Year: 2015
The train from Enschede to Gronau took less than twenty minutes, but it felt longer. Lucas sat by the window, sketchbook resting on his lap, fingers nervously tracing the edges of the pages. He hadn't drawn anything since the night he got the letter, but just having it with him felt grounding — familiar.
Gronau was quiet when he arrived. The station was small, with only a few platforms and a modest building that looked like it hadn't changed in thirty years. As he stepped out into the open air, the wind carried the faint scent of damp trees and something slightly metallic — the kind of smell you noticed near train yards or old fences.
He walked past a taxi stand, checked the address on his phone, and started heading east on foot. The notary's office was barely a ten-minute walk away.
It was housed in a narrow white building with blue shutters, just off a quiet street lined with bakeries and insurance offices. A small brass plate beside the door read: Kanzlei Krämer – Notar.
Lucas rang the bell.
A woman in her fifties opened the door with a polite smile. "Herr Van Dalen?"
"Yes," Lucas said, trying to match her formality.
"Bitte, come in. The notary is expecting you."
He followed her inside. The hallway smelled like old books and furniture polish. Paintings of local landmarks hung crooked on the walls. She led him into a small room with two leather chairs, a round table, and a wall of filing cabinets.
The man who stood to greet him was tall and thin, with white hair combed perfectly back and glasses that looked too small for his face.
"Mr. Van Dalen," he said in near-fluent Dutch. "I'm Notary Krämer. Please, sit."
They shook hands, and Lucas sat down.
"First of all," the notary continued, opening a folder, "my condolences for your family's loss. Your great-uncle Egbert was, let us say… a unique man."
Lucas gave a small nod. "I didn't know him well."
"Few did," Krämer replied with a subtle smile. "But he was very clear about his wishes. You are the sole heir. He left no children, no spouse. And he insisted the amusement park be offered to you — only you."
Lucas frowned. "Why?"
"That, I cannot say. But he made his intentions legally binding."
He slid a small stack of papers across the table, along with a pair of keys on a heavy iron ring.
Lucas picked up the keys, weighing them in his hand. One had a lion emblem on it. Löwenpark.
"So… it's still open?" he asked.
"Technically, yes. Reduced capacity, low staffing, but operational. A small management team is keeping things running for now. But they're waiting on your decision. As of today, you're the owner."
Lucas looked at the papers again. It still didn't feel real.
"I was hoping," Krämer added, "that you might allow me to give you a short tour of the property. It's not far — fifteen minutes by car. I believe seeing it will help you understand what you've inherited."
Lucas hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
They stepped outside together. The notary's car was old but spotless — a navy blue Mercedes sedan. The ride was quiet, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional road sign whooshing past.
As they left the town behind, Lucas could see the landscape flatten into open fields, occasional patches of woodland, and low industrial buildings. It was rural, but not empty.
Then, through a row of trees, he caught a glimpse of something unexpected: a worn wooden archway rising above a gravel parking lot. The letters were faded but still legible.
LÖWENPARK
Lucas leaned forward slightly. He felt his chest tighten.
"This is it," Krämer said quietly. "Your park."
The gravel crunched under Lucas's shoes as he stepped out of the car. From a distance, Löwenpark looked quiet—almost too quiet for a place that was supposed to be open. The entrance archway stood tall, made of weathered timber, with faded paint and vines crawling up the sides. The lion emblem above the name had lost most of its gold.
But the gates were open.
No security booth. No turnstiles. Just a path leading inward beneath cracked banners that fluttered weakly in the breeze.
"Staff usually enters through the side gate," said Krämer, locking the car. "But you, Mr. Van Dalen, can go in through the front."
Lucas nodded and walked forward, his steps slowing with every meter. The path beneath his feet was uneven in places, patched over the years with gravel and mismatched pavers. A wooden signboard stood just beyond the arch, displaying a faded map of the park. The colors were dull. The corners had curled from sun and rain.
But this was it. His park.
As he crossed beneath the arch, the world shifted — not around him, but within.
A soft chime echoed in his mind. Gentle, precise, like a single piano note.
> System online.
User identified: Lucas van Dalen
Access level: Administrator
Initializing internal interface...
Lucas stopped mid-step.
The path remained unchanged. The trees rustled in the wind. Krämer walked ahead, unaware. But something had clicked into place inside him — not intrusive, not loud, but clear.
His eyes drifted to a nearby bench.
— Installed: 2003
— Paint condition: 46% remaining
— Structural integrity: Acceptable
— Suggested replacement: Within 12 months
Then a lamppost.
— Bulb failure detected
— No maintenance history recorded
— Estimated repair: €32
— Staff assignment delayed by 3 days
Information layered itself quietly over his vision. No effort. No confusion. Just… knowledge. As if the park itself had started talking to him.
A new notification opened before his inner eye.
> Welcome Gift Activated
Heir verified: Lucas van Dalen
Reason for selection:
— Direct familial link to founder Egbert van Dalen
— Background in leisure & event management
— Creative potential detected
System startup package granted:
— Initial capital: €7,000,000
— Operational control: Full
— Initial support crew: Active
🎁 Bonus Gift Unlocked:
As a gesture of legacy continuation, you may build one (1) new food & beverage location free of charge.
