2026-04-10 14:35:00CHAPTER TWO
Zane stepped out of the house. The air outside was cool, the sunlight gentle against his skin. He exhaled slowly.
In just twenty days… people would beg for this kind of weather to return.
“Zane? Is that you?”
A voice called out. It was Freya—one of the many aunties in the Creamcastle Estate neighborhood. Two heavy sacks lay beside her as she struggled to lift one onto a trolley.
Zane glanced at her… then looked away. He didn’t move.
“Oh, it really is you!” she said with a smile. “Come help me carry these. They’re too heavy.”
She gestured for him to come over. Zane remained where he was.
If this were his previous life, he would have rushed over without hesitation—carrying the load all the way to her building at the far end of the estate. But that same woman… had later accused him of stealing apples from her crates. Worse, she was the one who suggested Madelyn chain him to the peach blossom tree and leave him outside to freeze.
Zane turned and began walking away.
“Hey! Zane!” Freya shouted angrily. “Didn’t you hear me? Come back and help me carry these! You’re doing nothing anyway, so why not help? Aren’t you being disrespectful to your elders?”
Disrespect? Zane rolled his eyes.
“Just because I’m not busy doesn’t mean I should help you,” he replied coldly. “Don’t you have a son around my age? Why not call him? I doubt he’s busy.”
“You—!” Freya’s face twisted in shock. “Collins is not like you! He’s a promising child. He must be at home studying. Just wait until I tell your mother about this… you won’t get away with it!” she snapped.
Zane sneered. Promising? Collins was nothing but a gambler. In his previous life, he had squandered all his family’s wealth in casinos. In the end, he even gambled away their survival supplies during the apocalypse. Freya had ended up begging from door to door.
“Do whatever you like,” Zane said indifferently, not even looking back.
He walked straight out of the estate and headed toward a small lottery shop not far away. In his last life, that shop had recorded a winning ticket—just a ten-dollar bet that turned into three hundred thousand dollars. The winning numbers had been publicly displayed after the winner claimed the prize.
Unfortunately, by then… money had already become meaningless in the frozen world.
But now—everything was different.
Zane checked his pocket. Thirty-five dollars. Barely enough for a single decent meal.
But if those numbers were real… he wouldn’t have to worry about money, or even the auction entry f*e anymore.
Zane stepped inside the shop and approached the counter.
“Hello,” he said calmly. “I’d like to buy a ticket.”
The shop owner glanced up lazily from behind the counter. “Ten dollars per draw,” he said, sliding a form and pen toward Zane. “Fill in your numbers.”
Zane nodded and took the pen. Without hesitation, he began to write.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
The pen stopped. For a brief moment, the shop owner looked at the numbers… then let out a small chuckle.
“First time playing?” he asked mockingly.
Zane didn’t respond. He simply slid the ticket forward and placed the money on the counter. “One draw.”
The shop owner shrugged and processed it. “Results will be announced in one hour,” he said, tearing off the ticket and handing it over. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Zane took the slip calmly. One hour.
He turned and walked out of the shop. Hopefully, he remembered it correctly.
When he stepped back inside, a small crowd had gathered. The shop owner stood behind the counter, preparing to announce the results.
“Alright everyone,” he called out. “Today’s winning numbers are about to be revealed.”
The chatter died down. Zane stood quietly at the back.
The machine beeped. The screen flickered.
“First number: 1.” A few people nodded casually.
“Second number: 2.” Light murmurs.
“Third number: 3.” Someone chuckled.
“Fourth: 4.”
“Fifth: 5.” By now, laughter had already started spreading.
“…6.”
Laughter echoed in the shop.
“Impossible!”
“Who the hell would win with that?!”
“This machine must be broken!”
The shop owner quickly checked the system again.
“…Ticket confirmed,” he muttered. His voice turned serious. “We have a winner.”
The laughter slowly died down. A strange tension filled the room.
“Who is it?” someone asked.
“Yeah, who picked those stupid numbers?”
Zane stepped forward. “That ticket is mine.”
“You?”
“No way…”
“The guy who picked 1 to 6?”
The shop owner narrowed his eyes slightly. He recognized Zane as the customer he had mockingly laughed at. Still, he said, “Ticket.”
Zane didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and placed the slip on the counter. The owner picked it up, scanned it carefully… then ran it through the system. A soft beep echoed.
