Chapter 14: In Plain Sight

I surreptitiously slip into the narrow alley behind my apartment, intent on retrieving the brooch and using whatever means I have at my disposal to strengthen my cultivation. Just because I "sold" those rings—and received money for them—doesn't mean I'm happy with how that turned out.

To put it bluntly, I was robbed by some rich asshole who tossed me a few bucks on a whim. But what was I supposed to do... fight him? It was clear how that would go, and while I might be stubborn, I'm not stupid. Things can be replaced, but my life can't.

But that doesn't mean I'm just going to let it go. I collect the brooch from its hiding spot under an inconspicuous rock, making sure no one's around. Glancing up at my kitchen's second-story window, I wish I could simply leap up there—but I can't. Not yet, at least.

I need to get stronger, to protect myself, to be able to do what I want. Now that I have some money and know how to make more, the first thing tomorrow, I'll send in my resignation. With $2,600 in cash, $1,200 in silver coins, and another $1,000 in my checking account—that's $4,800 altogether—and if I really pinch my pennies, that'll get me through nearly five months if I have to.

Working would only waste my time. No matter what I have to do, by hook or by crook, I'll find a way to pay the bills. I need to focus on what really matters—cultivating.

Once in my apartment, I move through the dimly lit living room without turning on the lights. I pause briefly at the kitchen window, making a silent promise to myself to get strong enough to come and go from there as I please. It's a strange goal, maybe, but isn't that how all powerful cultivators in those stories come and go? Miraculously leaping from balconies? I may not have a balcony, but a second-story window will do, right?

Besides, there's still that brick wall about as tall as a first story. So maybe that dream isn't so far off, after all. Who knows?

Plopping down onto my bed, I kick off my shoes, cross my legs, and scoot toward the center. Holding the brooch in one hand, I rest my other hand on my knee, ignoring the strange sensations it gives off. I focus on trying to "peer inside it."

There has to be something to this creepy thing. There's definitely power, but the question is… how do I access it?

And then, I see it—a dimly lit "room," if you could call it that, filled with a faint haze, almost like morning fog. It's hard to make out the sparse contents, but a few things are scattered about. Intrigued, I keep focusing inward, and gradually, the fog recedes.

I feel myself synchronizing with the brooch. The room gradually becomes clear. There are a few piles of unrecognizable things—at least to me. They look like dusty old tomes, some small stones that seem to glow faintly, and a short sword leaning in the corner. There's even some rotted food and a few jugs of who knows what, still corked and collecting dust.

My interest is drawn to one of those glowing stones, each no larger than a small pebble and as smooth as a river stone. Focusing on it, I feel a weird connection. Almost as if I could touch it. In fact, it feels like it's in my hand; I'd swear I was holding it. But then, the stone vanishes from my view, as if an unseen hand plucked it from the pile.

I tighten my grip on what should be an empty hand—only to find I'm actually holding that very stone I'd been staring at moments ago.

Wait—could this mean… is this a storage ring… or rather, a storage brooch?

My mind reels in shock, realizing the treasure I'd found and left outside with a worthless pile of silver—at least worthless compared to this fantastic brooch! There's no way I'll let it out of my sight again.

But even as I think that, my mind wanders back to that ruthless old fool who robbed me. What if I'd had the brooch then? He'd have taken it too, even if I fought back. What could I have done?

If only there were a way to access this remotely—wait, remotely? Isn't that basically what this brooch is doing? Well… how remote can it get?

I try to test the brooch and its hidden space, but despite my best efforts, I'm met with failure after failure. I quickly conclude that if I'm not physically holding the brooch, I can't retrieve anything. And unless I'm holding the brooch and touching what I want to store, I can't put it in, either.

Frustration seeps in. This magical brooch—this storage brooch—what good is it if it makes me an even bigger target for thieves? That old man found me once; who's to say he couldn't find me again? And who knows how many other cultivators could be around in this town?

Agitated, I kick the wall, only to yelp as pain shoots through my foot. I'd forgotten I'd taken my shoes off. Who kicks a wall barefoot? As I hop around, trying to bounce the pain away, I realize it doesn't hurt as much as it should. Maybe my modest achievements in cultivation have made me slightly more durable, though my wall didn't fare as well. Frowning at the dent, I mutter, "That's definitely coming out of my deposit."

Wait… If I can't take the brooch with me, I'll leave it at home. But if I'm worried about it at home, I just need to hide it! I'll keep it hidden in plain sight.

I rummage around under the bathroom sink until I find the old electrical outlet I'd replaced. I learned the hard way that asking the apartment manager for repairs meant they'd show up whenever they felt like it—usually when it was least convenient. So, I'd just turned off the breaker and handled it myself when the outlet went out.

The wiring was fine, but the switch that reset it was broken. You get what you pay for, I guess, and the landlord here is pretty cheap… wouldn't surprise me if she got it secondhand!

Using a steak knife from the kitchen, I carefully cut out a rectangle in the wall where my foot made its dent, then installed my "new" outlet over it. I took it back off, set the brooch inside the wall, and reinstalled the outlet, grinning. No one would be the wiser.

And don't think I forgot about masking the brooch's energy. Like I'd learned with storing it in that hollowed out rock, I tested a few things, and it turned out that placing an overturned ceramic mug over it blocked its energy from being sensed.

Satisfied with my new hiding spot, I turn my attention to the shiny stone I'd retrieved from the brooch. If this isn't one of those fabled spirit stones, then I'll change my last name! If "Nathan Stone" can't pick out an extraordinary stone, what right do I have to be a "Stone" at all? I might as well be Nathan Wood.