"You want to test the engine?" the man offered, tossing him the keys.
Kael caught them midair and climbed into the driver’s seat.
He turned the key.
The engine ca alive with a deep, smooth rumble. The dashboard lit up: temperature stable, fuel gauge just above half, battery strong. The A/C clicked on and started blowing cool air almost imdiately. Kael pressed the gas lightly. The response was smooth.
"Not bad," Kael muttered.
He stepped out. "So... how much are you asking?"
"It’s old, but solid. Say $7,200," Harbor said casually.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You’re really selling it for that cheap? A Land Cruiser like this would cost twice that in the city."
"I don’t use the car anymore. It’s just sitting around, unused. If you buy it, it actually helps —so I’m okay selling it cheap."
Kael eyed him, then the car again.
"Alright. I’ll give you $6,000 flat."
The man smirked. "Now you’re trying to rob . It’s a Prado. You know what these go for, even in this condition. She’ll run for another ten years. You won’t get another Land Cruiser for that cheap."
Kael thought for a beat. "Alright. I’ll take it now. Cash. $6,200. And I’ll still pay the hundred for the dicine."
"Alright, alright—deal."
They shook hands.
Kael paid in cash—$100 for the dicine, $6,200 for the car. He still had a lot of dollars.
"I’ll need the paperwork," Kael reminded him.
"Right, right," the man said, walking back into the shop. "I’ll grab it."
A mont later, he returned holding a small folder. He opened it and showed Kael a crumpled, slightly stained title docunt and a photocopy of an ID. It looked legit at a glance—but Kael didn’t know what to look for anyway.
"It’s signed over already," the man said. "Was planning to sell it months ago. Just never got around to it."
Kael nodded. It felt rushed, but he was in a hurry.
Once the paperwork was handled, Harbor brought out a red fuel can and topped off the tank with care.
Kael loaded the box of malaria dicine into the back seat, then turned to his bicycle. He couldn’t bring himself to abandon it—
With so effort and a bit of Harbor’s help, they lashed it to the roof rack with an old bungee cord.
By the ti he settled back into the driver’s seat, the engine purred like a contented cat. He adjusted the mirrors, clicked his seatbelt into place, and glanced once at the side mirror.
Harbor was still standing there, wiping his hands with a rag.
"Drive safe, Mr. Lancaster! You ever need more supplies—or a chair to rest your bones—you’re always welco!"
Kael gave a small wave. "Thanks, Mr. Harbor."
Then he eased onto the road.
The Land Cruiser moved smoothly, absorbing every bump in the gravel path with ease. Compared to the clattering ache of riding a bicycle, it was luxury.
Kael’s thoughts drifted as the engine humd. He hadn’t driven since college—not seriously, anyway—but he didn’t forget how to drive. Although his driver’s license might have expired, he didn’t think any police would catch him here, since as far as he knew, there were no police in this area.
He drove for a few minutes.
Then he spotted a small pull-off near the base of a hill and gently slowed the vehicle to a stop.
He reached into his pocket and took out his phone.
Battery: 15%.
Signal: 3.5G.
Just enough.
He tapped the browser icon and waited as it loaded. The signal wasn’t great, but it would do. A few seconds later, the ho page opened. He navigated to a news site.
The articles loaded slowly.
He scrolled through reports about weather, politics, the rising cost of food... and then:
"BREAKING: Damian Lancaster – Missing. Last Seen Outside Capital."
Kael’s eyes narrowed.
Damian Lancaster had vanished during a drive ho after an investor eting. His car was found on the edge of a rural highway, abandoned. The authorities hadn’t confird foul play, but the family was urging discretion and cooperation.
Other headlines followed:
"Lancaster Family Faces Internal Lawsuits After Will Dispute"
"The Battle Over the Lancaster Fortune Heats Up: Hidden Trusts and Allegations"
"Daniel Saito Remains Silent as Accusations Mount Against Lancaster Siblings"
Kael read the articles without much reaction.
He didn’t hate his uncle. Or his other relatives. But he didn’t care about them, either. They were players in a story he no longer considered his own.
His grandfather had made his decision.
And Kael had made his.
They could fight over legacy and lawyers all they wanted. He was on a different path now. A real one. And also a greater one.
But he couldn’t help but wonder:
Was Damian’s disappearance a coincidence?
Ah, I don’t need to worry about any of this. I don’t care what happened to them.
Grandpa did a favor not putting my na in the will. Saved from all that ss.
Kael looked at the road ahead.
The Land Cruiser’s engine purred softly, ready to move again.
He tapped the screen off.
Kael drove toward the house. It was only five or six kiloters—no more than a ten-minute drive.
When he turned the final corner, he saw the two mini trucks parked along the dirt road in front of the house. There was no room to go further—the road was only wide enough for one vehicle.
Kael stopped the Land Cruiser behind them and stepped out.
He didn’t get far before Eli walked over from the side of the house. He paused when he saw the car.
"Where’d you get that?"
"Pharmacist sold it to ," Kael replied.
Eli gave the vehicle a slow look. "That old guy? Harbor?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm... strange. I didn’t know he had a Land Cruiser."
"Hmm, it was in his garage. He gave it to for a very cheap price. Said he didn’t need it anymore."
"Huh." Eli looked back at the Land Cruiser, then at Kael. "How much?"
"Sixty-two hundred. Plus a hundred for dicine."
Eli gave a low whistle. "Hell of a deal."
Then—footsteps. Fast.
A worker ran up from the back of the house, eyes wide, voice tight with urgency.
"Boss—co quick."
"What is it?"
The man hesitated, glanced at Kael, then leaned in.
"We found sothing. A lot of weapons."
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