"Damn it… Again!"
"Did everyone decide to keep their store closed today?"
"No... someone has to be open. Just keep moving... I have to find it. One store. Just one."
Ezgar, fifteen years old, stood staring at the **CLOSED** sign with his piercing blue eyes. His hair was messy, and his breathing was heavy. Despite the scorching heat, he wore black clothes—drenched in sweat, clinging to his skin. They hadn't even dried when he began to run again.
The mutation had started fifty years ago with the rain. Every child born after carried it—organs that aged in reverse, kept stable only by monthly Roxynil doses. But at fifteen, the medicine stopped working as well. Without the Verge trial, death was certain.
He reached yet another store—'The Big Medical Store.' His torn shoes halted, and maybe his hope did too.
**CLOSED.**
Such a small word, yet so cruel and heartless. Still, he kept staring at the signboard, as if his sharp gaze could melt it and whatever he needed would somehow appear.
Nothing came except more sweat. A salty taste reached his tongue. "Bleh."
He spat, rolled his eyes at the road, and spotted a stone. He slammed his foot into it—all the fury bottled inside that one kick. The stone bounced a few times before falling silent.
Then he looked at his hands—that black smoke again, like a curse, coiling around his thumbs.
"No. Not yet." He shook his hands violently. The force caused the smoke to retreat under his skin.
But as his attention shifted, it started seeping out again.
"Only one shop left—the seductress' store."
Just the thought of it made his spine shiver. That line of hers from three days ago still echoed in his head—"Yes, my dear husband…" And the hunger in her eyes… He could never forget that.
But when survival is on the line, people are forced to do anything. This was nothing—people even sell themselves. And he was one among those people now.
So he walked. Not running this time—step by step, slowly… With resolve. With a decision.
"Just two more days… just two more."
"If I can make it to Verge… maybe I'll survive."
Verge—the trial that every child must face upon turning fifteen to survive the mutation. A place unknown. A mission only the chosen understand. No one is told where they'll go, what they'll face, or how they'll be tested. Just one rule—survive. But how long? For some, it lasts moments. For others, days. And for a cursed few, it stretches across lifetimes.
Terrifying, isn't it? But the reward... the reward is so extraordinary that it can even turn an ordinary human into a god.
Ezgar whispered these words to himself—maybe to stay sane, maybe just to keep moving, or maybe to drown out the fear growing louder with every step.
Step by step, he entered a narrow alley—the one place he had sworn never to return to. And yet… here he was. His vow, now just another lie. But was a lie really worse than death?
The alley welcomed him with silence. Dark and suffocating—like the black smoke curling around his fingers.
He didn't know when the smoke had started. Whether it was a curse, blessing, or some cruel cosmic joke. All he knew was: if he didn't get the medicine soon, he would die. And if he could make it to Verge, maybe there'd be a cure waiting for him there.
But then—his hands flared with pain. Sharp. Blinding. He cried out—"Aah!"
"Is this a new symptom? Another stage of the black smoke? No. No more waiting. I have to move now. Fast."
His legs kept moving without stop. When they reached their destination—he saw it.
Her store. Lurking in the shadows, like a spider waiting for its prey in a web.
But Ezgar didn't care anymore. There was only one thing left in his vision—Life. And maybe… only two days of it.
"Ahh... Not again, that damn signboard. No. This has to be some kind of bad joke, right? How could she close the store? No… it doesn't make sense."
He knew what it meant. Still, he'd hoped—maybe if he showed up, she'd open it.
Something was off. Maybe... maybe he just came at the wrong time.
He glanced at his wrist. 10:14 AM.
"Late? It's not even noon!"
Anger began to simmer—then boil. He needed to let it out. So he started kicking the ground. Once… twice… again and again. But nothing changed. Not the ground. Just the way people were now looking at him.
As the fire inside him dulled, a new thought crept in.
"Should I break in? What if I get caught? …But what if I don't?"
He clenched his jaw and made up his mind. He circled the store, scanning for a hidden door, a side entrance, anything.
Or at least… he checked if someone was watching.
And yes—everyone was watching.
"Look, some guy's losing it this early in the morning."
"Another one twitching before Verge."
"Poor bastard. He won't last two days."
Ezgar wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore. Ashamed? Definitely. But he didn't care. He couldn't.
Then, just beside the signboard, he spotted it—a small note, taped to the glass.
"At least there's something..."
He stepped forward. Each pace brought the writing into focus—until finally, he could read it:
---
Dear Customer,
As per orders from the Department of Medicine and Drugs, the store will remain closed today.
We apologize for the inconvenience.
→
---
Huh… an arrow? Where's the actual apology—or at least a 'sorry' sticker?
Ezgar's eyes followed the direction of the arrow—and then he saw it: a screen mounted on the wall. And there she was.
That same woman.
Her body was unclothed—tastefully concealed behind shimmering text. And she was winking at him. The screen displayed a message: "Your cure is with me. Come to the address below."
"Damn… not again."
He remembered that day three days ago all too well.
Back then, he'd still had some fight left in him. He'd been returning from the medical store next door, carrying his regular dose of Roxynil, when he saw a woman standing outside—her eyes locked on his hand.
She approached him and said, "Boy, looks like you're about to hit the Verge, huh?"
He was about to walk past her, pretend he hadn't heard—but she stopped him.
Her voice turned even sweeter.
"Don't be so rude. You're looking for Roxynil, right? There's a shop down that alley—you'll get it cheaper there. And if the owner likes you… well, you might even get a discount."
And with that, she vanished into the crowd.
At first, he didn't believe her. No one would believe some random person's bullshit.
But Roxynil was expensive. It was the only thing that could temporarily suppress the mutation—just enough to survive until the Verge Trial. Without it, your own body would become your executioner. And he needed it. Badly. So, he followed her directions.
The store really existed. Though it wasn't as large as the previous stores, it served the same purpose. He stepped inside—and there she was, behind the counter, quietly working.
Glasses rested on her nose. Long black hair flowing down to her chest. A face crafted to make hearts surrender. She wore a crisp white shirt—professional yet fitted.
Back then, when he still had confidence, he walked up to her with a slight smile and asked, "Do you have Roxynil?"
She looked up, smiled, and said, "Yes… my dear husband." That smile was too seductive and knowing.
He straightened himself. Tried to play it cool—like he'd handled such situations countless times.
"How much?"
She replied, still smiling, "One thousand."
"What? A thousand? What about a discount?"
At that, she leaned forward across the counter, came closer, close enough that he could smell her perfume, and whispered:
"Oh, a discount? The medicine's expensive, but... I might know someone who could help you. For a price, of course."
Something in her tone made his confidence waver. This wasn't just about money.
Suddenly, he felt out of his depth. The confident act crumbled.
"Miss… thank you," he mumbled—and left.
Fled the shop. Left with nothing. Just barely escaped with his dignity intact. And now—there she was again, winking at him from the screen.
"To hell with you… and your medicine."
"I don't want anything from you."
He turned his back on the alley and left.
"Someone must be selling it illegally. Someone has to be."
He wandered from street to street, shop to shop—but everywhere: failure.
Exhausted and defeated, he finally slumped near a shopping plaza, gazing up at the sky.
"What kind of life is this? Is this how I go out? Empty-handed?"
He laughed bitterly. What else was left to do?
And then—all the advertising screens went dark. Every sound—vanished.
Ezgar, seated right beneath one of the massive displays, felt his heart rate spike.
Something stirred within him.
"So... it's starting."