Chapter 5: Inventory Unlocked
Alright. Time for the big one—the Dimensional Hourglass.
Leon took a breath, the kind you draw before opening a final exam paper that could either grant you immortality or inflict immediate emotional damage. Reaching into the vault, he felt the smooth, cold surface of something that probably came with a divine warning label. The hourglass floated into his hand, its sand swirling sideways as if to say, "Gravity? Never heard of her."
There was no dramatic music, no anime glow-up, just a quiet pulse—as if the item was checking his vibe before unlocking. Narrowing his eyes, Leon muttered, "If you turn me into a time ghost, I swear I'm haunting someone."
His consciousness blinked. One second, he was in his room. The next—boom. An empty void. No walls, no furniture, no ominous whispers. Just miles of flat, glowing space and a strange, buzzing stillness.
"Okay, this is either a pocket dimension or Apple's new startup campus," he muttered, glancing around. Looking down, he checked himself—feet, arms, everything intact. He was real in here, but he could sense that his body was still anchored in the physical world.
Then the weirdness hit. He moved his hand—it felt normal, but also slow. Not resistant, just delayed. Like time itself was wearing Crocs.
A thought slid softly but clearly into his brain: 'One second outside = one thousand in. No aging. No hunger. No distractions. Just you.'
Leon stood still, processing that revelation. Then he whispered, "I've unlocked anime training arc mode."
His mind went full gremlin. 'I could master swordplay. Or train magic. Or rewatch my entire childhood trauma in peace!'
Dropping into a squat, he slapped the glowing floor. Solid. Tangible. Even if he wasn't fully present in physical form, the difference was nearly impossible to detect. No monsters, no taxes—just infinite productivity and zero judgment.
"God, this is what introverts dream of," he said, standing up again and flexing his fingers. No pain. No fatigue. Still energized.
This wasn't just a hideout. It was a weapon.
He could grind levels undisturbed, learn spells at his own pace, meditate, or scream-cry for three days straight and come out looking emotionally balanced.
And then? Step back into the real world like, "I've changed."
His grin turned full gremlin. "Okay, this is my favorite child now. Sorry, soup."
With a flicker of thought, the vault closed. The void snapped shut like a tab in incognito mode. Leon was back in his room. Steam still rose from the soup. The window creaked. Time hadn't budged an inch.
And he had just gained a thousand hours of freedom.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, he whispered, "This is so broken. I love it."
He sat cross-legged, spoon on one side, the hourglass floating like a smug little deity on the other. Five treasures explored. Two to go. And with this much time at his disposal, he could become anything—even someone who stops getting beat up by soup thieves.
'Alright, Leon,' he thought, rubbing his hands together, 'you've got mystical artifacts stored in a soul-bounded pocket dimension. You're technically a magical orphan in a fantasy world. And this hourglass might be the greatest one yet. What's next? Try not to choke on your own greatness?'
Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly and focused. With a thought, the vault opened. Two remaining items hovered in that familiar, starlit void. He'd already tested the spoon—Soup God Mode—the ultimate business and hunger code. The boots he could wear all day. The cloak that looked shabby but proved useful under the right circumstances. The orb that didn't seem to work yet, though it seemed to acknowledge his existence; he could feel he needed something more before it would fully bond. And, of course, the Dimensional Hourglass—the walking cheat code.
But two more treasures waited to be unwrapped like high-stakes birthday presents.
"Let's see what else you've got for me, RNGesus," he said, reaching first for the Ring of Minor Regeneration.
With a flicker, a thin silver ring shimmered into reality. It looked... underwhelming. No flaming runes, no swirling energy, not even a dramatic pulse of crimson light. Just a ring. Plain, functional, and vaguely magical.
Leon frowned. "You better not be just jewelry."
Still, he slipped it onto his finger—and instantly flinched. A warm wave flowed across his skin like stepping into a hot bath. A faint glow shimmered across his arms and chest before vanishing. His old bruises—knees from running, shoulders from that fall near the barrels—faded in seconds.
Leon blinked. Then blinked again. Then looked at his hand like it had just asked him to prom.
"Okay. You win. You're staying."
Flexing his fingers, he admired how natural it felt, as if the ring had always been there.
"A healing ring that works on thought… I'm never taking this off. Ever. I'm marrying this ring. We're dating now."
With his confidence fully recharged—and his joints no longer hating him—Leon turned to the final treasure.
The Blade of Convenient Sharpness.
It appeared in a quiet flash—long, sleek, and deadly elegant. A matte black blade sheathed in matching darkness, with a polished silver handle that looked like it belonged in a noble's collection, not in the hands of a half-starved soup vendor.
Leon reached for it.
It dropped like a comet.
Clang.
The sound echoed through the floorboards as the sword hit with a bone-jarring thud, cracking the wood beneath.
Leon stared. Then tried to lift it. Nothing. He gave it another tug. Still nothing.
"What the hell are you, Excalibur's angry cousin?" he hissed, using both hands and all the might his noodle arms could muster.
Still nothing. It just sat there—sheathed, silent, and heavy as sin.
Then he felt it. A presence. Like the sword was... watching him.
Not literally—but spiritually.
His chest tightened. A cold sweat slid down his back. The air around the blade warped slightly, as if something ancient and violent was barely tolerating his existence.
Leon let go like it had grown teeth. Okay. That one? That one was scary.
"Noted," he muttered, backing away like the sword might suddenly leap up and yell, "Boo."
He sat at the edge of the bed, wiping his palms on his trousers. "So. We've got an emo sword that hates me, a healing ring that loves me, and a soup spoon that wants to feed the world."
He exhaled. This world was mad. But for the first time, he didn't feel powerless in it.
A little unhinged? Maybe. But not powerless.
Leon glanced at the orb still floating in the air—silent, stubborn, and radiating untouchable potential. If it wasn't ready to play nice, then fine.
"Back into the vault you go," he muttered, not expecting it to work.
He reached out—not physically, but through that inner thread, the strange storage connection the cosmic entity said was tied to his soul. A flicker of will, a pulse of intent.
The orb shimmered—then vanished in a flicker of stardust, pulled back into the dimensional vault like it had been yanked through a cosmic USB port.
Leon froze. Then broke into a grin so wide it hurt.
"Wait. Wait wait wait—so I can just store stuff? Instantly? In storage connected to my soul?"
He turned to the cloak, boots, and ring, his hands practically vibrating. "This is an inventory system. A literal cheat menu."
He laughed under his breath. "I'm a walking shonen protagonist."
For the first time in this world, he felt equipped.
And the game had officially begun.