"Wait a second—where the hell did this seven bucks even come from? I didn't have any dollars on me…"
Ren patted down his pockets with growing suspicion—then froze.
The 5,000 yen he'd stuffed into his jacket after buying cigarettes? Gone.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "And here I thought it was some kind of system bonus. Turns out I paid for my own starter cash."
On the bright side, at least his outfit—a plain shirt, slacks, and a decent jacket—didn't make him stick out in Gotham. He blended in well enough. No one would peg him as an outsider just by looking.
He sighed and opened the system again.
Purchase complete:
Basic English Proficiency — 1 USD
Local Identity — 1 USD
Rapid Health Regeneration — 1 USD
Save Point Activation — 1 USD
Honestly, without English and a legal identity, he wouldn't last two blocks in this place. The other two were just survival insurance.
> System Notice:
Save points can be repositioned with later tasks. Don't hoard them.
You may use up to 20 saves across five different time slots. Plan wisely.
Current time is a "safe window." No threats will occur in the next 30 minutes. Saving is disabled during this period. Relax.
Ren glanced up at the sky. The clouds were thick, blotting out whatever light the moon might've offered. He could tell it was night, but not what hour. He remembered spotting a clocktower while on the train—maybe he could find it once he left the station.
He took a few cautious steps outside.
A moment ago, the chatter in the terminal had been a wall of unintelligible noise, like white static in a dream. But now—with the Basic English upgrade—the voices clicked into place, like tuning into a familiar radio station.
Ren blinked, surprised at how natural it sounded. Like eavesdropping in his native Tokyo, suddenly the fragments of English chatter made perfect sense.
His own English had been a mess before—barely scraped by on the university proficiency test. But now it felt like his busted old grammar had been stitched together with duct tape by the system. The result? A rickety bicycle that somehow moved like a motorcycle.
Not perfect. Just fast.
Still, according to the system, his accent and writing were now passable American English. With a little practice, he'd be cruising smoothly—like swapping that busted bike for a shiny little scooter.
That reminded him: he now had a legal identity in Gotham.
Ren rifled through his pockets again—nothing. Clean. Empty.
Then he remembered—the documents weren't physical. They were stored in the system. He could materialize or dismiss them just by thinking about it.
"Well, that's... actually kind of convenient."
He willed the ID into his hand, and a second later, he pulled out a driver's license from his jacket pocket. His name, address, social security number—it all looked disturbingly real.
He turned it over, brows furrowed, then tucked it back into his coat. As much as he wanted to marvel at the details, there was a more immediate concern gnawing at him:
He needed a job.
Fast.
If he didn't get murdered by the mob, vaporized by some costumed lunatic, or accidentally step into a Joker prank gone nuclear, he was still going to starve to death—or freeze on the sidewalk.
He had no idea how the homeless survived in America. And he was pretty damn sure Gotham didn't have any "harmless" homeless people.
Then again… maybe he'd get familiar with that lifestyle soon. He didn't own property here. Technically, being homeless was already on the table.
And yes, some U.S. homeless individuals could apply for benefits—provided they filed federal tax returns and had valid bank accounts. The system had granted him an account, but… he'd never made any income. So, no taxes. No benefits.
He stepped out from the bustling terminal and finally saw Gotham up close.
Drizzle drifted down from the clouds, fine as mist, coating the city in a damp, smoky veil. Neon lights smeared across wet streets, while cars and motorbikes tore through intersections without a care. Skyscrapers loomed in every direction—their lower halves lit by the city's restless glow, their tops swallowed by darkness. Floodlights offered brief glimpses of concrete edges and steel frameworks.
Farther away, a sprawling industrial zone spewed black smoke into the sky. Right next to it were rows of collapsing slums—silent, dirty, nearly pitch black save for the occasional flicker of firelight from inside alleyways. Somewhere in that mess, people cried, argued, screamed.
Gunshots cracked.
Stray fists landed with sickening thuds.
That was probably where the city's homeless congregated—filthy encampments beneath bridges and in abandoned factories, huddled over burning barrels filled with shredded books and newspapers.
Ren looked toward the tower again. Between blinking signs and rotating billboards, the clockface told him it was 9:00 PM.
Right.
No one's hiring tonight.
He'd have to survive until morning.
"This… is so freaking rigged."
A sudden gust of wind slammed into him, laced with cold drizzle. He staggered, arms tucked close, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His teeth were starting to chatter.
Where the hell was he supposed to sleep?
Bustling streets meant noise and cops shooing him off. Quiet alleys meant muggers, psychos, or worse.
"There's gotta be another way…"
He opened the system again and dug deeper into the interface.
There was a store.
In fact, it had everything. From food and knives to supernatural powers and mystical artifacts. Basically, anything you could think of—and a ton of stuff you couldn't.
Ren didn't bother scrolling down. No point. He couldn't afford any of it.
He only had three bucks left.
Which meant, odds were high, he was going to be sleeping on the street tonight.
He kept walking, browsing the cheaper items, hoping for something useful. Then—
Wait.
Where the hell was his driver's license?
Ren blinked.
"...Huh?"
He distinctly remembered not putting it back into the system. It should've still been in his coat pocket.
He flipped his jacket inside out in a panic, fingers rifling through every seam.
Nothing.
He cursed under his breath.
And then—his fingers brushed something in his pants pocket.
"…What?"
It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened.
Some Gotham pickpocket had lifted his ID—realized the guy he just robbed didn't even have a wallet—and, out of sheer pity or spite, put the license back.
In a different pocket.
He hadn't even felt it happen.
Ren stood there, stunned for a full ten seconds.
Then he burst out laughing.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was Gotham.
And that was all you could do.
A skilled thief could lift your cash, your watch, your phone… but they couldn't steal what you didn't have.
If you were broke?
You were invincible.
Hell, if some mugger checked his pockets, they might feel so bad they'd give him a few bucks for dinner.