Kin sat on the mattress for a long time after Lina left.
His hand kept drifting to his hair, touching the spots where her fingers had been. He could still feel the warmth. The slight scrape of her nails. The way she'd paused at the nape of his neck, like she was holding onto something that was already gone.
Her brother, he thought. The journalist. The Quiet Commission took him.
He didn't know why that made him feel heavier. He hadn't known her brother. He barely knew her. But the way she'd said it—You have his hair—had cracked something open in his chest.
He looked at the bundle of clothes she'd brought. Grey shirt. Dark pants. Plain. Functional. They smelled like laundry soap and something faintly floral. Her detergent.
Kin stood up, stripped off his stained shirt, and put on the new clothes.
They fit. A little loose in the shoulders, a little short in the sleeves, but clean. He felt less like a corpse and more like a person.
He walked to the rusted mirror nailed to the wall.
The face staring back was still pale. Still had dark circles. But the shirt was clean. His hair was a mess—he ran his fingers through it, tried to flatten it, gave up.
I look like someone's sad nephew, he thought.
[Mental stability: 44% – Slight improvement due to hygiene and clean clothing.]
He snorted. Thanks, System.
Then he looked at his apartment.
Really looked at it.
The cracked walls. The dead-bird water stain. The mattress on the floor with no sheets. The wooden box his mother gave him, sitting in the corner like a forgotten grave. The rickety table that wobbled. The single cup he used for everything—water, coffee, instant noodles.
This is where I live, he thought. This is where I've been living for a year.
And for the first time, it bothered him.
Not because he cared about nice things. He'd never had nice things. But because Lina had brought him food and clothes, and she'd touched his hair, and she'd told him about her brother, and all he had to offer in return was a mattress on the floor and a water stain named Gerald.
I need to fix this.
He didn't know if he was talking about the apartment or himself.
[Side Objective: Upgrade Living Space – Detected.]
[Recommendation: Purchase furniture, bedding, and decorative items.]
[Reward: Mental stability +15% (safe environment bonus).]
[Warning: Bonding to a physical space creates attachment. Attachment creates vulnerability. Vulnerability can be exploited.]
Kin frowned. "What do you mean, bonding?"
The System answered in blue text:
[A "home" is not merely shelter. It is an anchor. Enemies may target what you care about. A sparse, temporary residence is easier to abandon. A furnished, personalized residence is harder to leave.]
[Recommendation: Weigh comfort against risk.]
Kin stared at the message.
The System doesn't want me to have nice things.
He almost laughed. Great. My personal assassin software is also my interior design critic.
But he understood the logic. A man with nothing to lose was dangerous. A man with a nice apartment and a landlady he kind of liked? That man had handles. Places where you could grab him.
Too bad, Kin thought. I'm tired of living like a rat.
He grabbed his phone. Checked his bank account.
Balance: 43,800 SN
After paying Lina, he still had plenty. The System had given him fifty thousand, and he'd spent six thousand on the facial disguise. Forty-three thousand eight hundred Spirit Nether.
More money than he'd seen in his entire life.
Time to spend some of it.
He walked to the door, then paused. Looked back at the apartment.
Flowers, he thought. For Lina.
The thought came out of nowhere. He didn't know why. She'd brought him food and clothes. She'd touched his hair. She'd smiled—that strange, unreadable smile. He owed her something. A thank you. A gesture.
But what if she thinks I'm coming on to her? His arrogant side sneered: So what if you are? His scared side whispered: She'll laugh at you. She'll think you're pathetic.
He didn't know which side was right.
[Warning: Emotional attachment to Lina detected.]
[Analysis: Lina is a civilian. She is not aware of the System. She cannot defend herself against the Quiet Commission.]
[Recommendation: Maintain distance. Emotional bonds are liabilities.]
Kin's jaw tightened. "And if I don't?"
A pause. Then:
[If Lina becomes bonded to you—through loyalty, love, or shared danger—the System will recognize her as a Partner.]
[Partner status grants: Shared intel, emergency evacuation protocols, and a passive protection field (reduces harm from hostile actions by 30%).]
[Risk: Your secret identity becomes compromised. If captured, she can be used against you.]
[Probability of capture if Quiet Commission investigates her: 67%.]
