were covered by spotless small white sneakers.
Her short hair barely reached her shoulders, save for two longer strands framing her face, falling to her collarbones. These strands partially hid her striking, almond-shaped brown eyes.
Likewise, she had a delicate face—pale lips, but not in an unhealthy way, and smooth skin, free of any visible blemishes, at least from what Dylan could see.
"But I always pay! You know I do! I'm, like, your best customer!"
"That's true, but Mr. Carlos was very clear. If I keep giving in to your requests, I won't get paid this month. He already warned me."
"That..."
At those words, the young woman loosened her grip slightly, biting her lip as a flicker of hesitation crossed her face.
She was undeniably gorgeous—one of those rare beauties you didn't come across very often. But her childish behavior dulled much of her charm. The way she whined, almost like a spoiled brat, put Dylan off.
He had no interest in younger women, but a fleeting curiosity struck him. So, as he passed by her, a fleeting spark of imagination took hold of him, making him wonder what she would look like when she reached his age.
'Yeah, she'll be even more stunning as she gets older, but...'
As these thoughts flitted through his mind, a familiar figure from his past overlapped with the image of the girl.
"This... this would be too much, wouldn't it?"
His breathing grew erratic. His heart pounded so violently it sent sharp pains through his chest. For a brief moment, he nearly rushed toward her—ripping off her hoodie to confirm his suspicion. But even in his agitation, he knew that would be insane.
A bubble of doubt swelled inside him, expanding with each passing second—until it finally burst at the sound of the store clerk's voice:
"Miss Haru, I know you'd never steal from us. You are, without a doubt, our most loyal customer. But please, do understand: I simply can't let you leave without paying today. Business is business."
'Haru, huh...?'
There was no doubt. It was her.
Hearing her name struck him like a calming balm, immediately dispelling the storm of emotions that had clouded his mind. Now that he had an answer, he no longer felt the need to act on impulse.
But that didn't make the situation any less strange.
Because this couldn't be a coincidence. Dylan refused to believe otherwise. It made perfect sense for someone with her interests to enjoy a place like this, but the idea of running into her in this exact corner of the world, at this precise moment, was beyond absurd.
'Something like this... is impossible.'
That was what he told himself.
'No, it doesn't matter. In fact, this is fine.'
This meeting wasn't just unexpected; it was undeniable proof that the memories in his head weren't mere delusions. They were real. Every single detail. Because among them was someone he had never met before.
'It's a relief.'
Though caught off guard by the sudden encounter, Dylan embraced the situation with quiet joy.
Determined not to let this discovery shake him more than necessary, he resumed pacing, turning a corner toward the sci-fi and fantasy book section. Meanwhile, he kept his ears open for anything else they might say.
His goal was clear—to find a way to get close to her. Simply getting money from his future self through an exchange wasn't enough. The money would be useful, but it was nothing compared to earning her trust.
'A friend… No, the age gap is too wide. I need to be realistic. A good first impression will do.'
Gaining the unconditional support of the first person to reach the sixth rank recognized by humanity—and the creator of the Alliance's mission system—was far more valuable to him than any monetary reward.
And so, he would be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity fate had placed before him.