“…It’s valid.”
The room erupted.
“What?!”
“That’s impossible!”
“He actually won?!”
Zane remained calm.
“How much is it?” someone asked eagerly.
The shop owner cleared his throat. “Three hundred thousand dollars.”
A collective gasp filled the air. Some stared at Zane in disbelief. Others looked at him with envy. Three hundred thousand dollars. For a single ten-dollar ticket.
Zane didn’t outwardly react, but inside, he was overjoyed. Fortunately, the ridiculous lottery numbers were correct.
“Follow me,” the shop owner said, his tone now respectful. “We’ll process your payout.”
Zane nodded and followed him into a smaller office behind the counter. The noise from outside faded as the door shut.
The owner sat down, pulling out documents and a payment terminal.
“Cash or transfer?” he asked.
“Transfer,” Zane replied immediately.
Cash was useless for what he needed. Speed mattered.
The owner nodded and began processing the transaction. “First time winning?” he asked casually, though his eyes lingered on Zane with curiosity.
Zane said nothing. A few seconds passed. Then—Beep.
“It’s done.”
Zane’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked. $300,000 credited. For a brief second, his grip tightened around the phone. The entry f*e for the item auction was now secured.
“Congratulations,” the shop owner said.
Zane slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you.”
He turned and walked out.
Zane hailed a cab and headed straight to the auction house. It was almost four in the evening, and closing time was four-thirty. Unfortunately, today was the final day for registration. Time was tight.
Zane alighted, paid the driver fifteen dollars, and rushed inside. He went straight to the reception desk.
“Hello, I’d like to register my property for the event auction.”
The receptionist looked him up and down, her lips curling in disdain. His worn-out polo and faded jeans clearly didn’t impress her. She sneered.
“I don’t think this is the right place for you. You should try a pawn shop instead. The registration f*e here alone is something you probably can’t afford.”
Zane frowned slightly. “How much is the registration f*e?” he asked calmly.
“Ten thousand dollars,” she replied smugly. She folded her arms, clearly enjoying herself. “Too expensive, right? I know your type. People like you walk in here all the time and end up being dragged out by security. Why not leave now before you embarrass yourself?”
Zane rolled his eyes. A mere ten thousand dollars? That was probably more than her monthly salary.
By now, a few people had gathered, curious to watch the scene unfold.
“Call the account number,” Zane said flatly. He pulled out his button phone, ready to make a USSD transfer.
The receptionist burst into laughter. “My God!” she said mockingly, pointing at him. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to transfer ten thousand dollars with that? Who even uses such a phone in 2026?”
The small crowd joined in.
Zane’s expression darkened. It was already nine minutes past four. He didn’t have time for nonsense. The Dreamshade Ocean still needed to be appraised and registered for tomorrow’s auction.
“Shut your mouth and call the account number,” he said coldly. “I don’t have time for this.”
The receptionist’s face stiffened. Annoyed—and eager to humiliate him further—she recited the account number. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to fail.
A few minutes passed and there was no notification. She sneered, “It’s already four minutes later. Why haven’t—”
“Successful,” Zane said calmly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Check. Transfer from Zane Vaughn.”
A notification beeped on the computer. The receptionist leaned forward to check. Her expression froze. Then it turned pale. The crowd fell silent.
The receptionist’s legs gave out, and she dropped to her knees. “Sir… I—I was ignorant. I didn’t mean what I said. Please forgive me…”
Zane waved his hand dismissively. He didn’t care. He didn’t need to. In twenty days… none of this would matter. The apocalypse would take care of everything.
He reached into his pocket and brought out a small black box. “Register this,” he said.
The receptionist hurriedly took it with trembling hands. “Item name: Dreamshade Ocean. License number: 082006. Purchased by Marylyn Voss.”
Her hands shook as she processed the registration. No one dared to speak anymore.
At exactly four twenty-seven, Zane stepped out of the auction house. The Dreamshade Ocean had been authenticated and successfully registered. Everything was in place.
Now, all he had to do was wait. Soon, the auction house would contact him. And when they did—his real plans would begin.
Just then—Grrrr…
Zane paused. His stomach growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten anything since morning. He let out a quiet breath and looked down the street.
“Food first…” he muttered.
“Then preparation begins.”
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