"Three hundred thousand for the bride price—every penny counts!"

"It's not about the money. I just want to know how much I mean to you."

"And another thing—your apartment, take your mom's name off it and put mine on."

Inside Gray Whale Café, by the window.

Kane Brook, thirty-eight years old, stared at the woman he was supposed to marry and suddenly found her face somewhat unfamiliar.

They had met through a matchmaking service and had been dating for over six months. Since neither of them was young anymore, there was no time to drag things out. Recently, they had been discussing marriage.

To be honest, Kane didn't have much affection for her, and he figured she probably felt the same way.

At nearly forty, do people really marry for love anymore?

It was more about not wanting to grow old alone.

But he said nothing. He just sipped his water in silence, his gaze shifting to the glass window, letting her words fade into the background.

Life was… exhausting.

His parents had always told him that knowledge could change his destiny. So, he worked hard from a young age, believing he was bound for greatness—either rich or powerful, or both.

But once he stepped into the workforce, reality hit hard. He wasn't even a mere "ordinary man"—he was something even less.

In 2016, his first year on the job, he was forced to drink at a business dinner until he landed in the hospital, missing his grandmother's final moments. The woman who had raised him—gone, and he wasn't there.

In 2019, the project he was working on imploded, and he was made the scapegoat. He spent five months in a cramped rental apartment, living off instant noodles, unable to tell dreams from reality.

His next job was stable but required an excruciating commute. He worked himself to the bone, even holding in his bathroom breaks to be more productive—all just to afford a car.

By 2022, he finally bought that car—only to realize he couldn't afford the gas. And his bladder problems? Permanent.

After turning thirty, he realized his rent was climbing faster than his salary. Desperate, he saved every penny he could and told his parents about his plan to buy an apartment in Deep City.

From that day on, there was no meat, no fish—nothing but plain vegetables on their dinner table.

Even then, he still couldn't save enough for the down payment. His father, without telling him, took a second job as a rideshare driver at night—until he nearly suffered a stroke.

So, was poverty really about laziness?

Kane had been grappling with this question for years.

He was already working hard—more than hard. He had lived up to his name, Kane, the diligent one.

But where was the money?

Who the hell had taken it all?

As a kid, his parents had reassured him, "As long as you work hard, you'll make something of yourself."

But as an adult, he realized the truth: "As long as you work hard, you'll just have an endless supply of hardship."

And now, the woman in front of him wanted a 300,000 betrothal gift.

"Kane, are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, I'm listening."

"Then why aren't you saying anything? I've been talking so much my throat is dry, and you don't even care!"

Kane set down his glass, sat in silence for a moment, then finally spoke.

"Maybe… we shouldn't get married."

The woman froze. Then, her face twisted in rage.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing. Just that I'm exhausted. I want to go home and sleep."

"Kane Brook, you spineless coward! No wonder you're pushing forty, and no woman wants you!"

Ignoring her shouting, Kane stood up and walked out of the café. He wandered the streets aimlessly.

At some point, he found himself near a construction site. A banner hung on the fence, proclaiming:

"Workers are the elite of society."

He lit a cigarette, took two drags, and burned a hole right through the banner.

He didn't really blame that woman. In fact, he thought her demands were reasonable.

She was thirty-five—what was wrong with being realistic?

But Kane wasn't thinking about her anymore.

He was wondering something else.

"When will this life ever get better?"

The people who had never worked a day in their lives loved to preach about how workers were the elite of society.

And those who actually worked? They didn't dare say a thing—just nodded along and muttered, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say..."

But looking at himself… what part of him resembled an elite?

His entire life, he had only ever owned two pairs of Air Jordans—and they were fakes from Putian. You call that elite?

And as for love?

Kane wasn't even sure that it existed.

He had been on a few dates, met a few women introduced by friends.

They were all… fine. Just fine.

But that was the saddest part.

Because just fine was all it ever was.

Looking back on his life, Kane Brook had far too many regrets...

He sighed, pulled out his phone from his pocket, and thought about calling a friend for a drink. But as soon as he unlocked the screen, four messages popped up.

One was a credit card payment reminder.

Another was a phone bill overdue notice.

The third was a text from his brother: "I'm nearby. No one's home today."

And the last one came from his direct supervisor, filled with words of concern, saying that the company had been struggling lately and hoping employees would "voluntarily accept a pay cut to help get through this tough time together."

Kane immediately lost any desire to drink. Instead, he just kept smoking under the construction site.

In this era, if you wanted money, working a regular job was never the way—because society's distribution of resources had never been fair to begin with.

But then he thought about his age and couldn't help but laugh.

Thirty-eight.

Starting a business at this age? A little unrealistic, wasn't it?

His back was already giving out from years of hard labor. His neck was messed up, and the nerve pain in his body flared up more frequently than his trips to the bathroom. If he started a business now, by the time he succeeded, he'd be fifty. What would even be left to enjoy in life?

If only he could start over…

He wouldn't work a single damn job.

If he could find a rich woman to rely on, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

If that wasn't an option, he'd go all in on business—because money could always be made again. And if you had no conscience? You'd make even more.

Kane took a deep breath, rubbed his sore neck, and glanced up absentmindedly.

Huh?

What was that dark mass in the sky? And why was it coming straight at him?

"..."

"Inject him with adrenaline—hurry!"

"..."

"Support the Olympics, promote civility, foster a new social atmosphere!"

"..."

"Where's Director Yates? Ask if the operating room is ready—quickly!"

"..."

"My home's door is always open, waiting to welcome you."