Borrowing Money

Dusk walked down to the parking lot and picked up his battered old bicycle before pedaling toward a nearby pawnshop.

It didn't take long before he arrived. In front of him stood a small, inconspicuous building that didn't look the least bit legitimate.

But the more shady a place was, the more he liked it. After all, only these kinds of establishments would be willing to help someone like him right now.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. A burly man covered in menacing tattoos lowered his reading glasses and glanced at him. Seeing a young man with a sturdy build, the kind who probably did manual labor for a living, and judging by the way he carried himself, not particularly well-educated—easy prey. The man figured this might be a good chance to make a tidy profit.

"What are you pawning?" he asked.

"My bike is outside, along with all my IDs," Dusk said plainly. "And I want a high-interest loan on top of that."

The shopkeeper chuckled. "Heh, that's easy. How much do you want? I can give you a decent price for your stuff. But you'd better repay on time, you hear?"

The moment a potential sucker walked in on his own, the shopkeeper's face lit up with glee—though he still put on a serious front. Pawning was just pocket change. In seedy places like this, it was the loan sharking that brought in the real money.

To someone like Dusk—who had lived for far too long—this so-called intimidating shopkeeper was no more dangerous than a child pretending to be a gangster. His threats didn't even come close to the righteous cultivators who once tried to kill him.

"Of course. Business runs on trust. If I don't repay, how would I ever borrow money again?" Dusk replied with a smile so sincere it could melt ice.

The shopkeeper grinned wider. The more honest they seemed, the easier they were to squeeze. Collecting debt from this one would be a piece of cake.

"Give me your address."

"I'm renting room twenty-five in that low-end apartment complex nearby. Here's my lease agreement." Dusk pulled out a folded sheet and handed it over.

The man studied it seriously, then nodded in approval.

"Alright then, how much do you want to borrow?"

"As much as possible."

The answer was short and stupidly blunt—just the way the shopkeeper liked it. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Naïve people who didn't understand the value of money were always the easiest to bleed dry.

He quickly calculated a number that wouldn't scare Dusk off. Not because he cared, of course, but because if the amount seemed too outrageous, the kid might just disappear without paying him back.

"First, tell me what you do for a living."

"I work as a manual laborer. Carrying heavy stuff."

"Your income?"

"I'm paid hourly. Three credits an hour," Dusk answered truthfully.

It was a pitiful wage—barely enough to scrape by. But back then, he had accepted it without question simply because he didn't know any better.

He wasn't a local. He had wandered in from some remote, backward region. Lacking basic knowledge, he'd been easily taken advantage of by shady employers.

Hearing this, the shopkeeper frowned. This guy's stupidity was on another level. Still, it gave him the perfect opportunity to play the "good guy."

"Kid, you've been conned. Minimum wage around here is fifteen credits an hour. How are you going to survive on just three? Go back to your boss and tell him I've got your back. Say, if he doesn't pay up properly, I'll sue him into the ground. That'll scare him straight."

Dusk's eyes welled up with tears at the sudden show of concern. After so many years, this was the first time someone seemed to genuinely care for him. His heart overflowed with gratitude.

At least, that's how Dusk from three hundred years ago would have felt.

The Dusk now? He was just acting.

And he played the part perfectly—tears and all—because the more convincing his performance, the more money he could squeeze out.

The more he cried, the more satisfied the shopkeeper became. Finally, the man smiled kindly and said,

"Alright, how about this—I'll lend you ten thousand credits. Sound good? Your documents look important, so I'll let you keep them. With that amount, you should be able to get your life together."

Of course, the shopkeeper didn't return Dusk's documents out of kindness.

After glancing through the pile, he realized it was all worthless junk. The only thing remotely decent was the government-issued ID, but pawning official IDs was illegal—so it was practically useless too.

Dusk wiped away the steady stream of tears from the corners of his eyes, then bowed deeply.

"Thank you so much. You're the kindest person I've ever met. I swear I'll pay you back in full."

The shopkeeper waved his hand casually, his face beaming with false benevolence, and pulled out a promissory note.

"Sign here, and the money's yours."

Without hesitation, Dusk grabbed the pen and signed.

He hadn't known many words in the past, but after living for three hundred years, if he still couldn't write his own name, he really would be an idiot.

The shopkeeper was thrilled by how casually he signed—people this easy to fool deserved to be scammed again and again.

"Haha, goodbye then! Have a wonderful day," the shopkeeper said cheerfully, handing over the credits and waving at the fat lamb walking out his door.

Dusk kept up his teary, grateful facade until he was out of sight. Then his face turned serious.

'Three hours left. I need to buy all the equipment before the world starts to change. Where to first?'

Weapons are strictly regulated in this era, but a large commercial mall should have something useful.

After making up his mind, Dusk hopped on his battered bicycle and pedaled toward the nearest shopping center.

He didn't actually know which one was the biggest in the city, but this was the closest. It would have to do.

The place was ten stories tall, towering high with polished glass walls—certainly big enough to have what he needed.

'I only need five things: a backpack, water, dried food, a big knife, and rope. Nothing suspicious—just regular camping gear.'

Thinking it through again, he realized he was being overly cautious. None of those items were illegal. In this time period, the only thing that raised red flags was a gun.