Mario didn’t leave the café immediately.
He sat by the window for several more minutes, letting the last of his coffee cool while the city continued moving outside.
Cars.
Students.
Office workers.
Street vendors shouting to passing customers.
Twenty years.
The number still felt unreal.
Eventually, he stood, paid the bill, and walked outside.
The afternoon sun had climbed higher, making the streets noticeably busier than before.
Somewhere nearby, someone was grilling barbecue.
The smell drifted through the humid air, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since…
He stopped.
Since before he died.
His stomach wasn’t exactly hungry, but his body clearly expected food.
“So I still need to eat.”
That was reassuring.
Being a glitch apparently didn’t exempt him from basic human biology.
As he walked, he pulled the worn leather wallet from his pocket.
Earlier, he’d only checked the driver’s license.
Now, he examined everything inside.
A small stack of bills.
He counted them.
Five thousand pesos.
Not five thousand and one.
Exactly five thousand.
Mario smiled despite himself.
“…That feels intentional.”
The R.O.B.
hadn’t made him wealthy.
Just comfortable enough to avoid starving.
Very much his style.
Behind the cash sat several plastic cards.
A driver’s license.
He looked at it again.
Mario Mortiz.
Birthdate.
Exactly the same.
Birthplace.
The same municipality.
Parents.
The same names.
Everything matched the life he’d lived.
Except the photo.
It showed the face he now wore.
Older than eighteen.
Younger than thirty-eight.
Then came the ATM card.
Curious, Mario turned it over before slipping it back into the wallet.
A company ID followed.
He studied it carefully.
The company name meant nothing to him.
His own picture stared back.
Below it…
Mario Mortiz
No surprises there.
Finally, tucked behind the ID was a single brass key attached to a faded plastic tag.
Written in black marker was an address.
The same address listed on his driver’s license.
“So…”
“I have somewhere to live.”
One more item remained.
The phone.
It wasn’t the smartphone he’d been using before his death.
This one was older.
Much older.
A thick plastic body with physical buttons, a tiny color screen, and a camera that probably struggled to produce anything resembling a clear image.
Mario chuckled.
“I forgot these used to be impressive.”
The battery still had charge.
No missed calls.
No messages.
No contacts.
Almost…
Factory new.
He slipped it back into his pocket.
Everything he carried pointed toward the same conclusion.
Someone—or something—had prepared an entire identity for him.
Whether that someone was the R.O.B….
He couldn’t be certain.
But there wasn’t enough information to consider another possibility.
Not yet.
The apartment stood on the third floor of a modest building tucked between a laundry shop and a neighborhood bakery.
Nothing about it stood out.
Which, Mario realized, was probably the point.
He climbed the stairs at an unhurried pace before stopping outside Room 3-C.
The brass key slid into the lock.
One turn.
Click.
The door opened.
Mario remained at the entrance for several seconds before stepping inside.
Small.
Maybe twenty square meters.
A single bed.
A wooden table.
One chair.
A tiny refrigerator.
A narrow kitchen counter with just enough space to prepare simple meals.
The apartment wasn’t luxurious.
But it was clean.
Almost too clean.
He walked slowly through every corner.
The refrigerator contained bottled water, eggs, bread, and instant noodles.
Enough food for several days.
The bathroom held unopened toiletries.
Fresh towels.
A toothbrush still inside its packaging.
The wardrobe contained neatly folded clothes.
Every piece fit him perfectly.
Even the shoes.
Mario frowned.
The apartment felt…
Prepared. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Not lived in.
There were no family photographs.
No old receipts scattered across the table.
No half-finished books.
No laundry basket waiting to be emptied.
No signs that another human being had ever existed here.
Everything looked as though someone had staged an apartment for a furniture catalog.
Complete.
Yet strangely lifeless.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress sank slightly beneath his weight.
Finally…
He was alone.
No impossible beings.
No endless white space.
No conversations about omnipotence.
Just silence.
His silence.
Mario leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
His thoughts naturally drifted to the young man he’d seen that morning.
His younger self.
Eighteen years old.
Still laughing.
Still believing the world rewarded sincerity.
A bitter smile appeared.
“…Idiot.”
The word escaped before he could stop it.
He wasn’t insulting the young man.
He was insulting the person he’d once been.
He remembered saying yes to every request.
Helping anyone who asked.
Trusting people simply because they smiled.
Believing kindness would eventually return to him.
It hadn’t.
If anything…
People had simply learned he was someone they could take advantage of.
Mario shook his head.
“If I could give you one piece of advice…”
He looked toward the apartment window.
