Rick sat on a wooden bench in the town square, staring at nothing in particular with the kind of expression usually reserved for people who had just realized they'd accidentally deleted their entire thesis paper. Around him, the bustling life of Millbrook continued. Merchants hawked their wares, children played, adventurers strutted past in shiny armor, and Rick sat there like a statue of depression.
"This is pathetic," he muttered.
"I'm inclined to agree," Ace said, floating lazily beside him.
"I'm immortal. I have magical powers. I have a quest to obtain the ultimate artifact in this world." Rick gestured weakly at the Adventurer's Guild building across the square, a large stone structure with a wooden sign depicting a sword and shield. "And I can't even afford to register at the guild because I don't have five copper coins."
"Technically, you could work off the entrance fee first."
"With what? I need to be registered to take official quests. It's a catch-22."
"I need money to register, but I need to be registered to make money." Rick slumped further into the bench. "I'm going to die here."
"Not from monsters or dungeons, but from poverty and bureaucracy."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being realistic. Look at this." Rick pointed at a food stall where a vendor was selling meat skewers that smelled absolutely incredible. "I'm hungry. I can't buy food."
"That clothing shop over there? Can't afford new clothes. That inn with the cozy-looking rooms? Definitely can't afford a bed." He ran his hands through his hair. "I'm going to have to sleep in an alley like a medieval homeless person."
Ace spun thoughtfully. "You could try begging."
"I have some dignity left."
"Do you though?"
"Okay, fair point, but still no."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching people go about their lives. A group of adventurers emerged from the guild, laughing and counting coins.
One of them was wearing armor that probably cost more than Rick's entire previous life's salary. Another had a sword that literally glowed with magical energy.
"Everyone here has money except me," Rick said miserably. "How does anyone start as an adventurer if you need money to begin with?"
"Most people come from families who can sponsor them, or they work normal jobs first to save up, or they join a party with someone who already has funds."
"Great. So I'm supposed to go work at a tavern for three months washing dishes just to afford registration?"
"That's actually not a terrible plan."
Rick groaned and let his head fall back against the bench. Above him, the sky was turning orange with sunset.
Soon it would be dark, and he'd have to figure out where to sleep. The thought of spending his first night in a fantasy world huddled behind someone's barn was almost too depressing to contemplate.
"This isn't how isekai stories are supposed to go," he complained. "The protagonist is supposed to get special treatment, not get stuck in poverty simulator."
"Life isn't an anime, Master Rick."
"Clearly."
Rick's stomach growled loudly, as if to emphasize his predicament. He hadn't eaten since before his death in his previous world, which felt like both yesterday and a lifetime ago. The smell from the food stalls was torture.
"I could try stealing," Rick said without much conviction.
"And get arrested? That's not going to help."
"At least prison probably includes meals."
"You're really spiraling here."
Rick was about to respond when something caught his eye. In the center of the square, there was a decorative fountain. Water bubbled up from a stone sculpture of what looked like a fish with way too many fins, and at the bottom of the fountain's pool, glinting in the fading sunlight, were coins.
Dozens of them. Copper, silver, even what might have been gold. People had apparently been tossing coins into the fountain, probably making wishes or following some local tradition. And there they sat, just underwater, doing absolutely nothing.
"Ace," Rick said slowly. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
"If you're seeing a fountain full of money that technically belongs to the town or some deity, then yes."
"That's a lot of coins."
"That's stealing from a wishing fountain. It's considered extremely bad luck and possibly sacrilegious."
Rick stared at the fountain. Then at the guild. Then back at the fountain. His brain, desperate and creative in equal measure, started working through a very stupid idea.
"What if," Rick said carefully, "and hear me out on this. What if I didn't steal the coins?"
"I'm listening with extreme skepticism."
"What if I died getting the coins? Like, I swallow a bunch of them, choke to death, and when I respawn, the coins come with me because they're technically inside my body when I die."
There was a long pause. A very long pause. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped. A cart rolled past. The fountain continued to babble innocently.
