"Let's go then, Lei," Amenitie said.
The mist didn't just part; it dissolved. It pulled back like a thick, wet curtain. A sudden sharpness—cold air on his skin, the faint, chemical scent of exhaust mixed with damp earth. He was back. The park. A dizzying rush of real sounds: the shriek of a child, the low murmur of conversation, a distant, rhythmic rumble of a bus. He saw people, too many people, a tide of them, each one a separate island of thought. A flicker of panic. He was exposed. He felt a sudden, rough certainty that his own mind, his own strange, private world, had just been laid bare for everyone to see.
Amenitie… he called out, a silent whisper in his head.
A moment passed, heavy and silent. Had he imagined it? No. A voice, cool and precise, settled in his mind.
"Yes, Lei. I will start with my functions." The voice was clear, crisp, like breaking glass. "They are fixed. Unchanging."
A weight lifted. A glimmer of warmth. A potential future, bright and promising.
"I will provide you with all the information on creating any car imaginable. Engine schematics. Aerodynamics. I will even provide the funding."
But it was only a moment. A cold dread spread through his stomach. He felt the words like a physical blow. The promise, a golden, shining thing, was also a cage.
"The budget is unlimited. But you can't use it for your daily life."
The voice held no sympathy, no warmth. Lei's heart sank. He had to build something first. He had to earn it. The weight of it all, a crushing, hollow ache. He had a gift, a perfect and powerful one, but it came with a price. He had to build his own path, from the ground up, with nothing but his own two hands.
"The only money you can use in your daily life is the profit you earn from the cars you build."
He felt the rough seams of his worn-out jacket, a cold reality. The future was here. And it was going to be hard.
"Call me when needed. I will be at your service," Amenitie said, the voice dissolving into silence in Lei's mind.
So, this was his life now. He sank onto a park bench, the splintered wood rough against his palms. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. His head throbbed. A low, constant ache. The coldness of the park bench seeped into him, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his fevered thoughts.
"The best option is to buy a huge company," he mumbled to himself, the words swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the distant, cheerful chatter of people. Money wasn't an issue. He could throw mountains of it at any company. But a thought, cold and hard, settled in his mind. "All these brands… they're built on legacy. Decades of it. Money won't be enough."
He squeezed his eyes shut. His mind was a frantic storm, a tangle of problems. The system was about profit. The more he spent, the more he had to earn back. It wasn't about a limitless budget; it was about a tightrope walk. Total sales minus total cost. The simple equation became a crushing weight. He felt it—a knot of frustration tightening in his chest.
"The more money I spend, the more difficult it will be."
A bitter truth. He had this incredible power, this golden ticket, but it was useless if he couldn't turn it into something tangible. He had to be smarter. Not just richer. He had to find a loophole. His mind raced, searching for an angle, a flaw in the system's logic. But there was none. It was a perfect, merciless trap.
A low growl rumbled in Lei's stomach. A sharp, physical ache. The reality of it all, cold and brutal, settled over him. First, a job. A real one. A tiny, insignificant job just to survive... He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked, the soles of his shoes slapping softly against the pavement. The city air, thick and humid, clung to him. It smelled of fried food and stale cigarettes, a scent both alien and strangely comforting.
But where am I?
The question hit him like a physical blow. He didn't know the language. The script on the signs was an elegant, impenetrable mess of symbols. Each face that passed was a stranger. They moved with a casual confidence, a fluidity that he couldn't replicate. He was an outsider, a ghost in a place that didn't know him, didn't want him.
Frustration boiled in his throat. He saw a small, bustling noodle shop, the steam rising in white clouds from a huge pot. A man inside was wiping down a table, his movements quick and practiced. A job. It was so close, yet it felt impossibly far away. He couldn't just walk in and ask. He couldn't speak the words. His mind, which could now hold the blueprints for a hypercar, was useless here. He was a king with an invisible crown, begging on the street. The irony was a bitter taste in his mouth. He felt the hunger again, a gnawing reminder that for all his power, he was still just a man, trapped and alone.
He kept walking. Each step felt heavier than the last, his feet dragging on the pavement. The street was alive with noise—the honk of a car, the distant wail of a siren. He stumbled, then caught himself, his hand instinctively grabbing a cold metal railing. His gaze drifted to a nearby sign. He saw it then: a stark, black symbol. The federal eagle. His breath hitched.
