The whole situation was just too ridiculous.
A key, a mysterious letter, and a random cheque showing up at his parents' grave?
'Is soone playing a prank on ? Where are the caras?'
He walked in circles like a confused puppy, suddenly suspicious after spotting a bush that looked a little too big.
Walking low and slow like a spy, he crept behind it. Then—jumping out—he pointed sharply.
"Aha! Gotcha!"
Nothing.
Straightening up, he scratched his head and tapped his right foot on the ground.
"Co on, I know you're out there! Is this one of those prank shows where a beautiful lady suddenly confesses to and tells that she ca from the future?"
He even peeked into a flowerpot, half-expecting a tiny cara to be nestled among the petals.
'Are they using drones? ' he muttered, tilting his head up.
But within seconds, his eyes ached.
'It burns!' he yelped, recoiling and rubbing his eyes like he just been hit with pepper spray.
Whoever planted this flower was a fucking jerk.
Calming a bit, he look at the items
'Maybe this thing is real?...'
'No, that's impossible.'
Even if his IQ had taken a nosedive from years of consuming junk food and gaming sessions, he wasn't that dense.
However, there was sothing in the back of his mind that kept telling him to check it out.
'This is bullshit.'
He was about to crumple the paper when sothing caught the corner of his eye.
Faint letters appeared—only visible when sunlight hit them just right. Barely noticeable.
Realizing this, he lifted the letter higher, eyes scanning the words again.
This ti, the ssage made expression darkened.
=====
If you want to uncover the real reason your parents died, you have to claim your grandfather's inheritance.
35.175176.137.121481
=====
'This is a joke...right?' He gritted his teeth in annoyance.
If this was so kind of prank, they crossed a line by dragging his parents' death into it.
'Fuck. I'll find whoever's screwing with , and make them pay.'
His blood pressure was rising again, so he took a quick breath. Getting angry wouldn't solve anything.
With that in mind, his eyes locked onto the numbers. This wasn't just so random code—it looked like GPS coordinates.
His fingers, steady as ever when it cos to gadgets, tapped the numbers into the map.
'It's a long way, but I can make it.'
The location was outside Tokyo, reachable by bus.
But if he took the bullet train, he would arrive in an hour and a half.
'How much is the fare again?' he mused, glancing at the ticket app on his phone.
'Seventeen thousand yen? That's like... 115 bucks!'
At this rate, his 50,000 yen would be gone in no ti.
'I'll just take the bus,' he decided. It would take longer, but it was much cheaper.
Slowly, he turned to face the worn tombstone, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon light.
"Mom, Dad," he said softly, his voice shaking a little "if you're really watching over .. I promise, I'll figure out what it ans. I won't let you down."
His fingers brushed the cold stone, tracing the faded letters .
A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, rustling softly, as if the trees were whispering back.
Swallowing hard, he straightened up, his eyes sharper now, more focused. If soone who knew him were here right now, they would think the old him ca back.
But before heading to the coordinates, he needed to prepare.
Twenty minutes later.
Luck stood outside the departnt store, feeling a bit nervous.
He never went to places like this since he started isolating himself, so the unfamiliar environnt made his stomach tighten.
It was like the feeling of going to a mall for the first ti and seeing an escalator, unsure of how to step on without tripping.
'It's just a store,' he told himself, but his palms were still sweaty .
The inside was a bit much for him-bright lights bouncing off the shiny floors and rows of perfectly arranged clothes.
Shoppers moved, picking up items, checking tags, and tossing things into their carts without a second thought.
They probably swiped their credit cards, believing they could afford it, only to regret the decision later.
He knew all too well about this pitfall because he was guilty of it himself.
mories flooded back of the ti he maxed out five credit card buying in-ga
items.
The rush was intoxicating, but it didn't take long for reality to hit him hard.
Before he knew it, he was banned from getting another card, left with a mountain of debt.
'I need to get so T-shirts first,'
The few pieces that still fit in his apartnt were practically falling apart-stretched-out collars, faded colors, and holes in places that couldn't be ignored.
Why bother with all of this?
The logic was pretty simple: he was heading to a place he knew nothing about, and there was no way he could avoid asking for help along the way.
If he looked weird or dirty, people would be less likely to take him seriously, let alone give him the ti of day.
In the worst case, they might see him as an easy target and scam him. Looking decent wasn't just about appearances-it was about survival.
"Sir, you've been standing there for a long ti. So custors are waiting." One of the guards called him out, breaking his self-reflection.
When he turned around, he noticed people fidgeting and glaring at him, irritated that he was blocking the way with his big body.
'Shit,' His cheeks ward with embarrassnt. 'I forgot this is real life, not so ani where ti stops when the MC has an internal monologue'
He darted out of the way and headed straight for the clothing section.
As he browsed through the racks, his fingers brushed against a type of fabric that was smooth to the touch.
It was a thick, durable cotton jersey. The material was simple and not too hot, making it an excellent choice for everyday wear.
Satisfied with his selections, he grabbed two plain white T-shirts and two pairs of pants—one maroon, the other black.
"Now I need to get a bag," he rubbed his double chin, and went to another section.
After so thought, he settled on a simple gray travel bag—lightweight, roomy enough for a change of clothes and the essentials.
Next, he made his way to the hardware section, searching for items he could use as a weapon.
Among the options, the knives stood out: chef's knives, utility cutters, and hunting daggers.
Clutched in his hand was a small, sturdy folding knife that was surprisingly light
Rounding the corner, his eyes landed on a thick tal dog chain.
It was sturdy and could serve multiple purposes either as a makeshift weapon or to secure belongings.
Plus, it was less suspicious than a big knife.
'Good enough,' he tossed it into his travel bag.
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