Choose from preset concepts or define your own theme.
Construction will be completed within 72 hours upon confirmation.
Lucas exhaled, slow and steady.
Seven million euros. A team. A system. And the park itself. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't earned it. And yet, somehow, it felt… right.
"Is everything alright?" Krämer asked, turning back.
Lucas blinked. "Yeah. Just… taking it in."
The notary gave a polite nod. "Understandable. It's a lot to absorb."
They continued walking. Guests milled about — not many, but enough to make the place feel alive. Most were families with small children. A few teens wandered past with soda cups and bored expressions.
The park wasn't a disaster. But it was tired.
Paint flaked from signs. Some benches leaned unevenly. Staff uniforms didn't match. Music played through crackling speakers. It all functioned — but nothing inspired.
They passed a children's playground. Bright colors, but sun-faded. Woodchips scattered unevenly across the ground.
— Guest satisfaction rating: 4.6 / 10
— No safety concerns detected
— Upgrade recommended: Moderate
Farther ahead stood a glass case with an animatronic lion. Its jaw hung half-open in a permanent, frozen roar. A small plaque read "Leo the Welcome Lion."
Lucas focused.
— Last known movement: May 2012
— No repair history logged
— Guest engagement: 2.1 / 10
— Recommendation: Retire or refurbish
Years of neglect. Not catastrophic. But enough to drain the magic.
And now, it was his.
The silence between his footsteps and the steady stream of data gave him a strange sense of calm. The park didn't need a miracle.
It needed purpose.
They moved deeper into the park, past cracked paths and sun-bleached fences. Lucas walked slowly, letting his eyes scan everything—signs, food stalls, bins, lighting. The system whispered silent details into his mind with each glance.
Krämer gestured ahead. "We can take the full loop. It's not large. You'll get a clear overview."
Lucas nodded. "Let's do it."
As they passed the central plaza, a small food kiosk stood out among the fading colors and tired facades. Its sign read "Sweet & Golden" in soft, looping script. The scent of warm butter and syrup drifted on the breeze. Poffertjes sizzled on a cast-iron plate behind the counter, while a tray of fresh stroopwafels cooled beside a small coffee machine.
A young staff member greeted a family with a smile, serving up a tray of mini pancakes dusted with powdered sugar. It was charming—simple, but alive.
— Guest approval rating: 7.8 / 10
— Daily revenue estimate: €530
— Eligible for expansion: Yes
— Suggested location for F&B bonus: Priority
Lucas smiled faintly. "This stall has character."
Krämer glanced over. "It's one of the few spots people remember. The food's good. Presentation helps, too."
Lucas didn't respond, but the system had already marked it. He kept walking.
Soon, the rumble of steel on steel reached his ears. A familiar mechanical rhythm echoed between the trees. They emerged into the park's thrill zone, where a medium-sized Wild Mouse coaster towered above them — its layout compact but chaotic, built on a steel scaffold with abrupt turns and sudden drops.
The paint had faded to a dull green, and the supports showed signs of weathering. Still, the train climbed steadily up the lift hill before darting through its sequence of hairpin turns.
— Model: Wild Mouse (Gerstlauer)
— Installed: 1993
— Capacity: 4 riders per car
— Structural condition: Sound
— Ride comfort: Below average
— Guest experience rating: 5.1 / 10
— Theming: Minimal
— Recommendation: Retheme and retrack optional. Upgrade trains for smoother ride.
Three teenagers stood in line, chatting while the operator, slouched at the control panel, looked on without much interest.
"This is the only coaster?" Lucas asked.
Krämer nodded. "Yes. Installed in the early nineties. Basic Gerstlauer layout. It still runs well enough, but it's... generic. It's reliable, at least."
Lucas studied the structure. The design was standard — a template used across dozens of parks. The ride offered tight corners, small drops, and sharp brakes. Functional, yes. Memorable, no.
"It works," Lucas said slowly, "but it says nothing."
Krämer turned. "Sorry?"
Lucas gestured at the ride. "It has no identity. No story. Just track and noise."
He could already see it in his mind — new trains, smoother transitions, a wrapped theme that made riders forget how old the layout really was. Not a replacement. A rebirth.
"I don't want to tear it down," he said. "But it needs purpose. Style. Atmosphere."
The notary raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You already know what to do?"
Lucas looked at the coaster one last time before turning away. "I know what I don't want. That's a start."
They continued down the path. Ahead stood an abandoned building, once styled like a crooked timber house. The paint had long since cracked and peeled. Above the sealed entrance, faded letters spelled: "The Hollow House."
The doors were chained shut. Windows boarded. No sound came from within.
— Attraction status: Closed
— Last operation: October 2011
— Interior contents: Basic props, outdated effects
— Suggested action: Refurbish or repurpose
— Estimated renovation cost: €140,000
Lucas paused briefly at the door, peering at the cracked wood. Something about it intrigued him — not the state it was in, but the potential behind it.
"We had a few guests ask if this ride would ever return," Krämer said. "Nostalgia, perhaps."
Lucas didn't reply. His focus had shifted from the past to what was next. Every corner of the park whispered its needs. Every detail mattered. And the system helped him hear it all.
This wasn't a graveyard.
It was a foundation.