[Probability of her betraying you under torture: Unknown.]
Kin's stomach turned.
Sixty-seven percent. They'd find her. They'd question her. They'd hurt her.
And she might tell them everything.
He wanted to be angry at the System for saying it. But it was just telling him the truth. The same truth he already knew but didn't want to face.
If I care about her, I put her in danger.
He stood at the door for a long moment.
Then he opened it and walked out.
***
The street market was three blocks away.
Kin kept his head down, his hands in his pockets. The grey shirt was plain enough to blend in. The dark pants looked like any other man's. He moved through the crowd like a ghost—not too fast, not too slow, not making eye contact.
The market was loud. Vendors shouted over each other. The smell of grilled meat and overripe fruit hung in the air. Carts lined the narrow street, selling everything from cheap electronics to hand-woven rugs.
Kin found a furniture vendor first.
A fat man with a mustache sat on a plastic stool, fanning himself with a newspaper. Behind him were chairs, tables, a wooden wardrobe, and several bed frames.
"Bed," Kin said. "Bigger than mine."
The vendor looked him up and down. "You got money, boy?"
Kin pulled out his phone and showed the balance.
The vendor's eyes widened. "Ah. Rich boy. Come, come." He stood up and led Kin to a row of beds. "This one. Solid wood. Big enough for two people. Maybe three, if you're flexible."
Kin ignored the joke. "How much?"
"Two thousand. Delivery included."
"Fine."
The vendor blinked. "No haggling?"
"No."
"...I like you." He wrote down an address. "One hour. Maybe two. Depends on traffic."
Kin paid and moved on.
He bought a table—solid, not wobbly—for eight hundred. Two chairs for three hundred each. A small wardrobe for his clothes. A rug, blue and faded, that looked like it had seen better days but was soft under his fingers. Two hundred.
Sheets. Pillows. A blanket that wasn't a thin, scratchy thing he'd had since forever.
Then he saw the flowers.
A small cart at the edge of the market, run by an old woman with kind eyes. Buckets of color—red, yellow, white, pink. The smell was sweet and heavy.
Kin stopped.
What kind of flowers do you buy for a landlady who touched your hair and smiled like she might kill you or kiss you?
He didn't know.
"For a lady?" the old woman asked.
"...Yes."
"Red means love. Yellow means friendship. White means apology." She tilted her head. "What do you need to say?"
I don't know, Kin thought. Thank you? I'm sorry about your brother? Please don't betray me to the Quiet Commission?
"Yellow," he said. "Friendship."
She wrapped a bundle of yellow flowers in brown paper. "Three hundred."
He paid and took them. They felt fragile in his hand. Too bright for his grey mood.
[Item Acquired: Yellow Flowers (Friendship).]
[Lina Affection Modifier: +? – Unknown effect.]
[Warning: This is a social gesture. Social gestures create expectations. Expectations create bonds. Bonds create liabilities.]
Shut up, Kin thought.
He was walking back toward his apartment when he saw them.
Soldiers.
Three of them, standing outside a government building at the end of the street. Rifles slung over their shoulders. Hard eyes scanning the crowd.
Kin's heart stopped.
The general's men. Or the Quiet Commission's. Or just random soldiers. It doesn't matter. They'll recognize me. They'll—
[Alert: Hostile-adjacent personnel detected. Probability of recognition: 12% (current appearance).]
[Recommendation: Activate facial disguise. Duration: 6 hours. Cost: 6,000 SN.]
He didn't hesitate. Activate.
The coldness washed over his face again. Clay on skin. Features shifting. By the time he walked past the soldiers, he was Jan Koval again—wider jaw, shorter nose, scar on the eyebrow.
One of the soldiers glanced at him. Kin nodded—casual, bored, I belong here—and kept walking.
The soldier looked away.
Kin's heart pounded until he turned the corner.
[Disguise remaining: 5 hours, 52 minutes.]
[Threat avoided.]
He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Too close.
**
The delivery truck arrived at 1 PM.
Kin heard the horn from his apartment. He looked out the window. A battered blue truck with wooden sides, parked right outside.
He ran down the stairs, two at a time.
Two men were already opening the back. A bed frame. A mattress—real, not the floor. A table. Chairs. A wardrobe. The rug. Boxes of sheets and pillows.