Arin's grip didn't loosen. The thug's eyes rolled back, body twitching as his struggles grew weaker… weaker… until finally, he slumped limp in his grasp.
Arin exhaled, finally releasing his chokehold. The tall gangster collapsed like a sack of trash, his body thudding against the dirty pavement of the alley. Drool spilled from his mouth, a dark bruise forming around his neck.
Arin didn't spare him another glance. He simply stepped over the body, eyes cold.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from exhilaration. His lips curled into a grin.
Let's see… Did the gold coins come through?
He called out in his mind:
"System. Inventory."
> [ Inventory Opened ]
[ Gold Coins ×10 ]
His breath caught. His eyes widened.
"…It's real."
Ten golden coins shimmered inside the translucent panel, each one glowing faintly, far too perfect to be fake. Arin's face broke into the widest smile he had ever worn.
"Haha… hahaha… I'm rich. I'm actually rich now!"
He clutched his chest, laughing uncontrollably. The sound filled the small room, bouncing off cracked walls and broken tiles.
Quickly, he added the sword into the inventory, watching it vanish into the glowing panel with a flick of thought.
"Perfect." He whispered.
If I can bring more gold from that world… I won't just survive—I'll be a billionaire.
His grin darkened, eyes gleaming with ambition.
"But first…" He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "Can I go back there?"
"System," he asked. "Can I return to that world again?"
The panel flickered.
[Yes. All you have to do is sleep.]
Arin froze. "…That easy?"
He immediately threw himself on the mattress, eyes shut tight. Minutes ticked by. His body shifted left, right, tossing, turning.
Nothing.
His eyes snapped open, irritated.
"Damn it. Of course it's not that simple."
Those bastards ruined my sleep.
Clicking his tongue, he pushed himself up and peeled off his sweaty shirt. "Tch… might as well take a bath first."
He stepped into the dim hall bathroom, the tiles stained with age. Cold water splashed over his face and body, washing away the sweat and lingering adrenaline.
On the way back, he slipped his hand into his pocket. Only a few crumpled bills and loose coins came out. His stomach twisted.
"…That's it? After all the work I've done?"
His mind drifted back. The day he borrowed fifty thousand to cover another debt. The six months that followed—fifteen thousand handed over every month, just for "interest." Forty thousand gone, burned away like it was nothing. And still, they came knocking. Still, they sneered, demanding more.
He clenched his fist, the coins digging into his palm. "They sucked me dry and still called me trash. Just dogs on a leash."
His chest rose and fell, breath heavy. Slowly, he let the money fall back into his pocket and walked into his room.
The cracked mirror on the wall caught his reflection—his body looked different now.
"Wow… I'm ripped," he muttered, flexing slightly, watching the muscles tighten under his skin. Just months ago, he remembered being skinny, almost frail, the type people overlooked without a second thought. Now, the lines of strength carved into his frame told a different story—one of pain, struggle, and survival.
Smirking at the change, he dug through his bag for clothes, only to find another thin white shirt.
He sighed. "Figures. Guess this is all I've got."
He slipped it on anyway, smoothing the wrinkles. In the cracked mirror, his reflection almost looked… sharper. His eyes gleamed, his jaw tighter.
"Heh." His lips curved. "Doesn't look half bad."
Arin grabbed his phone from the floor.
"8AM already…" he muttered. "Too early. The gold shops won't be open yet."
His stomach growled loudly.
"…Great."
He checked his cupboard. Empty ramen packs. Not even crumbs.
This life is so damn shitty… I don't even have breakfast to eat.
With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Let's just go out. Some small stores should be open by now."
He pushed open the door and stepped into the alleyway. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of fried oil from a distant street vendor. His cheap neighborhood stretched out before him—crumbling walls, peeling paint, narrow passages filled with old bicycles and garbage bags.
This was Seoul's underbelly. The kind of place where the rent was dirt cheap because nobody else wanted to live there.
He glanced around. The alley was empty. The body of the thug was gone.
His lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Ran away, huh? Can't say I'm surprised."
He slipped his hands deeper into his pockets and walked down the alley. The streets of his neighborhood were already alive in their own way—an old man hosing down the cracked pavement in front of his store, kids in school uniforms running past with bread rolls in their hands, the faint buzz of traffic echoing from the main road.
At the corner, a tiny convenience shop's neon sign flickered weakly. The glass door was smudged, and a little bell jingled when Arin stepped inside. The shelves were cramped, half-empty, lined with cheap snacks, instant noodles, and canned coffee.
"Morning," the shopkeeper mumbled without looking up, flipping through a newspaper behind the counter.
Arin grabbed a triangular kimbap, a bag of chips, and a can of cold coffee. His stomach growled louder at the sight.
He placed the items on the counter. The shopkeeper glanced at him once, his eyes narrowing at Arin's damp hair and ripped build, but said nothing. Just rang up the items.
"That'll be 3,800 won," the man said.
Arin pulled out the crumpled bills and dropped them onto the counter. The machine beeped, and the change rattled into the tray.
He stepped outside with his little plastic bag. Sitting on the curb just outside the shop, he tore open the kimbap wrapper and took a huge bite. The salty taste hit his tongue, and he exhaled a long breath.
"Damn… this is heaven right now."
The bag of chips followed, then a gulp of cold coffee. Each bite grounded him back into reality—but also reminded him how close he was to leaving this miserable life behind.
Arin leaned back against the shop wall, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the street. His grip tightened around the can of coffee.
"This is just the beginning," he muttered.