"That," Ace said finally, "is the stupidest, most desperate, most absolutely ridiculous plan I have ever heard."
"But would it work?"
Another pause. "I genuinely don't know. The system has never encountered someone trying to exploit the respawn mechanic for petty theft."
"It might work. The coins might respawn with you since they're part of your death circumstances. Or they might just disappear. Or you might respawn and immediately choke again on phantom coins. It's completely unpredictable."
"So there's a chance."
"There's a chance you'll die choking on fountain coins for nothing."
"I've died for less." Rick stood up, his depression suddenly replaced with manic determination. "I'm doing it."
"Master Rick, I really think you should reconsider."
"I've made up my mind. This is happening." Rick walked toward the fountain with purpose. A few people glanced at him curiously, but nobody paid much attention to a broke-looking foreigner approaching the town's fountain. That would change very shortly.
Rick peered into the water. There had to be at least fifty coins down there, maybe more. If even half of them came back with him, that would be more than enough to register and get some basic supplies.
"For the record," Ace said, "I am officially advising against this course of action."
"Noted and ignored." Rick rolled up his sleeve and reached into the fountain.
The water was cold, which was somehow surprising even though it obviously would be. His fingers closed around a handful of coins. Then another handful. Then another.
People were definitely staring now. A woman with a basket of vegetables stopped mid-step. A child pointed and said something to his mother. Rick ignored them all, scooping up coins and shoving them into his pockets, down his shirt, anywhere he could store them.
"Sir? Sir, what are you doing?" A guard was approaching, hand on his sword hilt. "That's the fountain of the Town's Fortune! You can't just take the offerings!"
"Sorry, emergency situation!" Rick grabbed one more handful of coins.
He now had approximately thirty coins of various denominations distributed around his body and a guard rapidly closing in. Time for the stupid part.
Rick shoved a coin into his mouth. Then another. Then another. They were bigger than he expected, and his cheeks bulged like a deranged chipmunk. The guard broke into a run, shouting something about sacrilege and arrest.
"Here goes nothing!" Rick said around a mouthful of metal, and then he swallowed.
Immediately, he realized his mistake. Coins were not meant to be swallowed. They were large, hard, and decidedly not shaped for human digestion.
The first one lodged in his throat. The second one tried to follow. The third one created a traffic jam that would have made rush hour look organized.
Rick's eyes went wide. His hands went to his throat. He tried to cough, but nothing happened. He tried to breathe, but the coins had other ideas.
"Oh no," Ace said with surprising calm for someone watching their master choke to death in a public fountain.
Rick stumbled backward, his face turning red, then purple. The guard reached him but stopped, unsure how to handle a man dying from self-inflicted coin ingestion. Other people were gathering now, some trying to help, others just watching in horrified fascination.
His health bar dropped rapidly. Ninety, eighty, seventy. The world started to go fuzzy around the edges. Rick fell to his knees, still clutching his throat, still unable to breathe.
Fifty, forty, thirty. Someone was slapping his back, but it was too late. The coins had won.
Twenty, ten, five. Rick's last thought before darkness took him was that this was somehow even more embarrassing than the banana peel incident.
Zero.
Rick died in the town square, choking on stolen fountain coins, in front of at least two dozen witnesses. Thirty seconds later, he respawned in the same spot, gasping for air that his lungs suddenly remembered how to process. He was on his hands and knees, coughing reflexively even though his throat was clear.
And then he heard it. The beautiful, wonderful, slightly muffled sound of metal clinking.
Rick patted his pockets. They were full. He reached into his shirt. More coins. He had respawned with every single coin he'd managed to stuff into his clothing.
"It worked," he breathed. "It actually worked."
"I can't believe it worked," Ace said, sounding genuinely shocked.
The crowd that had gathered was now backing away slowly, making religious gestures and looking at Rick like he was either blessed or cursed, possibly both. The guard who had been chasing him stood frozen, his mouth hanging open.
Rick stood up, coins jingling with every movement, and turned to face the crowd with a slightly manic grin.
"So," he said brightly, "anyone know where I can get this changed into proper currency?"