CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 24- THE PLAN TO LOAN

The automatic doors gave a mechanical hiss as they slid shut behind the invisible girl, her presence fading into the cold, midnight breeze outside. Only the soft hum of the ceiling lights remained, buzzing quietly like the afterthought of an odd dream.

Kaidren leaned back in his green plastic chair, the kind that had lost any right to be called comfortable. His elbows rested against the counter, hands still lightly gripping the sides of his blue phone. The screen glowed dimly in the otherwise muted store.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, eyes blank, letting the silence settle.

Then, after a moment of reflection, he muttered in his mind with the same dry flatness that had come to define his inner world:

"Weird first shift."

A small pause.

"Should’ve known."

His coworker’s words echoed from earlier that evening—"Night shifts aren’t always stable." At the time, Kaidren hadn’t thought much of it. He assumed it was just a harmless joke to haze the rookie employee.

But after dealing with an invisible esper nervously buying chibi-branded chips? That warning felt far too mild.

Still, Kaidren didn’t dwell. His indifference held fast like armor.

As long as they don’t cause me problems, he thought, they can do whatever they want.

With that, he returned to his previous position—slouched but alert, thumb idly scrolling through his feed on ZBook. The chair creaked beneath him every so often, and a faint buzz came from one of the flickering ceiling panels overhead. A dull, late-night ambiance—the kind that blurred the lines between reality and monotony.

Minutes passed.

Most of the reels and posts were noise: recycled content, influencer drama, shallow takes on esper theory. Kaidren skimmed without attachment, eyes half-lidded. That was, until a post caught his attention.

It was from a verified news poster, one of the few Kaidren bothered to follow. Trusted. Neutral. Informative.

The post had already gained over a million reactions, a flood of shocked faces and comment threads racing faster than he could scroll.

"BREAKING: APEX-RANK KESSEN CONFIRMED! Kairos Circle vs Echoflux. Set for February 17, 2138 – Wednesday, at Arkhai Arena, District 1, City B."

Kaidren sat up straighter, one brow twitching slightly.

That’s just two days from now...

He blinked at the date. Today was Monday. The announcement for this match had only come out yesterday. And now it was already finalized?

Guess they couldn’t wait any longer to settle whatever dispute they had.

He tapped the post once to expand the details. Video snippets began auto-playing—teasers of both factions, showcasing their top-ranked espers, old clips from past battles, grainy recordings of skirmishes that hinted at the tension building behind the scenes.

Kaidren wasn’t particularly invested in Apex-tier politics. He didn’t have the energy or interest to follow the drama most fans obsessed over. But he wasn’t blind to opportunity.

Especially when that opportunity had numbers attached.

He tilted his head, calculating.

The underground betting system usually opens up a day before the match. So... that’s tomorrow.

A slow nod.

If I’m going to place anything, it has to be then.

His fingers tapped the edge of the phone, lightly. An idle rhythm as his mind whirred beneath the surface.

The payout from an Apex-rank Kessen wasn’t small. With the right timing, the right wager—especially if you backed the underdog—you could multiply your stake dozens of times over. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to walk out of a single Kessen bet with a year’s salary, or more.

Kaidren’s gaze drifted toward the far end of the store, where the security monitor flickered silently.

He wasn’t greedy. He didn’t fantasize about wealth.

But with the screening for Esper Studies and Training Institute approaching next week—the official entry point into the Psi Guardians International program—he needed a financial cushion. He had no doubt he’d pass. With six fully unlocked body-type abilities already mastered, his esper abilities alone would carry him through.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to enter the institute already "cleanly rich," as he put it to himself. No rent worries. No food calculations. No need to hold back on spending some future itmes.

A smooth entry.

A quiet life.

He leaned back again, phone resting on his chest as he looked at the ceiling.

A few seconds passed in stillness before a subtle sigh escaped his lips.

"...So I’ll need a loan," he said flatly to himself.

A loan big enough to make a difference. Something in the millions of AUR. Enough to make the bet meaningful—and if his prediction held, enough to retire problems before they even started.

But the idea wasn’t without its obstacles.

He mentally reviewed his own standing. A new part-time worker. Young. Plain-looking. No credit history to speak of. And he’d be walking into a bank, asking for millions?

They’d laugh me out of the building.

No matter how confident Kaidren was in the match’s outcome—banks wouldn’t fund gambling schemes. Not openly. And not for someone who looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

He stared at the ceiling light above, watching a tiny moth dance drunkenly around the glow.

So what angle do I take?

He folded his arms across his chest.

He could try to fake a business proposal. A startup idea. Or present himself as an early investor with hidden backers. But all of that would require a convincing paper trail—and Kaidren wasn’t interested in fabricating identities or bribing officials.

Too messy.

Too much noise.

There had to be something simpler. Something he could lean into, with minimal exposure.

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The silence of the night shift had a way of stretching time—elongating seconds into minutes, and minutes into contemplative hours. Kaidren sat still behind the counter of the Dimerian Store, his energy long withdrawn into his core, no longer flickering faintly along his limbs. His phone now sat beside him on the countertop, its screen dimmed after long minutes of idleness. His leanable green plastic chair creaked faintly as he shifted his weight, sprawling deeper into its lazy curve like someone folding into thought rather than comfort.

