Tasin sprinted through the Xylos City streets, his legs pumping harder than they ever had during mandatory school fitness drills. The chrono-display on a nearby building showed 8:58 AM. He pushed himself, dodging pedestrians and delivery drones, desperation fueling his speed.
He skidded to a halt before the familiar plastic-steel doors of 'Cosmic Grub', the mid-tier restaurant that had been his prison for the past few years. 8:59 AM. He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. "Finally... in time..."
Just then, his wrist communicator buzzed. He glanced down – it was his work friend, Nick Braston. He accepted the call, Nick's slightly panicked face appearing on the small screen.
"Tasin! Where are you? Get in here quick, man! There's a show going down!"
"Show? What show? I'm right outside, just catching my breath," Tasin replied, still winded.
"Just get in! You gotta see this!" Nick urged before cutting the connection.
Intrigued and slightly uneasy, Tasin pushed through the rear entrance used by staff, heading straight for the cramped locker room. What 'show' could Nick be talking about? He quickly changed into the standard grey worker's tunic, shoving his street clothes into his locker.
Stepping out, he immediately understood. Instead of the usual morning prep bustle, most of the kitchen and wait staff were clustered near the manager's office door, murmuring anxiously. Tasin slid next to Nick. "What's going on?"
Nick, a lanky young man with perpetually worried eyes, leaned closer. "Bad news, man. Real bad. The regional owner was here earlier. Apparently, this branch's profits are way down. He gave Fatty Barry two months to turn things around, or they're closing us down."
"Closing down?" Tasin frowned.
"Yeah! And guess how Barry plans to 'increase profits'?" Nick scoffed. "He's cutting our pay! Effective immediately! He just finished lecturing us about working harder while basically stealing from our pockets. Said the next two months' salary will be even lower too! I gotta start looking for a new job..."
Fatty Barry. Manager Barry Gulp. A man whose incompetence was matched only by his waistline. Tasin felt a surge of annoyance, but then, a new thought occurred. His eye!
He subtly focused his intent, activating the Gaze of Providence, directing it towards the manager who was now stepping out of his office to address the staff.
A faint overlay appeared in Tasin's vision:
[Target Scan Initiated...]
Name: Barry Gulp
Age: 38
Cultivation: Tier 1 Sense (Peak Level)
Talent: Dim
Skills: [Basic Management (Poor)], [Blustering Intimidation (Ineffective)]
Technique: [Standard Energy Circulation (Flawed)]
Identity: Manager, Cosmic Grub (Xylos Branch 3)
Affiliation: Minor connection via father-in-law (District Commerce Guild staffer)
Luck Value: Low-Medium (Slightly declining)
Dim talent? Peak Sense? Tasin almost laughed out loud. The man's cultivation was barely above his own before the system, and his talent was just as garbage! How the hell did this fat pig become manager? Ah, connections. Father-in-law pulled some strings. Classic mediocrity failing upwards.
Barry Gulp cleared his throat importantly, puffing out his chest. "Alright, listen up! Despite the challenging market conditions, head office has processed this month's salary payments. They should be reflected in your accounts now." He tried to sound magnanimous.
Tasin immediately checked his wrist communicator's linked bank account.
[Ding! Deposit Confirmed: +5000 Credits. New Balance: 5120.63 Credits.]
Five thousand? His agreed-upon salary was six thousand credits a month! That fat leech had skimmed a full thousand credits! Anger, hot and sharp, flared in Tasin's chest. Around him, others murmured, checking their own balances with dismayed expressions, but fear of losing their jobs kept them silent.
Not Tasin. Not anymore.
"Hey! Fatty!" Tasin's voice cut through the tense silence. Everyone froze, staring at him. Barry Gulp's face flushed crimson.
"What did you call me, Ahmed?" Barry hissed, stepping towards Tasin.
"I called you Fatty," Tasin repeated calmly, stepping forward too. "Where's the rest of my salary? My contract says six thousand. You deposited five. Don't think you can just pocket our hard-earned money because your boss threatened your cushy job."
Barry's face contorted with rage. He'd never been challenged like this, especially not by a low-level waiter he barely registered. "You insolent brat! What are you going to do if I don't give you the rest, huh? Going to cry to the Labour Guild? They won't even process a complaint for weeks!"
Tasin snorted, a sound full of contempt. "Oh, I won't cry. But you should worry about the consequences." He locked eyes with the sputtering manager. "Consider this my formal resignation. Effective immediately."
He pulled out his communicator, quickly typed a message, and sent it to the official company resignation portal. "Resignation submitted digitally. Timestamped. Witnesses present."
Then, right there in front of everyone, Tasin reached up and yanked the grey worker's tunic off over his head, leaving him in his plain t-shirt underneath. He tossed the crumpled uniform onto the floor at Barry's feet.
"Good luck saving this dump," Tasin said coolly, turning his back on the stunned manager and shocked colleagues. He walked towards the back door.
Silence reigned for a moment, broken only by Barry Gulp's sputtering rage. "You... you're fired! Get out! Security!" (There was no security). He then rounded on the other employees. "What are you all gawking at? Get back to work! Now!"
As Tasin pushed open the back door into the alley, his communicator buzzed. It was Nick. 'Dude! Are you crazy?! We can smooth this over! Apologize to Barry later!'
Tasin quickly replied, 'No way, man. I'm done. Let's grab a drink later, my treat. I'll call you.' He disabled the communication function, needing some space.
He stood in the alley for a moment, the anger fading, replaced by a heady mix of freedom and uncertainty. He had 5120.63 Credits, no job, a trash-tier talent (for now), and a powerful, sassy system in his head. What now?
Points. He needed Recycle Points to upgrade his talent. Where could he get valuable things to recycle? Or find ways to earn lots of credits quickly?
An idea sparked. There was one place in Xylos City that catered to cultivators of all levels, a hub of resources, information, and opportunities: The Human Alliance building. It was run jointly by the strongest factions on the planet, a neutral ground housing everything from official strength testing facilities and mission boards to specialized shops selling cultivation resources and artifacts. If anywhere had opportunities, it was there.
Decision made, Tasin straightened his shoulders and started walking, leaving the stench of stale synth-food and petty tyranny behind him. He headed towards the gleaming, spire-like structure that dominated the city center – the local branch of the Human Alliance.
This is the finish of chapter