A new day.
Ryan walked briskly down the street, clutching a folder containing photos of the ebony cabinet. This folder represented his hopes for the day. He was headed to a small antique shop he'd researched online, one that had a decent reputation in the local antique circles. Though it wasn't a large operation, it was well-regarded for its collection. As he walked, Ryan thought to himself: If I can sell this cabinet, I wonder what kind of reward the system will give me.
As Ryan pushed open the door, a small bell above jingled lightly. The shop interior was well-organized, filled with carefully arranged antique furniture, porcelain, oil paintings, and even a few old weapon replicas. A soft classical melody played in the background, giving the place an air of sophistication.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man dressed in a neatly tailored suit, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He was polishing an ornate porcelain piece with a cloth, his demeanor calm and collected. He glanced up briefly when Ryan entered, his gaze carrying a subtle trace of disdain, before turning his attention back to the porcelain.
"Hi there," Ryan began, straightening his posture as he approached the counter. He placed the folder on the counter and opened it. "I have a piece of furniture I'd like you to take a look at. It's an antique ebony cabinet—"
The man interrupted him before he could finish. Without even glancing at the photo, he raised a hand and said curtly, "We don't accept items from external sources."
Ryan blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "But you haven't even looked at it yet. Don't you think it's worth at least checking to see if it's valuable?"
The man finally met his gaze, his tone laced with impatience. "I've already told you. We have a strict policy: no external items. I suggest you try somewhere else."
His eyes swept over Ryan's attire—a worn jacket and scuffed shoes—and the judgment in his expression was unmistakable. To him, Ryan must have looked like just another desperate person trying to pass off junk as treasure.
Ryan's frustration simmered beneath the surface. He knew full well that many of the shop's prized items came from local collectors selling pieces to tide them over financially. The shop's supposed "policy" was likely just an excuse. Clearly, the man had taken one look at Ryan and decided he couldn't possibly own anything worthwhile.
The man resumed polishing the porcelain, adding dismissively, "Rules are rules."
That final remark stung. It was a cold, unyielding rejection. Ryan had no choice but to gather his folder and leave. As he stepped out, the doorbell chimed again, but this time, it sounded more like a sneer than a welcome.
Refusing to give up, Ryan paused at the street corner and took a deep breath. After quickly checking his phone, he decided to head to another antique shop. This one was more established and well-known, with a reputation for professionalism and a higher-end inventory.
The shop's interior was spacious, its walls adorned with vintage oil paintings and its floors lined with polished furniture. Every item exuded quality and care. Ryan's nerves kicked in as he stepped inside, but he steadied himself and approached the counter.
A friendly young staff member greeted him and, after hearing his request, escorted him to the store owner—a sharp-looking older gentleman with neatly combed white hair and an air of quiet authority.
"Are you looking to sell this piece of furniture?" the owner asked, taking the photo from Ryan's hands and examining it closely. His sharp eyes scanned the image, and a faint smile crossed his face. "The material and craftsmanship look impressive. It's ebony, isn't it?"
"Yes," Ryan replied quickly, feeling a flicker of hope. "I did some research—it might date back to the 19th century."
The man nodded thoughtfully, his expression one of quiet approval. "It certainly seems to have the characteristics of 19th-century work. However…" He paused, his gaze shifting to Ryan. "Can you provide any documentation for its provenance? Perhaps a purchase receipt or a record of family ownership?"
Ryan hesitated, trying to keep his composure. "Um… it's been in my family for years. I remember seeing it in my grandfather's room when I was a kid."
The man's smile lingered, but his eyes betrayed a hint of doubt. "Family heirlooms are always intriguing, but as you might know, the antique market relies on verifiable provenance, not verbal claims."
"I understand, but—" Ryan began, only to be gently interrupted.
"I'm afraid I can't help without proper documentation," the man said, his tone polite but firm. "I'd recommend looking for private buyers instead. Sometimes, they're less concerned about paperwork."
Ryan accepted the photo with a heavy heart and left the shop. As he stepped back into the street, his optimism faded. At this rate, who knows how long it'll take to complete this first task?
Back at home, Ryan slumped onto his worn-out couch, staring at the photo in his hands. Frustration churned in his chest. He felt like a hamster on a wheel—running in circles without getting anywhere.
"Am I seriously going to have to set up a flea market stall?" he muttered to himself, the thought both ridiculous and disheartening. Even if he tried, who in their right mind would spend thousands of dollars on an old cabinet at a flea market?
In an attempt to brainstorm solutions, Ryan picked up his phone and began scouring online platforms for potential buyers. However, every website he visited presented the same obstacles: detailed item descriptions, proof of origin, or hefty service fees.
By the time he set his phone down, a heavy sense of defeat weighed on him. He rubbed his temples, wondering how he could break through this seemingly impenetrable wall.
Just as he was about to give up for the night, something caught his eye on his phone screen. Perhaps because of the hours he'd spent searching for antiques, a social media app had pushed a recommendation to him: a niche live-stream dedicated to antique appraisals.
The thumbnail showed an old ceramic vase with the title: "Free Live Antique Appraisals—Discover the Truth About Your Family Heirlooms!"
Curious, Ryan clicked on the stream. It wasn't particularly popular, with only a few dozen viewers, but the host seemed genuinely knowledgeable. The streamer was holding up the vase, pointing out intricate details in its design and explaining its history with a calm, authoritative voice.
The chat was sparse but supportive:
"Wow, they really know their stuff!"
"Got my old necklace appraised here—spot on!"
Ryan stared at the livestream, a sudden idea crossing his mind: what would happen if he used the system to scan items through the screen?
He aimed his phone at the ceramic vase displayed, silently activating the system. After several seconds, nothing appeared on the screen. Frowning, Ryan realized that the system's abilities couldn't function through a device; it required direct interaction with physical objects.
"Seems like this basic system has quite a few limitations," he muttered, sighing.
Ryan's mind began to race. What if I tried showing them my cabinet? The audience here seems knowledgeable. Who knows? Maybe someone might even be interested in buying it.
Taking advantage of the low viewership, Ryan sent a small gift and managed to join the livestream. After a brief greeting, he turned on his camera, showcasing the ebony cabinet to the host. He withheld its exact origin, simply stating, "This is an old piece from my home. I'm not sure of its value and would appreciate your assessment."