“…I’d tell you to stop trying to save everyone.”
The room remained silent.
Of course it did.
His younger self couldn’t hear him.
Then another thought surfaced.
The R.O.B.’s words.
“You’re no longer connected to your original causality.”
Mario’s expression slowly changed.
Detached.
From causality.
From destiny.
From fate.
His eyes narrowed.
“If that’s true…”
He spoke slowly, organizing each thought before moving to the next.
“…then I’m no longer the Mario that belongs to this timeline.”
Which meant…
The younger Mario still did.
He stood and began pacing the room.
“There are now two Mario Mortizs.”
One belonged to history.
The other…
Didn’t belong anywhere.
Mario stopped walking.
A cold realization settled over him.
“This can’t continue forever.”
Two men.
One identity.
Eventually…
Someone would notice.
Government records.
Employers.
Banks.
Friends.
Family.
Sooner or later, their lives would overlap.
His younger self would grow older.
Their appearances would gradually become harder to distinguish.
Mario closed his eyes.
“If I intend to live this life…”
The words came quietly.
“…then eventually…”
He opened his eyes again.
“…there can only be one Mario Mortiz.”
The sentence lingered in the empty apartment.
He didn’t flinch.
Nor did he feel guilty for thinking it.
It wasn’t hatred.
It wasn’t revenge.
His younger self hadn’t betrayed anyone.
Hadn’t made the mistakes that would eventually destroy his life.
As far as Mario was concerned…
That eighteen-year-old was innocent.
But innocence didn’t solve practical problems.
He exhaled slowly.
“No.”
“Not now.”
There was no reason to make that decision today.
In fact…
Making any decision without understanding the consequences would be foolish.
He still didn’t know what would happen if the younger Mario died.
Would history change?
Would he disappear?
Would nothing happen?
He lacked information.
And Mario had spent his entire adult life learning one simple lesson.
Never make irreversible decisions with incomplete information.
He pushed the thought aside.
One problem at a time.
Money.
Five thousand pesos.
That was all.
He checked the ATM card anyway.
Perhaps there was something hidden.
An account.
Savings.
Anything.
An hour later…
Standing in front of an ATM several blocks away, the machine answered for him.
Available Balance: ₱0.00
Mario stared at the screen for several seconds.
“…I suppose I deserved that for hoping.”
He cancelled the transaction and walked away.
So.
Five thousand pesos.
No savings.
No investments.
No property.
No career.
No connections.
He almost laughed.
“I’m unemployed.”
Again.
Back in the apartment, he sat at the table and began thinking aloud.
“What do I actually have?”
He counted on his fingers.
“Future knowledge.”
“That’s valuable.”
He lowered one finger.
“But not immediately.”
Investing in companies.
Buying land.
Cryptocurrency.
Stocks.
All of those required one thing.
Capital.
Capital he didn’t possess.
“I need money first.”
His gaze drifted toward the old phone resting on the table.
He had no extraordinary skills.
No hidden talent.
No cultivation.
No magic.
No cheat ability.
Nothing.
Just thirty-eight years of memories.
Then…
His thoughts stopped.
The R.O.B.’s final gift.
World Travel.
Mario leaned back in his chair.
One visit.
Only one.
Each world could only be entered once.
That single restriction changed everything.
He couldn’t afford mistakes.
Every destination had to produce maximum long-term value.
He closed his eyes.
One world after another appeared in his mind.
Harry Potter.
Magic.
Powerful.
But dangerous.
Too many variables.
Rejected.
Marvel.
Advanced technology.
Resources beyond imagination.
Also filled with beings who could erase him by accident.
Rejected.
DC.
He didn’t even finish the thought.
“…Absolutely not.”
Naruto.
Knowledge.
Techniques.
A world constantly at war.
Rejected.
Dragon Ball.
He smiled.
“I’d die before breakfast.”
Rejected.
One Piece.
Tempting.
Still too risky.
Rejected.
He continued mentally sorting through dozens of fictional worlds.
Some offered incredible rewards.
Others offered survival.
Very few offered both.
Hours passed.
The afternoon sunlight gradually shifted across the apartment floor.
Then…
A memory surfaced.
Not a world.
A person.
Mario slowly opened his eyes.
“…Wait.”
He sat upright.
His heartbeat quickened—not from excitement, but from realization.
There was one world.
One opportunity.
A world whose greatest treasure wasn’t magic…
Nor technology…
But potential.
A young man.
Someone whose life had changed because of a mysterious door.
Mario whispered a single name.
“…Yuuya.”
End of Chapter 7