For a moment, there was only the faint humming of an overhead bulb, flickering every now and then, and the occasional blip from the Zbook interface still faintly glowing on his phone.

And then, his lips moved—quiet, barely audible.

"...Potions."

He didn’t move. The word just escaped like a breath, flat and hollow, devoid of emotion as always. No fire in his tone, no excitement in his eyes. Just a thought, laid bare.

The idea lingered in the air. Strange, foreign—but not impossible.

Potions.

The concept wasn’t new. Not to him, at least—not with the fragmented memory of the game Espers of the World buried somewhere in the quieter recesses of his mind. Though he hadn’t been a die-hard fan, the mechanics and meta threads on social media lingered. He remembered browsing them years ago out of boredom and loneliness.

In the current world, though, potions didn’t exist.

Not really.

The entire esper industry still clung to buff glyphs—scrolls, parchments, ancient inscribed plates brimming with Nexarion-enhancing symbols. Buff scrolls were tradition. The art of crafting them had been refined over centuries, passed down like sacred rites. No one questioned them. No one tried to innovate.

And there in lay the problem.

The field had grown stagnant.

Glyphmakers were becoming rarer. The study too complex. Hundreds of reference books, the endless memorization of intricate patterns—it was a craft that fewer and fewer espers had the time or dedication for. The modern age was shifting, demanding convenience, accessibility... and scrolls were neither.

That was when, if he remembered correctly, potion making came into the picture—in the future.

It was a result of industrial desperation, not curiosity. Faced with a dwindling supply of scroll-makers, big companies had pivoted to innovation. Potions became the new frontier: easier to learn, easier to replicate, and more open-ended. Unlike scrolls rooted in ancient, static knowledge, potions allowed experimentation. Discovery. New effects.

New profits.

Kaidren leaned further back, one leg lazily swinging beneath the counter. His expression remained blank, unchanging, but his mind ticked like a clockwork machine behind his pale violet eyes.

He could introduce potion-making early.

He could be the one to start it.

And if he succeeded... it could become his collateral for the millions of AUR he planned to loan from Aegis Bank. They wouldn’t just be lending to a random civilian with good bone structure and dead eyes—they’d be funding the future of an entire industry.

It was ambitious.

It was reckless.

It was a gamble.

But wasn’t that everything he’d been doing since arriving here?

He stared at the ceiling, letting his thoughts spiral.

Of course, he knew the risk. Introducing potion crafting now, this early in the timeline, might have ripple effects. Changing history—even slightly—could create bigger problems down the line. Unintended consequences. The future becoming more unstable than it already was.

But... what did that matter now?

Kaidren let out a shallow breath, barely a sigh.

"Whatever," he muttered.

The system had already told him that the narrative of this world was going off-script. Events that weren’t supposed to happen were unfolding anyway. The supposed timeline of the Espers of the World game was breaking apart like paper in a storm.

So what was the point of trying to preserve it?

His goal was never to follow the story.

It was survival. Peace.

A quiet life with cheap noodles and maybe a few games downloaded on a console. No drama. No fate-of-the-world nonsense. Just existence. That was enough.

And if he needed millions of AUR to bet on the upcoming Kessen match—and win big before enrolling in the Esper Studies and Training Institute—then this was his best option.

He nodded to himself. Barely.

Decision made.

The next step was figuring out what kind of potion to create.

Here, though, his memory became more fog than clarity. He couldn’t recall a single formula from the game. No precise ingredients, no proper ratios. Not even the names of herbs.

But he did remember something else—something from the official Espers of the World fan page on Facebook. A post that had gone semi-viral once, back when potion-making was still fresh and barely patched into the game. Players had found it amusing how haphazard the process was.

Apparently, you could toss in random monster parts, a couple of herbs, pour in some liquid—be it water or herb-soaked essence—and stir. Heat it, wait a few hours... and a potion would emerge.

Sometimes it would grant strength. Sometimes it would knock you unconscious.

It was chaotic. Unreliable. But fun.

And more importantly, possible.

Kaidren allowed his eyes to close for a second, calculating silently.

He’d need to get his hands on some monster body parts. Maybe from a black market vendor. Low-tier beast cores, claws, maybe a horn. Some herbs too—nothing fancy, just whatever a local alchemy supplier had lying around. A cauldron or a metal pot, some distilled water, maybe something mildly magical to act as a catalyst.

He didn’t need perfection.

He just needed results.

Preferably not explosive ones.

"Let’s hope it doesn’t melt my face," he murmured without a hint of fear or humor.

His gaze returned to the silent store around him.

Still no customers.

Still no noise.

He slowly leaned forward again and picked up his phone from the counter. The dim light of the screen reflected faintly in his eyes as he opened a new tab in Zbook, fingers moving to search for the closest places that sold low-tier monster materials.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

But if this worked—if he brewed even one potion with a remotely useful effect—then the bank wouldn’t be rejecting his loan request.

They’d be begging for a stake.