I didn't go home after the mall.
I couldn't.
Not yet.
My room was clean, but right now, it felt too quiet. Too still. And my mind was anything but.
Instead, I took the long walk downtown—where the streets were cracked and the storefronts were always changing.
Where old men smoked in alleys and kids ran barefoot under rusted signage.
This was where I belonged.
Not in the polished glass of department stores.
Not in pity or nostalgia.
Here—in motion.
A week ago, I'd built something.
A crude resistance harness from salvaged materials.
Basic. Ugly. Functional.
It worked.
I'd tested it every day since.
Even modified it slightly—adjusted the strap tension, reinforced the anchor loops.
And today?
I was going to sell it.
[Milestone Progress: Self-Made Product – Stage 2/5]
Prepare item for public exposure.
Objective:
• Package your product
• Choose a selling location
• Make a plan
• Accept the fear
I spent the last of my grocery budget printing simple instruction sheets.
Found a local print shop that let me use their copier for ¥10 per page.
The lady behind the counter gave me a funny look when she saw my diagram.
"You an inventor or something?"
I smiled faintly. "Just someone trying not to starve."
She handed me the stack without another word.
I borrowed a foldable crate from a co-worker. Bought a cheap hanging clip to display the harness upright. Taped my instructions beside it.
The "stall" wasn't more than a corner at the edge of a weekend flea market zone. I didn't pay for the slot.
I just showed up.
Laid out my setup in a corner beside a guy selling used books and a lady offering keychains made of soda tabs.
And then I waited.
The first two hours were brutal.
People walked by.
Some glanced.
Some ignored.
One man laughed.
"What's this, exercise gear for homeless guys?"
I didn't flinch.
Didn't respond.
Because I knew what I made.
It worked.
It built strength.
It didn't need to be pretty.
It needed to help.
Around midday, a tall man in dusty athletic gear stopped.
He looked at the setup.
Read the sign.
Lifted the harness in his hand and pulled the strap experimentally.
"This yours?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
He grunted. "Built it?"
"Tested it too. For weeks."
He looked me over.
I wasn't a salesman.
Didn't wear a fake smile.
Didn't pitch it like a commercial.
I just stood there.
Solid.
Real.
Finally, he said, "I'll buy one."
He handed me ¥1,500 in cash.
I held it in my hand like it weighed a hundred times more.
Because it did.
This wasn't charity.
This wasn't a paycheck from some soulless job.
This was money I made.
With my brain.
With my hands.
With my own two feet planted firmly on concrete no one paved for me.
I bowed slightly. "Thank you."
He nodded and walked off.
I didn't smile.
I didn't cry.
I just sat down, back against the crate, and breathed.
[Milestone Achieved: First Self-Made Income]
You sold your first product.
Rewards Gained:
• +1 Intelligence
• +1 Charisma
• +1 System Affinity
• Trait Progress: Entrepreneurial Spirit – 22%
• Confidence Score: 4.4 → 5.1
[System Notice: Financial Trajectory Interface Unlocked]
You may now track passive vs active income, set financial goals, and receive optimization tips for self-reliance.
I opened the new interface.
It was barebones for now—just categories, variables, long-term projections.
But it was mine.
And it didn't say "Unemployed."
It didn't say "Useless."
It said: "Creator."
By the end of the day, I sold three more.
One to a student.
One to a construction worker.
One to a girl who said her brother was trying to lose weight but couldn't afford gym gear.
Each one looked at me differently than the last.
Not as some slick salesman.
But as someone who meant what he said.
Someone who gave a damn.
Someone who built something that worked.
The sun set.
The vendors packed.
I walked home with ¥6,000 in my pocket and a beat-up crate under my arm.
Was it life-changing money?
No.
But it was proof.
That I could build something real.
That I didn't need to rely on pity, handouts, or dreams of a system doing everything for me.
I am the system now.
That night, I made a new plan.
A real one.
One that didn't involve "someday" or "maybe."
I outlined every cost of building a full batch.
I calculated my break-even point.
Researched small-brand fitness trends.
Watched a dozen videos on low-cost product scaling.
And then, with a calm heart and tired hands, I made a title page for my new file.
"Project Foundation"
Phase One: Survive
Phase Two: Build
Phase Three: Thrive
End of Chapter 15