There were two major reasons why I hadn’t tried to get a terminal until now.

    First, the money. And second, my lack of a proper identity.

    Before explaining further, it’s probably best to describe what a terminal is.

    A terminal, in simple terms, is the equivalent of a smartphone in this world.

    You could make calls, send messages, take photos, and browse the internet.

    Functionally, it wasn’t much different from a smartphone—a must-have item for modern life.

    However, the reason it wasn’t called a smartphone and instead referred to as a terminal was... well, due to various factors.

    The appearance of otherworldly races, prolonged wars, technological advancements, and shifts in societal culture all contributed to the smartphone becoming a relic of a bygone era.

    On top of that, in this age, devices often came in forms that couldn’t be called “phones,” like bracelets, earrings, or even piercings. For convenience, they were collectively referred to as terminals.

    Considering a terminal’s versatility, enabling access to numerous functions through a single device, it wasn’t something that could come cheap, no matter how much technology had advanced.

    If I excluded minor expenses like buying snacks when I was hungry, I’d need to work for at least a month straight just to afford a basic terminal outright.

    In short, even acquiring a functional terminal was a significant hurdle for me.

    My income barely scraped by as pocket money from part-time work, so just thinking about such an expense gave me a headache.

    ‘And then there’s the identity issue... That’s even more annoying. They have telecom companies here too, so you need to register to use the device’s full functionality. And to register... you generally need an ID card.’

    It was already hard enough being short on money. Even if I managed to save up, the issue of lacking proper identification would still hold me back.

    As a result, no matter how convenient life with a terminal might sound, it was as unattainable to me as a cake in a painting.

    I envied the citizens of NightHaven for being able to live so effortlessly.

    But this was only if I pursued the lawful and proper methods.

    Let’s be honest—am I really the only one in this city without an identity?

    There must be plenty of people living in the shadows: exiled criminals, fugitives who’d abandoned their names to escape pursuit, or avengers who’d forsaken their identities to exact revenge. R?A????E?s

    For various reasons, there must be mountains of people here who couldn’t openly reveal their identities.

    And do you think merchants would ignore such lucrative opportunities? Of course not!

    “Hey, did you hear? That organization we talked about got completely destroyed by Snake.”

    “Ah, I knew it. Those country bumpkins came here acting all high and mighty, and they ended up catching the eye of a monster. This is a place where sticking out gets you stabbed immediately.”

    “Move, move! This is a bomb! A bomb, I’m telling you!”

    ***

    The Northern Slums of NightHaven.

    This area was so isolated that buses and subways didn’t even reach it. It was one of the most crime-ridden parts of NightHaven.

    Run-down buildings and foul odors filled the air. In stark contrast to the relatively neat city-dwellers, this place was crawling with rough-looking individuals: scarred, bizarrely tattooed, and often of otherworldly races.

    Unlike the Western district, where the beastfolk maintained order through their dominance, the North had no clear ruler. It was a blood-soaked battleground of chaos and war.

    However, in a place where it seemed nearly impossible to create anything of value, the black market thrived surprisingly well.

    Perhaps it was because no one could establish clear dominance here, making it nearly impossible to completely uproot the black market’s operations.

    In this resilient black market that refused to disappear, virtually anything could be sold or bought.

    ‘This place... it should be the one mentioned in the original story. Hm, it really is run-down.’

    The building I stopped in front of looked unremarkable enough to be mistaken for a regular house if not for the dusty sign hanging above it.

    Written on the sign, in simple Chinese characters, was “General Goods.”

    The rare sight of these characters in NightHaven reassured me that I’d found the right place.

    ...Still, actually entering made me a bit nervous.

    I steadied myself, feigning calm, and reached out to push the door open.

    Or rather, I tried to.

    Just as I was about to grab the doorknob, a loud commotion erupted from inside.

    “Get out, you worthless brat!”

    “Ouch, Master! That hurts! It hurts!”

    “Then die in pain, idiot! You think I’m hitting you for fun?!”

    Oh. This might be a good time to step back.

    As I took a few steps away from the door, it swung open abruptly, and a young man stumbled out, looking panicked.

    “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

    The man, with yellow hair slicked like it had been dipped in honey and an air of fragility, rolled on the ground once before scrambling to his feet and darting deeper into the alley on all fours.

    He was so flustered that he didn’t even notice me standing near the door.

    The next person to emerge was a woman with thick, round glasses perched on her face and vivid red hair.

    She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties.

    Her freckled nose might’ve drawn attention if it weren’t for the overwhelming presence of her revealing sleeveless top, which showcased both her figure and cleavage, adding significantly to her charisma.

    She slipped on her sandals and stepped outside, seemingly intent on chasing after the yellow-haired man.

    But when her sharp gaze landed on me standing by the door, I couldn’t help but tense up.

    After a brief moment, as if realizing I wasn’t just a passerby but a potential customer, her eyes narrowed, and she spoke cautiously.

    “Are you... a customer, by any chance?”

    “....”

    “Ugh, fine. Come inside. It’s cold out here.”

    I nodded at her question, and she rubbed the back of her neck as if this timing couldn’t have been worse.

    She seemed torn between pursuing the runaway man and dealing with me as a customer.

    Still, perhaps she thought attending to a visitor took priority, no matter how urgent her business.

    With her temper seemingly subdued, she guided me into the shop.

    Something about her exuded maturity—like Greg or Raven. She was undeniably an adult in the truest sense. So cool.

    She looked just as she had in the original story.

    That realization sparked an inexplicable sense of familiarity within me.