If possible, I wanted to study. To learn. To know more about myself and where I stood in this strange world. Knowledge, I believed, would make everything better.
Days passed. Every week, without fail, a massive ship descended into the depths of the landfill. What others called garbage, we called resources. By now, I had already stored over a thousand bottles of nutrient liquid. Enough to keep me alive for a long while.
I still didn't understand why others didn't value them the way I did. But survival was survival.
Occasionally, I carried the repaired scraps I found to the nearby village. This time, I brought even more, determined to make a bigger profit. Before that, though, I wanted to upgrade my ugly, makeshift bicycle. If it could carry more weight and move faster, every trip would be worth double.
According to my rough calculations, one trip from the landfill to the village took about an hour, and another hour back. Two hours in total. Every minute counted.
When I pushed open the door to the weapons and mech shop, the same shop owner as last time immediately spotted me.
"You again? Got something to sell?" he asked with a hint of recognition.
"Yes," I replied, laying out the repaired parts on the counter. This time the table was filled.
He examined them carefully. His brows furrowed.
"These pieces… they've been repaired. Was it your parents? Or maybe a senior craftsman?"
I stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Last time you sold us parts, we discovered they were restored to near working condition. The craftsmanship was… unexpected. On this planet, no one has this skill. It's rare. If you can tell us who repaired them, we'll pay you double."
My lips twitched, but I forced a calm smile. "I just found them. Always in the same place. If I ever meet this mysterious person, I'll bring him to you."
The clerk studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. Four of these are repaired. At five hundred each, that makes two thousand."
I walked out of the shop richer, but not empty-handed. Alongside a sturdier frame and a new wheel to improve my bike. On top of that, I bought a set of tools. With them, repairing scraps would be faster and more precise, which meant I could earn even more in the future. The shopkeeper eyed the tools in my hands with a trace of suspicion, but in the end he gave me a discount.
Today's earnings of two thousand credits were gone as quickly as they came. After all my purchases, my storage card showed only four hundred left. Still, my heart felt light as I pushed open the shop door.
On the streets, kids my size ran around freely. But compared to them, my malnourished body made me look even smaller. That was when a boy about my age approached me.
"Hey, want to earn quick money?" he whispered.
I frowned. "What kind of work?"
"Black work. You know, the fighting pits. People brawl there for time credits. If you win, you eat, drink, and play for free. Even if you don't fight, new registrations get one hundred hours of free time. Food included."
I looked at my skinny arms. "Me? Fight? You must be joking."
He laughed. "Don't worry. Just register. I'll get a bonus if I bring someone in. Two hundred hours for me, one hundred for you. Easy deal."
Food. Real food. Not just nutrient liquid. My stomach tightened at the thought.
"…Alright. Take me there."
He led me down a narrow alley into a basement. A heavy door creaked open, revealing a vast underground arena. The air was thick with noise, sweat, and excitement. Faces hidden behind masks. Men, women, young, old. All gathered under the same dim lights.
I had already decided to hide my true identity. At the counter, I registered my name."Apollo," I said.The clerk handed me a card along with a simple mask. "This is your identity. Your card stores your hours. Swipe it to enter the rest area."I nodded. From that moment on, Apollo was my name in this hidden arena.
I followed the boy's instructions, swiping the card. A door slid open, and my world changed.
The rest area was filled with food. Real food. Platters of meat, steaming bowls of soup, fruits so fresh they glistened. My nose burned from the unfamiliar aromas. My throat tightened. For the first time in this world, I tasted something other than nutrient liquid. Every bite melted on my tongue, every swallow lit a fire in my chest.
This was life.
But the deeper I explored, the more I saw. A counter stacked with weapons: blades, bows, whips, shields. My eyes scanned everything, then fixed on one item like a hawk. It was not the largest, nor the most ornate. It was a short dagger, compact and brutal in its simplicity. Perfect for someone like me, small, lean, quick. A single precise strike from something like that could end a threat before it fully formed. For protection and silence, nothing else would suit me better.
"How much?" I asked, my voice trembling.
The shopkeeper smirked. "Ten thousand for that meteor blade. But this short dagger? That one sells for a thousand, if you know how to use it." He tapped the display as if testing its balance.
I checked my card, only four hundred. The dagger was within reach, if I saved or traded more. The meteor blade, however, remained a distant dream.
Still, the desire burned inside me. I would find a way. I had to.
With that thought echoing in my mind, I rode my crooked bicycle back to the landfill, clutching the card that now held not just time, but the promise of strength.