The cold followed him into the room.
Jun woke abruptly, shivering as air pierced through his threadbare blanket.
The mattress—thin and sunken on the floor—offered little warmth, and even less comfort. He curled his shoulders forward, instinctively conserving what heat he could. His neck ached. His shoulders popped when he sat up.
His stomach growled, loud and bitter.
Last night's skipped dinner was still punishing him.
The final pack of instant noodles was gone—used like a luxury he couldn't afford twice.
The window was cracked.
Cold light spilled through the blinds.
Dust floated in it like snow caught between breaths.
He rubbed his arms, trying to force some heat into them, when something flickered in the air just above his knees.
He blinked.
Turned.
Floating in front of him—clear and silent—was the same thing from the night before:
[First Task: Brew Real Coffee – Reward: Beginner Brewing Set + 50 XP]
Jun stared.
He waved his hand through the text.
It shimmered.
But stayed.
"Real coffee," he muttered, a dry chuckle escaping.
"Sure. Got any to spare, system?"
No beans.
No gear.
Not even a filter.
Just a dusty pack of instant.
And somehow, deep down, he knew that didn't count.
He stood slowly, joints stiff.
Picked up the empty cup he'd left beside the mattress.
Rinsed it from the water jug in the corner, then set it back without drinking.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
Jun opened the door slowly, fingers still cold from sleep.
Mr. Lin stood there—slippers on, arms crossed, frown already set into his features like it had been there for years.
"Rent," the old man said flatly.
"Three days late."
Jun's throat tightened.
He hesitated.
Then: "Just a little longer. I'm working on something."
Mr. Lin raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond.
He looked Jun up and down—not with anger, but with the kind of tiredness that came from seeing too many people promise change and deliver nothing.
He exhaled through his nose.
"Three days. No more. After that, you're out."
No threats.
No lectures.
Just fact.
Jun nodded.
"Understood."
The door clicked shut.
He stood there for a second, just breathing.
Then sat back down, chest tight with a pressure that didn't lift—only shifted. The room felt smaller than before.
The system notification still hovered in his vision—now updated with a quiet, pulsing countdown:
[Time Remaining: 12 hours, 36 minutes]
Twelve hours to brew a cup of real coffee with no tools, no ingredients, and no plan.
"No pressure," he muttered, rubbing his face.
Still, he stood again.
Pulled on his jacket—thin canvas, frayed at the sleeves.
Slipped his shoes on with no socks.
He didn't have socks anymore.
He grabbed the empty cup and slipped it into his pocket.
Just in case.
The morning city stretched before him.
Storefronts still asleep.
Air sharp with dew.
Sidewalk cold and damp beneath his shoes.
He passed a bakery opening its shutters.
Smelled warmth he couldn't afford.
Saw a commuter with a paper cup.
Saw a puddle ripple as a bus rolled past.
Jun shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
His breath came out in soft clouds.
He whispered to no one.
"Coffee first."
"Survival later."
[System Record – Storyline ID: S08-Origin]
Logged User: Stylsite08
Path: Stillness to Mastery
Unauthorized copies may trigger system disruption.
Original work by Stylsite08. Do not repost or distribute without permission. All rights reserved.