Chapter 74: Volume 1, - 74: Seventy-Three Points Were Meant to Be Spent
Ren woke up at ten past nine in the morning, stared at his ceiling.
He lay in bed for ten glorious minutes, staring at the sunlight tracing patterns across his apartment wall. He stretched his legs, flexed his ankles, and rolled onto his side.
"Let’s see what we’re working with," Ren murmured into the room.
With a flick of his mind, he called up the Legacy System interface. The pale window shimmered into view above his futon.
[CURRENT LEGACY POINT BALANCE: 73 LP.]
"Seventy-three," Ren whispered, his eyes lighting up. He had been hoarding points like a dragon sitting on a pile of shiny copper coins.
He expanded the Silver Rank Reward Shop menu, scrolling through the broad categories with the suppressed giddy excitement of a kid handed a thick toy catalogue. He wanted everything at once: the Casual Wardrobe Tailoring Protocol for 20 LP, the Pro-Grade Grooming & Body-Composition Audit for 8 LP, and the Advanced Driving Technique Seminar for 15 LP.
His eyes hovered over a high-tier tab showing luxury watches and European sports cars.
[GRAND COMPLICATION AUTOMATIC WATCH — REQUIRES GOLD RANK]
[PORSCHE 911 GT3 TOURIST ALLOCATION — REQUIRES PLATINUM RANK]
"Unreasonable," Ren grumbled under his breath. "Why even show me the Porsche if I can’t touch it? That’s just psychological warfare."
He spent twenty minutes cross-referencing values, complaining bitterly about point inflation, and adding items to a hypothetical cart before forcing himself to pare his selection down to three distinct packages.
"If seventy-three points were meant to sit in a bank, they’d pay interest," he decided. "Time to spend."
He selected his three chosen items and confirmed the transaction.
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED: SILVER RECOVERY PACKAGE — 12 LP]
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED: CROWN GOLDEN WEEK EXPERIENCE PACKAGE — 14 LP]
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED: HOME COMFORT STARTER PACKAGE — 17 LP]
[TOTAL SPENT: 43 LP]
[REMAINING BALANCE: 30 LP]
The System didn’t drop a cardboard box onto his chest out of thin air. Instead, a series of notifications popped up on his smartphone, confirming digital vouchers, retail tracking numbers, and delivery appointments from local Japanese vendors.
By two o’clock that afternoon, a courier truck pulled up outside his building. Ren carried three hefty parcels up his narrow staircase, practically humming to himself.
The Home Comfort Starter Package fulfilled its promises through legitimate retail partners. Within an hour, Ren stripped his paper-thin bedding and replaced it with a plush feather duvet and memory-foam pillow set. He unboxed a matte-black tabletop Bluetooth speaker, set it on his low table, and played jazz fusion loud enough for the bass to vibrate through the floorboards. He also assembled two modular fabric storage units, sliding them under his bed frame to clear the clutter from his narrow floor.
Next came the cookware: a heavy, multi-layered stainless steel skillet and balanced Japanese chef’s knives.
Emboldened by his new gear, Ren decided to cook lunch. He walked to the nearby market, bought butter, garlic, and two thick pork chops, and returned home with grand ambitions.
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen was a disaster zone.
Oil spat wildly across the stovetop, garlic scorch marks lined the pan, and a thin veil of smoke drifted toward the open window. The pork chops were brown on the outside, tough in the middle, and swimming in an aggressively salty butter sauce.
Ren took a photo of the charred skillet and messaged Suzune.
Ren: The culinary trial was a mixed success.
Suzune: Did the expensive pan do something to deserve that?
Ren: The pan is innocent. The recipe betrayed me.
Suzune: Bring the pan to the bakery tomorrow before you ruin its finish permanently. I will teach you how to deglaze properly.
Ren let out a short, silent breath, setting the phone down. He chewed through a resilient piece of pork, didn’t care in the slightest that he was terrible at cooking, and wiped down the scorched stovetop.
When the kitchen was presentable again, he carried a glass of cold water over to the futon and sank back into his new duvet. The music faded out, leaving the soft hum of the refrigerator. The high of the Reward Shop purchases began to cool, replaced by the unfamiliar, still air of an afternoon with nowhere to be.
He picked up his phone and saw four unread notifications stacked under his mother’s name.
Emiko: Ren, did you eat? I made extra burdock root if you want to drop by.
Emiko: Mei said you haven’t answered her group chat invite. Please reply so she stops nagging me.
Emiko: Are things still difficult with your work?
Ren’s thumb froze on the glass screen. He read the third message twice.
They didn’t know about the ¥1.8 million debt, or the zero balance sitting on his statement. They didn’t know about Kisaragi Business Support, Suite 302, the Toyota Crown, Suzune, or his resignation.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard, automatically drafting a delay tactic, Everything’s fine, just busy with shifts, I’ll call this weekend. It was clean and kept things simple until he could show up looking successful with a finished story.
The display screen dimmed toward black.
In the reflection of the glass, he caught his own eye. He remembered Haruka Sato leaning across the booth at Gusto yesterday, her voice level and searching: Do you tell her when you’re frightened?
Ren deleted the draft, pressed Emiko’s contact icon, and held the receiver to his ear.
It rang three times before picking up over a sudden sizzle of hot oil.
"Ren?" Emiko said, her tone brisk over the kitchen noise. "Did you see my message about the burdock? If you’re coming by, take it today, or your sister will eat the whole Tupperware."
"Mom," Ren said, standing up and walking to the window. "Is Mei home?"
The stove burner clicked off on the other end. "She’s in her room complaining about chemistry. Why? Did you lose your key again?"
"No," Ren said, watching a local bus pull up to the stop down on the street. "I’m coming over tomorrow afternoon. There are several things I should have told you and Mei a while ago, and I want to explain them properly."