Payout

Lucen sat on the floor with his arms resting on his knees.

The chair was still dead.

Bent halfway sideways against the wall like it was trying to fold itself into retirement.

He stared at it without blinking for a full minute.

No smoke. No system error. No flames shooting from the ceiling.

Just a chair with the structural integrity of a wet sandwich.

He leaned his head back until it bumped the edge of the bed frame.

'Alright. That worked a little too well.'

The glyph logic had held. The seal function didn't misfire. The branch activated on a grounded target just like he'd built it.

And now his only chair looked like it owed the jungle money.

He let his eyes drift to the ceiling.

One thin crack traced from the corner near the window to the center light. Curved slightly, like a drawn line that lost its nerve halfway through.

He remembered that crack from the first night here.

Still hadn't figured out if it was from water damage or just the building giving up.

The radiator hissed in the corner like it wanted applause for existing.

Lucen didn't move.

Didn't speak.

The silence had weight to it.

Not oppressive. Just… normal.

Normal for this place.

'Three spells. At level two. And I just used one of them to obliterate the only piece of furniture I trusted.'

He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the sink.

The cup of noodles was still sitting there, untouched since the spell test.

He dumped it in the trash.

Half the water had boiled off. The rest had turned into a paste that definitely wasn't soup anymore.

The fridge groaned when he opened it.

One expired egg. Two half-empty bottles of water. Something in the back wrapped in foil that had probably evolved into a new species by now.

He closed the door.

Leaned both hands on the counter.

Stared at the peeling paint on the cabinet below the sink.

'It's always like this. Come back from something insane, and nothing's changed. The fridge still sucks. The lights still flicker. The bed's still too short and smells like dust and old mana wire.'

He crossed the room, dropped onto the bed, and let himself fall backward with a soft grunt.

The mattress accepted him like it didn't care.

He reached for the tablet on the nightstand and pulled it into his lap.

Still no payout notification.

No credit alert. No message. No one said good job for not dying.

He sighed.

'Figures. Two working sigils, and the city's gonna take eighteen hours to decide if I qualify for lunch money.'

He tapped the edge of the tablet without looking at it and he started scrolling through old pictures.

Letting his thoughts drift a little.

Not on purpose.

They just went.

'Mom worked in district logistics. Not a combat class. Something with pattern arrays. Routing spells through collapsed wards. She used to say mana liked her. Said it listened.'

He closed his eyes.

'Dad was a repair handler. Field work. Bad knees, worse posture, fixed broken gate carts with a screwdriver and whatever swear words were nearby.'

The last time he saw them was through a window.

Rain on the glass.

Flash of red lights.

Mana spill glowing against the pavement like blood that forgot to stop pulsing.

They were gone fast.

Officially an accident.

Unofficially? A quiet shrug.

The city didn't investigate system sync failures if the death count stayed under three.

Lucen had been twelve.

He remembered the silence more than anything else.

After that, there were meetings.

Forms.

Brief stays with people who offered couches and side-eye.

Nothing stuck.

Eventually someone from East Fleura Support Services handed him a key.

"You'll be fine," they said.

That was five years ago.

He'd been here ever since.

Lucen opened his eyes.

Stared at the wall across from him.

The paint was peeling in the top corner. It curled inward like it didn't want to be here anymore.

'Three spells now. And none of them help with rent.'

He pulled the system interface back up.

The forge flickered quietly in the background.

Waiting.

Like it knew this was just the start.

—

The tablet vibrated in his lap.

Lucen opened one eye.

The screen lit up.

[NOTIFICATION – EASTBRIDGE FIELD OFFICE]

[Sigil Grading Complete]

Result: Grade C and Grade D

Payout Approved

+180.00 cr transferred to primary account

Note: Please avoid unregistered solo entries in the future. Violators may be fined or assigned safety counseling.

Lucen stared at the message for five full seconds.

Then read it again.

'C and D? That's actually decent. I thought for sure one of them was gonna turn out to be magical lawn fertilizer.'

He tapped to open his balance tab.

[Current Funds: 194.26 cr]

He sat up straighter.

Not all the way. Just enough to feel like someone with options.

'Alright. That's gear money. Cheap gear. Very used gear. But gear.'

He stood and stretched.

The mattress tried to take the blanket with him.

He kicked it free, pulled his jacket from the hook by the door, and checked the lining. Still intact. Still hiding the case slot stitched in behind the left pocket.

It had taken him three months to add that by hand.

'Never trust your loot to visible storage. Someone will always be faster than your reflexes.'

He slipped the tablet into the outer pouch and opened the browser tab again.

He searched up starter-tier caster gear cheap bulk purchase.

The results were sixteen ads, three broken links, one listing for a gently used mana conduit that looked like a hollowed-out spark plug.

He narrowed it.

Then searched glyph stabilizer glove, price filter was under 100cr

Three results.

All sketchy.

He tapped the top one.

It took him to a secondhand forum called BlueSocket and the tagline was..

"We verify 40% of sellers, 100% of the time…"

He squinted at the photo.

The glove was cracked near the index finger. The power relay rune was scratched. The review said, "Works fine unless you use it."

Lucen leaned back against the wall.

'I should probably save it. Realistically. But then again, what kind of fool finds out he can build split-path custom spells and doesn't immediately start upgrading his spellcasting interface?'

He opened the spell list again.

Tension Mark still hovered in the archive, calm and ominous.

[Branch Structure: Active]

[Modifier Tree: Locked]

[Stability Rating: 53%]

He scrolled down to the system's material request log.

There it was.

[Suggested Stabilization Tools:]

– Precision grip casting glove

– Arc-glyph liner (1-slot)

– Insulated relay threads (basic tier)

He checked the prices.

The glove alone was 120cr at baseline.

The good kind.

The kind that wouldn't start melting during use.

He exhaled through his nose.

'So I can buy half a glove. Or a busted one and a sandwich. Or I sit on the cash like a miser and keep casting with raw hands and a prayer.'

He stared at the screen a little longer.

Then closed the tab.

Pushed the tablet to the side.

Walked across the room and looked out the window.

Third floor. Brick wall view. Tiny sliver of purple-gray evening sky between two crooked buildings.

'It's never simple. Not the magic. Not the money. Not the part where you're supposed to be grateful for every credit that lands in your lap like it wasn't earned through blood and moss and broken chairs.'

He let the curtain fall back into place.

Then turned.

And opened the gear tab again.

'Alright. Fine. Maybe I'll start with the glove.'