Chapter 2: Deposit Box

Elias Crane woke with a slight shiver. He was of decent height, with short, raven-black hair and dark-blue eyes that still felt groggy from interrupted sleep. A chilly wind blew in through his open window, and he realized he'd forgotten to shut it before drifting off.

"Seriously… what was that mess?" he murmured, recalling his dream—still so vivid it felt as though it had happened only moments ago. "Claw… that ridiculous mask… and a mysterious woman with a gun… My dreams are getting out of hand, Tsk!"

He slid the old window shut with a clatter. Immediately, the late-night clamoring from the street stalls below grew more muffled, and the wind's chill stopped biting at his skin. At least his modest bedroom felt a bit cozier now.

Elias poured himself a cup of hot water, sipped, then turned back to the window. Even though the moon was still bright, his mind refused to settle down. He kept thinking about that bank vault from his dream, the row of safety deposit boxes, and that single box etched with his own name.

"What on earth is in there?!" he wondered aloud.

***

Elias had dreamed the same dream every single night since birth. No matter where he fell asleep or how his day had gone, he always reappeared in that same, sprawling city square the moment he drifted off.

Strange because he'd never encountered a place like it in reality. Familiar because two decades of reliving it made him as knowledgeable about it as any local—every bench, every tree, every friendly or not-so-friendly face.

When he was young, it terrified him. It felt like an eternal loop, a prison of the same day over and over. People who died in front of him in one dream would be alive and well the next night, the slate wiped clean by the time the dream's clock hit 00:42 a.m., which always jerked him awake at exactly the same moment in real life.

He discovered a trick: if he stayed awake in reality past 00:42 a.m., he could avoid the dream entirely, granting him a normal, dreamless sleep. As a child, he used that strategy just to dodge the nightmarish repetition.

But once he hit middle school, something changed. He realized that within the dream, actions had no consequences:

If he got too reckless or died, he'd simply wake up.

He could break rules without fear of punishment.

He could try anything—illicit street racing, high-risk stunts—and none of it affected his waking life beyond giving him the rush of adventure.

During that time, he honed his reflexes so thoroughly that he became a real-life parkour champ, winning three consecutive youth competitions in his city. Teachers marveled at how this otherwise ordinary boy had such extraordinary body control and stamina.

Eventually, he grew older—now 23—and he no longer found random hobbies so appealing. Instead, he spent these dream-nights wandering, exploring new angles of a world that, despite replaying the same day endlessly, was surprisingly vast.

Yet until last night, he'd never once seen that bank vault. He'd certainly robbed banks in the dream before, back when he was younger and wilder—but the particular chamber brimming with rows of deposit boxes was a first. One of them bore his name, which wasn't surprising in itself (he was the "main character," in a sense), but what did surprise him was:

"Why didn't my birthday work as the combination?" he wondered. "It's always 19990320…"

He finished his hot water, savoring the warmth it brought. 19990320 was his standard password for just about everything—simple, familiar, easy to remember. Yet in that dream, the deposit box refused to open.

Just then, his phone chirped with a message from the office group chat. Even at nearly 1 a.m., his colleagues were buzzing about a morning meeting. Elias sighed, typed a quick acknowledgement—because while he might break every rule in his dreams, real-world responsibilities wouldn't let him off the hook so easily.

"Time to sleep," he muttered. He set an alarm for the early morning, tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and burrowed into his blankets.

***

Bang!

Lily Jones, the design lead, slammed a folder onto the conference table at 9:15 a.m., staring down her team in the third-floor meeting room.

"I told you last night," she hissed, "that Mr. Harrington wants to see your proposals this morning. And yet you give me this? Nonsense!"

She waved a design sketch in the air. "We're aiming for a youthful, girly brand—something bright and fresh—and you submit a fox-girl in black stockings wagging her tail?!" She dropped the paper onto the table with a slap. "It looks like fan art from a cheap website!"

Then she turned to another coworker near Elias. "And your rabbit design? Sure, it's a bunny, but it's wearing a giant floral scarf and a bulky coat! We need fun, modern styles. My grandma's more stylish than your bunny!"

Lily exhaled, visibly frustrated. "Ms. Harrington spelled out exactly what we need: something along the lines of Hello Kitty—simple, instantly recognizable, minimal details."

Off to the side, a heavier-set coworker muttered, "They want the next Hello Kitty but pay peanuts…"

Lily's head snapped around. "What was that?!"

"N-nothing, Lily!" He looked down, trembling.

While Lily ranted, Elias half-listened, twirling a pen in his fingers. His thoughts drifted to his dream—Claw, the locked deposit box, and that eight-digit code that stubbornly refused to open. Lily's mention of a kitty mascot reminded him of the cat mask from his dream. Though crudely drawn, it had a distinct charm with only a few simple lines.

Absentmindedly, he took a blank sheet of paper and sketched that dream cat face. Even in a rough doodle, it seemed energetic and appealing.

"Hey…?" whispered the coworker beside him, leaning closer. "Elias, what're you drawing?"