Mario, while sleeping, experienced memories from the simulation as a dream. He watched everything from a first-person perspective, unable to control what was happening.
Some memories passed in a blur while others were vivid.
---
Inside a lottery building.
"Did you hear? A body was found in the sea," someone whispered.
"Not new. Probably another gang victim," another said, shrugging.
Mario stood at the counter, waiting for his lottery ticket. Voices buzzed behind him, but he barely registered them. His focus was elsewhere, his movements automatic as he exchanged copper coins for tickets.
"It's confirmed… The body was the lottery winner from last week."
The words slipped past most, but Mario caught every one. He stepped out of the lottery building, the sunlight harsh against his face.
'So it was luck that killed him…' He let out a quiet sigh, then shook his head, dismissing the thought.
---
Time passes.
---
Mario stood in front of a young man seated at a table. He looked carefully at his appearance.
Brown hair, neatly styled. Clear blue eyes. He wore expensive white clothing that fit him perfectly.
The young man's eyes were calm, almost cold, but Mario could vaguely sense confusion hidden beneath them.
"I apologize, but we can only give you half of your prize," the young man said, straight to the point — yet contrary to his words, his tone remained emotionless.
He adjusted himself in his seat before continuing, "And as compensation for your loss, why don't we make a trade?"
"...I don't know if you're aware of unique skills — I'm a holder myself." He paused, then looked into Mario's eyes before continuing.
Mario quietly observed the young man and listened to his words, contemplating inwardly.
"My unique skill allows me to make trades with others and receive a commission for each one. However, I wouldn't receive anything from you…" The young man paused briefly before continuing, his voice carrying both confusion and curiosity.
"I don't really understand. You weren't as lucky as others, yet you've won — care to enlighten me?"
Mario shook his head and answered without putting on his mask. "I don't know the answer to that."
His voice was calm and steady, almost indifferent.
The young man showed faint surprise at his tone.
"Never mind then — let's get back to the topic. Why don't we make a trade? I'll give you half your prize. In turn…" He paused and didn't continue, merely looking at Mario.
Mario, in turn, looked back at him carefully. He noticed that in the young man's right hand was a small silver piece — short and rounded at the top, simple and unadorned.
He kept twirling it between his fingers.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Mario didn't ask, knowing what he meant — especially since strange things had been happening to those who won.
After a few moments of silence, he answered in the same tone. "Fine. Let's do what you said."
"Oh? You didn't ask why?" the young man said with a tone of curiosity, though Mario could see he wasn't truly confused — his expression had remained unchanged the entire time.
Mario didn't respond to the question, and instead asked with the same tone, "Where can I collect half my prize?"
He was straight to the point, not bothering to go in circles with the person in front of him.
"Want to leave already?" A faint smile appeared on the young man's face, and with the same curiosity he asked, "Why don't you answer my question… and I might let you request one thing from me — except the full prize, of course."
Hearing that, Mario paused and thought for a few moments about how to answer without directly revealing what he had guessed.
Eventually he recalled something from a book he had been reading.
Then, in the same tone, he asked, "Do you know how greedy people die?"
The young man's smile deepened, and for the first time since Mario had been observing him, a clear emotion appeared in his eyes — amusement. "I don't."
"They choke," Mario paused briefly, "...because they bite off more than they can chew."
A few moments of silence passed before a laugh full of amusement rang out.
The young man stopped twirling the silver object, then set it down loudly on the table.
He looked at Mario with a sharp gaze and asked in a cold voice, "So you knew?"
Mario shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Looking at his calm expression, the young man smiled. He stood up, approached Mario, and patted him on the shoulder.
"You're quite interesting," he said lightly. "You even managed to make me forget some unpleasant things."
"For that, I won't kill you." He returned to his seat and picked up the silver object, twirling it between his fingers again. "Tell me anything you want."
"I want to stay anonymous," Mario said in the same tone.
"There's no need for that. I already said I won't kill you — and I don't lie about that," he answered without looking at Mario.
Mario exhaled a tired breath, weary of going in circles, and eventually answered straight to the point, no longer caring. "You wouldn't — but that doesn't mean others wouldn't."
The young man paused briefly before a natural smile appeared on his face. "See? I knew you knew."
"So you're going to break your word?" Mario answered.