"So I'm in Germany, huh," he muttered, the words feeling foreign in his own mouth. A small, unexpected spark of hope flickered inside him. This was good. It was more than good. It was the break he needed. "A good start, at least. There are already huge car brands here." Germany. The heart of the automotive world. A sudden, vivid image of a sleek, silver car—its lines sharp and clean—flashed in his mind. And it wasn't just Germany. It was the crossroads of Europe. Italy. France. Sweden. All so close. The thought was a warm, rushing tide.
He pushed open a glass door. The air inside was crisp and cool, a welcome relief from the humid street. A faint, sweet smell of baking bread hung in the air. He was in a mart. The door was modern, sleek. He ran a hand over the smooth, cool surface of the automatic door. A bitter laugh escaped him. Germany. The country he had tried so hard to get into. The country that had rejected his visa, his dreams of studying. He had spent years learning the language, the grammar, the harsh, beautiful sounds. For nothing. Or so he had thought. He had to suppress a laugh. It was a cruel twist of fate. A cosmic joke. The universe had thrown him here, to the one place he had desperately wanted to go, but only after tearing down his old life. He was here, finally. But it was a different kind of here. A new beginning, built on the ashes of an old failure.
He went to the cashier. His stomach twisted into a knot of nerves. The air around the counter was cool and smelled faintly of disinfectant. A young woman, maybe twenty, stood behind the register. Her eyes widened slightly when he approached. She looked at him, not just through him.
"Hello, miss," he said. His German felt rusty, a little stiff on his tongue. "Is there any part-time job available?"
A bright smile bloomed on her face. "Yes, sir, there are part-time jobs available here." Her voice was clear and melodic. "But there are certain requirements."
Lei felt a prickle of unease. "What are the requirements?" The words came out sharper than he intended.
She rattled them off like a memorized list, her smile unwavering. "You must be enrolled in a recognized German institution with a valid student visa or residence permit that allows work, adhere to working hour limits... have mandatory health insurance... and obtain a Tax ID and Social Security Number if you earn over a certain threshold." She paused, then added, "And this is all for students from abroad."
Lei's shoulders slumped. A long, weary sigh escaped his lips. I don't have a single shit that's written as a requirement. The thought was a bitter, self-deprecating stab. He felt a wave of crushing defeat, a cold certainty that this was a dead end.
"Is there any way to work without these?" His voice was low, his frustration barely contained. He clung to a sliver of hope, a desperate, final plea.
"No, sir," she answered immediately. The smile was gone, replaced by a simple, professional politeness. "It's not possible." The finality of her words was a hard, cold thing, a heavy door slamming shut in his face. He felt the weight of it all, the overwhelming, bureaucratic wall that stood between him and survival. He was broke. He was a ghost. And now, he was officially, legally, nothing.
Amenitie, is there something you can do? Lei's mind screamed the words. He walked away from the mart, each step a testament to his frustration. The cold, sterile air of the mart gave way to the humid, exhaust-scented air of the street. You said you'd give me any info...
"I only said about cars and making them," Amenitie's voice was sharp, a cold whisper in his head. The words felt like a slap. "But since I didn't give you a starter pack, here is your stuff. You'll be a local, so be grateful". With that, the voice vanished.
A proper bag—not a shopping bag, but a heavy leather briefcase—materialized in the air right in front of him. It hung there for a split second, a shimmering distortion, before gravity took over. It hit the pavement with a flat, hollow thud. Papers scattered. White sheets, brown envelopes, and official-looking folders spilled across the sidewalk. Lei froze. He was in the middle of a crowd, a bustling tide of people.
He saw the city then, truly saw it. The striking contrasts: a sleek glass building towering over a grimy, graffiti-covered wall. It was Berlin. The details were fixed in his mind. But no one was looking at the buildings. They were looking at him. A hundred pairs of eyes. Shock. Curiosity. A few with open-mouthed awe. He had performed a magic trick.
"Are you a magician?" a high-pitched, teenage voice cut through the stunned silence.
A cold dread washed over him. He felt his face flush. Oh shit. Did they notice it? The frustration he'd felt moments before was gone, replaced by a raw, cold panic. He was exposed. There was no going back. He was no longer just a ghost. He was a spectacle. He felt the eyes on him, a thousand hot pinpricks of light.