We finally left the apartment buildings, and for the first time in years, I was reunited with the world. I hadn't felt the sun in ages, hadn't scented the air in so long. And I have to say—there's nothing nostalgic about any of it.
The pedestrians passing by made me feel a little disoriented. I didn't know I was this sensitive to people. Heather saw me struggling to keep up, so she grasped my hand and led me towards the nearest thrift shop.
In order to distract myself, I called upon my system in my mind.
'Status'
[Mind-Reading System:]
[Ability: Mind Read
Rank: Tier 1
Money In The Bank: $11,700
New Mission: Meet Up With Sarah, And Make Amends.
Mission Rewards:
— $23,000
— Read Her True Thoughts Of What She Really Thinks About You.
Constant Praise:
Heather > 7 Praises.]
I lived for seeing the numbers go up, but I didn't like the new mission listed. What I did to Sarah wasn't that bad, but making amends with her won't be simple.
And it didn't help that this mission implied there would be more people I'd have to reconcile with—especially Dawn. But I can't face her. Not yet. Not ever.
To get ahead of this, I have no choice but to upgrade my rank. The only good thing about these missions is that they don't have time limits or punishments for failing to complete them.
'System, how much will I need to upgrade my rank?'
[$100,000. That's how much you'll need. Please, for the love of the mystical A.I., stop bothering me with questions and just figure things out on your own.]
I take it back. There's nothing useful about a talking system. Even when they're not annoying, they still are. I mean, how was I supposed to figure out the answer to the upgrade? You know what? It doesn't matter.
What matters is that I have a problem. In order to upgrade my rank to Tier 2, I will have to do the system missions. But if they include Dawn in the mix, I won't be able to complete them. I need another plan. A plan that doesn't involve the system's money.
The system said I'll need 100 grand to upgrade it. It said nothing about earning that money only through missions, which means there's a chance I can upgrade with the money I earn myself. The problem is, how do I go about that?
"Is everything fine?" Heather broke me out of my stupor. She looked at me with concern. She was excited a moment ago, and I didn't want to dampen the mood.
"It's fine. I just… haven't been out much for a while, so…" I exhaled and looked ahead. What am I supposed to say?
Heather squeezed my hand, and I turned to her. She gave me a brilliant smile, but it was also sad, somehow.
"You don't have to say anything. I get it." She faced ahead. "Trust me, I do." The last part didn't seem meant for my ears.
Instead of making things better, I made them worse. I'd have to do something.
"Heather, have I ever told you how beautiful you look? Honestly, it's a little distracting."
A faint blush bloomed on her cheeks, and she bumped her shoulder against mine. "Stop joking around, will ya?"
But I was serious. I didn't get to say more before Heather's stray thought infiltrated my mind.
It was my turn to blush. I never thought of myself as beautiful. Pretty, yes. Not beautiful. It's comforting, knowing that despite looking like a skinny corpse, I still have enough charm to make a girl blush.
A notification sounded in my head just as we reached the thrift store. My praise had earned me $100. My money had once again increased, but I still needed more. Wanted more.
When we entered the store, we were met with a cozy atmosphere. Mismatched racks of clothing, rows of shelves, and baskets brimming with various items greeted us.
The hum of quiet conversation, the clatter of hangers sliding along metal rods, and the gentle rustle of people sifting through clothes filled the air.
We were early, but it seemed in the face of cheap stuff, anyone was willing to wake up earlier than the next person. Basically, it was the early bird gets the worm. Not that I cared whether we were late or early.
We ventured deeper into the store, through aisles packed with displays ranging from faded jeans and vintage dresses to unique knick-knacks, old records, and books.
The clothing section offered an assortment of colors, textures, and styles, ranging from retro to modern. Some pieces showed signs of wear—slightly frayed cuffs, faded prints.
But I also noticed some high-quality fabrics, like cashmere sweaters and leather jackets, mixed in with casual T-shirts and coats, all hidden among the racks.
The first thing Heather did was let go of my hand to browse through an array of faded denim, smiling like she'd just found treasure—whereas I saw trash.
Hey, look, I'm not a snob. I didn't grow up in a particularly rich family, but it's safe to say we're well off. So, you might be wondering, why am I obsessed with getting money through the system?
The answer is simple. It's not my money—it's my parents'. With them in mind, I'm trapped, pretending to be the daughter I'm not. The kind of daughter they'd be proud of.
But if I have my own money, I'll be able to pay them back and tell them the truth. I'll have my own source of income, and if they turn their backs on me—impossible as that is—I'm prepared for it.
The other reason for my obsession? I was bored. The system was simply a godsend to cure that.
My eyes wandered toward the home goods section, but I immediately ignored it. We came for clothes, nothing else.
I saw mirrors lining some corners, giving the illusion of more space. Accessories like scarves, hats, and sunglasses were beside the mirrors.
I approached Heather, deciding to follow her lead since I wasn't interested in anything I saw. As she felt the quality of the fabrics, I started to wonder why she desired to own a clothing store.
I touched her shoulder, and she paused to look at me. "Do you have a sec? I want to ask something."
"Oh yes," she got closer. "What is it?"
"What do you really want to achieve through this passion of yours? Sorry to be blunt, but as talented as you are with designing and creating clothes, it doesn't matter if you're obsessed with this eco-friendly nonsense."
She gave me a resigned smile, her eyes holding little to no spark of determination. What I said was probably something she'd been told before. And something she, herself, had realized might be a futile endeavor.
"I just want an eco-friendly clothing line. Is that too much to ask?"
It was almost word-for-word what her yearning thoughts had said. Even so, I couldn't help but wonder—was what she dreamed of too much to ask? What had I dreamed of becoming also too much to ask?
Words sounded in my mind, before I could find an answer to that question.
[Special Mission Alert: Help Heather Open Her Own Clothing Store. Your Reward Is Ranking Your Ability Up To Tier 2.]
Ah, system, you've just given me a brilliant idea of what I need to do to earn money unrelated to you.
'I guess it's time for my game-obsessed brain to start working overtime.'
I glanced at my reflection in one of the mirrors by the corners, and the first thing I noticed was how my lips had curved into a hideous smile. I felt the pounding of my heart, filled with a rush of excitement.
I'd finally found something interesting to do.