"No. That amount wasn't worth it — and besides, I already said I wouldn't," the young man shook his head, then lifted his gaze to look at Mario.
He noticed that despite Mario's words, his face remained indifferent — as though he felt no fear, or perhaps was simply confident.
"Fine. Your winnings will be kept anonymous, like the other one."
Hearing that, Mario turned and walked out the door.
The young man's voice rang out from inside. "I'm Arthur."
---
"You've already saved more than enough. Why are you still living in that small house?" the director asked, looking into Mario's eyes. "You should find somewhere better."
"It's fine. It just needs some renovations, and it's more convenient since it's close to the warehouse," Mario answered calmly.
The director didn't say anything. He simply held Mario's gaze in silence.
Seeing that, Mario knew his excuse had been seen through, and with a sigh he said, "I'll find a better one tomorrow."
Hearing his answer, the director showed a satisfied smile.
---
Blur. Years of fish and knives and the rhythmic motions of work.
---
"Anyone you're interested in?" the director asked gently, looking at Mario.
Mario blinked, caught off guard.
Then, with furrowed brows, he asked, "Interested? In what?"
"You're twenty-five already. Don't you think it's time to find someone?" the director pressed gently.
"Someone?" Mario echoed, a faint edge of confusion in his voice.
"You know… someone to build a family with," the director clarified, leaning back slightly and watching him carefully.
"Family…" Mario muttered unconsciously, then fell silent. His gaze drifted, becoming unfocused, and for a moment he seemed lost inside himself.
The silence stretched for a few minutes.
"Little Mario?" The director's voice disturbed the quiet that had settled uncomfortably around them.
Mario was slightly startled, and for the first time, he put on his usual mask in front of the director.
He laughed awkwardly, dismissing the topic. "I'm still young… I'll think about it… someday."
The director didn't respond. He simply studied Mario, eyes steady and patient.
Mario unconsciously avoided his gaze.
Seeing that, the director closed his eyes and let out a long, quiet sigh — heavy with concern, disappointment, and something unspoken that lingered between them.
---
Mario looked around the room. Chairs and tables were neatly arranged, their polished wood gleaming under the soft glow of the overhead lights. The floor had been refinished, clean and smooth, and fresh paint brightened the walls, erasing years of grime.
"Finally — after weeks of waiting, the renovation is done," Mario said, taking in the results.
It wasn't large, and it wasn't extravagant, but it was his. Every detail — the careful repairs, the new fixtures, the way sunlight spilled warmly across the floor.
'But it cost a lot…' His gaze shifted to the wall near the kitchen, where a hidden compartment he had built himself was located — and inside it, the lottery winnings he hadn't touched until now.
For the first time in a long while, a quiet satisfaction settled in Mario's chest, and a genuine smile appeared on his face.
Later that evening, the door chimed softly as the director arrived, followed by a handful of familiar faces — the children from the orphanage, wide-eyed and chattering excitedly; the warehouse owner, stoic as ever but with a rare glint of pride in his eyes; and Mario's former workmates.
Lively laughter and warm conversation filled the small restaurant.
Mario moved among them with calm precision, filleting, seasoning, and cooking each piece of fish. The gentle hiss of the pans, the soft shimmer of steam rising from the plates, the subtle aroma curling through the air — it all spoke of years of discipline, of countless hours spent perfecting his craft. Each dish was more than food; it was an extension of himself.
Later, Mario stepped outside. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea. Above him, the stars gleamed like scattered fragments of light across the dark velvet sky.
'It feels peaceful…' He let out a soft breath and tilted his head upward toward the night sky.
Step. Step. Step.
Footsteps rang out from behind, and someone came to stand beside him, also turning their gaze toward the sky.
Mario, without looking, knew who it was.
They remained silent for a few minutes, heads tilted upward, before a familiar old voice rang out beside him — gentle, and faint.
"Are you happy?..."
Mario didn't answer. Instead, he turned to look at the director beside him.
Rather than words, he offered a genuine smile as his answer, then turned and headed back inside.
The director stood briefly stunned, his eyes lingering on that smile, and said nothing as Mario walked away.
He watched his back for a moment before a smile of his own appeared on his old face.
"Good…" he murmured quietly.
Before heading inside, he exhaled a heavy breath full of complicated emotions — part happiness, contentment, and pride; and part sadness, heaviness, and reluctance.
