The condescension, the avoidance, the barrage of criticisms—it all painted a vivid picture of his standing, a portrait he had long grown weary of.
Viktor's indifference remained unwavering, a shield against the judgment of others. "They're just like those business books I've been buying and reading. Full of empty words and hollow promises," he muttered in silence, his words laced with a mix of exasperation and cynicism.
"And let's face it, in the world we live in now, what holds more power than money and status? Nothing. 'Work your way up from the bottom,' they say—the consoling words of the affluent to those ensnared in the clutches of structural poverty," he continued, his lips moving in a tight-lipped silence that mirrored his growing disillusionment.
***
After concluding his basic classes for the day, Viktor seized the opportunity to head towards the unpretentious bookstore.
Nestled in a corner of the bustling city, it bore the unremarkable façade of a forgotten treasure trove. Its windows, adorned with aging posters and quaint trinkets, peeked out with an inviting curiosity that belied its quiet exterior.
The modest bookstore exuded an air of timelessness, as if it were a sanctuary for knowledge seekers who yearned for a more introspective and unhurried experience.
The scent of aged pages mingled with the earthy aroma of wood, creating an atmosphere that was at once nostalgic and comforting.
Dim lighting cast a warm glow upon the shelves, beckoning visitors to immerse themselves in the treasures that lay within.
Guided by his unquenchable thirst for knowledge, Viktor perused the shelves, his eyes scanning the titles with a mixture of anticipation and intrigue.
His fingers brushed against the spines of countless volumes, each one a potential gateway to the extraordinary, the arcane, and the mysterious.
Finally, his relentless search led him to a corner of the store, where a weathered book with a faded cover caught his attention.
The title, "How to communicate with a demon goddess," was emblazoned in aged gold letters, its presence seemingly calling out to him from the shelf.
The book seemed to resonate with the very essence of his quest, promising the answers he so fervently sought.
Approaching the counter, Viktor faced the elderly owner of the bookstore, a figure whose appearance seemed to mirror the timeless charm of the store itself.
The owner's eyes held a glimmer of wisdom that had been cultivated over years spent surrounded by the written word.
His hands, calloused from years of handling precious tomes, handled each transaction with a quiet reverence for the knowledge that passed through his store.
"I'd like to buy this book," Viktor said, his voice carrying a tone of determination and intrigue.
The owner's knowing smile seemed to suggest that he recognized the significance of Viktor's choice, as if he were privy to the young man's unspoken quest for enlightenment and understanding.
"How to communicate with a demon goddess? Are you serious about buying this, young man?" The elderly gentleman, his appearance as antiquated as the store itself, peered at Viktor through his thick spectacles.
The air around him seemed untouched by the passage of time, a haven where dust had settled on nearly every bookshelf, becoming a testament to the years that had gone by.
"Yes, is there a problem with that? Don't you intend to sell it? The money's not too bad for a leisurely addition to your uneventful retirement days."
A soft chuckle escaped the elderly man, his laughter tinged with a hint of resignation. "No, no. I'm just old, and this book is old too. Some of its pages have succumbed to age. I thought, who would ever buy a book like this?"
"Well, I'm buying it out of curiosity, that's all."
The elderly man nodded knowingly, his eyes reflecting a wellspring of wisdom accumulated over the years.
As the transaction concluded and the payment exchanged hands, his parting words lingered in the air, planting seeds of doubt in Viktor's mind. "Young man, you won't do anything dreadful out of mere curiosity or interest, will you?"
A moment of silence hung in the air before the elderly man chuckled to himself. "Ah, what am I talking about?"
mystical things like this?" Viktor joined in the laughter.
The old man fell silent for a moment. "I believe."
Viktor was taken aback. "You do?"
"But I am old. The youth of today never listen to the words of the elderly. They believe in anything, even hoaxes on social media and the internet. But they don't believe in their elders. Elders these days no longer give advice to the young." The old man spoke as if reflecting on his own experiences.
"Here, your book. I'll give you a big discount. Use the leftover money to buy some milk and fatten up that skinny body of yours!" The old man handed back a handful of small change to Viktor's outstretched palm.
Viktor laughed. "Thank you. I'll pay you back tenfold when I'm rich."
"Sure, sure, but only if I'm still alive."
"You'll be around for at least another 10 years!"
The old man nodded, a smile playing on his lips.
Leaving the bookstore, Viktor found himself engrossed in a whirlwind of thoughts, the old man's words echoing in his mind like a persistent refrain.
They had injected a seed of doubt into his otherwise steadfast resolve, causing his steps to feel heavier as he navigated the streets towards his boarding house.
With each footfall, he mulled over the implications of the old man's cautionary words. What if his pursuit of the arcane and the mystical led him down a treacherous path?
What if his curiosity sparked consequences beyond his control?
The allure of the unknown and the promise of hidden knowledge warred with the apprehensions that now gnawed at his thoughts.
Arriving back at his modest lodging, Viktor's internal turmoil was momentarily eased by the silence that enveloped the space.
His breath hitched in a sigh of temporary relief before the tranquility was shattered by the arrival of the landlady.
"Now, instead of getting on my nerves with all your strange behaviors, you better leave," she spat out her words with a cold, unforgiving edge.