Early spring.
Cherry Blossom Province, Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo.
Late at night.
"Hiss… it's freezing."
On the nearly deserted street, Ryoma Takeuchi tightened the scarf around his neck after another round of overtime. The night breeze of early spring still carried winter's bite, seeping straight into his bones.
If he had the luxury, he would have ducked into a warm izakaya, ordered skewers fresh off the grill, and washed away his exhaustion with a mug of beer. Unfortunately, reality was crueler. His wallet was empty, next month's rent loomed overhead, and his paycheck barely stretched far enough to keep him afloat.
That fantasy died before it even formed.
"Pathetic…"
He lifted his gaze toward the neon-lit skyline, and his thoughts drifted back a few months—to graduation. Back then, he had naively believed that once he left school, he would step straight into a reputable animation studio and start chasing his dream.
Reality had answered him mercilessly.
An ordinary university graduate. No connections. No experience. No company willing to take him.
"So what was I even doing back then…" Ryoma muttered. "Instead of learning something 'useful,' I chose to draw."
He lowered his head and stared at his hands. Once pale and clean, they were now rough, scarred, and covered in calluses—proof of long hours of menial work rather than artistic creation.
"If I could choose again," he said with a bitter laugh, "I'd never pick painting. Dreams don't put food on the table. Living does."
The thought lingered for a moment, then faded. Regret was a luxury he couldn't afford. Tomorrow, he still had work.
He quickened his pace toward home.
"Yes. You can choose again—if you want to."
The voice came out of nowhere.
A figure emerged from the empty street as if stepping out of an illusion. Short black hair, clear eyes that seemed oddly expressive, and a gentle, friendly smile.
Ryoma froze.
It wasn't the appearance that terrified him—it was how the boy appeared. An empty street, late at night, and someone manifesting out of thin air…
Every monster legend he'd ever heard as a child surged back into his mind.
"S-save me! Help!" Ryoma screamed. "There's a monster! Don't eat me!"
He turned to flee, but exhaustion betrayed him. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold pavement, fear locking his body in place.
"…Who said I was going to eat you?"
Lu Nian stared at the man flailing on the ground like a salted fish and sighed.
What was wrong with this guy? Didn't he hear a word just now?
"Huh?" Ryoma peeked up cautiously. "Mr. Yokai… you don't eat people?"
"First," Lu Nian replied calmly, "I'm not even sure I'm the 'monster' you're imagining. Second, I don't eat humans."
Without waiting for permission, Lu Nian grabbed Ryoma by the arm and hauled him up. He guided him away from the street and toward a nearby park. Judging from the earlier screaming, the police would arrive any minute.
By the time they stopped, trees surrounded them and the distant city lights were muted.
"Well…" Ryoma forced a stiff smile and subtly put some distance between them. "Mr. Yokai, what exactly do you want from me?"
Despite his fear, Ryoma understood one thing clearly—the other party meant no harm. If this strange boy wanted him dead, there would have been no resistance.
And Ryoma was just an ordinary person. There was nothing special about him… right?
Unless—
His mind snapped back to the sentence he had heard earlier.
You can choose again.
Ryoma looked up sharply.
"Th-that thing you said earlier," he asked cautiously. "Was it true?"
"Can I really choose again?"
Images flooded his mind—redoing high school, fixing mistakes, walking a completely different path. Years of anime, novels, and childish fantasies surged to the surface.
Lu Nian clicked his tongue.
"Wake up," he said bluntly. "Even if I could reverse time and send you back, you couldn't afford the price."
The fantasy shattered instantly.
"…Then what did you mean?" Ryoma asked awkwardly, rubbing his hands as he stepped closer.
"It's simple." Lu Nian smiled. "A deal. A perfectly fair deal."
He raised a finger and lightly tapped Ryoma's forehead.
A white card materialized in midair.
At the top was Ryoma Takeuchi's portrait. Below it, lines of neatly listed information appeared.
Lifespan: 63 years — Value: 6.3 Origin Points
Ordinary soul — Value: 10 Origin Points
Emotions — Each emotional value: 1 Origin Point
Drawing Skill LV2 — Value: 2 Origin Points
...
Ryoma took the card with trembling hands.
From lifespan to soul, memories, skills—even individual body parts—everything had been assigned a value. At the bottom were concepts he could barely comprehend: self-awareness, existence, presence.
It was a complete pricing of his entire being.
"What… is this?" he whispered.
"As you can see," Lu Nian said lightly, "this is everything you can trade. I'm just a store manager. With me, anything can be exchanged—as long as it has value."
The wind rustled through the leaves. Dawn's pale light crept over the horizon, grounding Ryoma in reality.
"So it wasn't a dream…"
The drawing skills he had honed for over a decade—etched into muscle memory and instinct—were gone. In their place was knowledge practical enough to survive in this world.
Yet deep in his chest, an inexplicable sense of loss quietly remained.
_____________________
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