The old shopkeeper, Thomas, stared at Adam as if he’d just seen a ghost. Or maybe worse, a con artist performing an impossible trick. The air in the dusty shop crackled with tension.

  One moment, the man had been consumed by weary anger; the next, he was reeling from the shock of seeing, and then not seeing, a solid gold bar. The offer Adam had made – gold at half price, plus a free gift – hung between them, unbelievable, preposterous.

  Thomas’s face, which had cycled through annoyance, anger, and stunned disbelief, now contorted again. His eyes, moments before wide with shock, narrowed into slits of suspicion. It was too much. The stress, the confusion, the impossible glimmer of hope – it all seemed to combust inside him.

  Suddenly, as if propelled by an invisible force, he shot up from his stool. The worn wooden legs scraped harshly against the grimy floorboards, the sound echoing loudly in the small, silent space. He slammed his hands down flat on the counter, leaning forward aggressively, his face thrust towards Adam’s.

  "Kid, are you crazy?! Are you completely out of your mind?!" he yelled, his voice cracking with a mixture of renewed anger, frustration, and sheer disbelief. Spittle flew from his lips again. "Half price?! Free gold?! Do you even hear the nonsense coming out of your mouth?! Do you think I'm an idiot?! That I just fell off the turnip truck yesterday?!"

  His shouting filled the tiny shop, bouncing off the dusty glass cases and the peeling wallpaper. Every word seemed to vibrate with years of pent-up frustration. He looked genuinely furious, as if Adam’s offer wasn't just unbelievable, but insulting.

  Adam, however, remained perfectly still on his stool. He didn't lean back, didn't flinch, didn't even blink rapidly at the outburst. He simply held the shopkeeper’s furious gaze with his own calm, steady one. There was no fear in his eyes, only a quiet certainty that seemed to infuriate Thomas even more.

  When the shopkeeper paused for breath, Adam replied, his voice quiet but firm, easily cutting through the lingering echoes of the shout. "Yes," he said simply. "I know exactly what I'm saying. And I mean every word."

  The quiet confidence in Adam’s tone seemed to momentarily deflate the shopkeeper’s rage. Thomas stared at him, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He ran a shaky hand through his thin, messy gray hair, letting out a long, ragged exhale that sounded like air escaping a punctured tire. The fight seemed to drain out of him, replaced by a familiar weariness, but now laced with intense, confused suspicion.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered himself back onto his creaky stool. He didn't slump this time, though. He sat upright, resting both hands carefully on the countertop again, his sharp gaze fixed intently on Adam’s face.

  The anger had subsided, but the distrust was sharper than ever. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, as Thomas tried to make sense of the situation, tried to find the hidden angle, the inevitable catch.

  Finally, he spoke again, his voice much quieter now, but low and cutting, filled with suspicion. "Then there's only one explanation," he muttered, staring hard at Adam. "If you can afford to sell gold that cheap... it means you're doing something illegal." He leaned forward slightly again, his eyes narrowing.

  "You're smuggling it, aren't you? Bringing it in without paying taxes, avoiding regulations. Or maybe it's stolen? That's the only way this crazy deal makes any kind of sense. How else could you possibly do it?"

  For just a fraction of a second, Adam felt a jolt. He stiffened almost imperceptibly. Damn it, he thought inwardly. He figured that out way too fast. The shopkeeper wasn't just desperate; he was experienced, and clearly not stupid despite his troubles. This was exactly the complication Adam had hoped to avoid.

  If Thomas truly believed the gold was smuggled or stolen, he might get scared. He might refuse the deal out of fear of getting caught, fear of legal repercussions, no matter how desperate he was. I can't let that happen, Adam told himself firmly, suppressing the flicker of worry. I need him. I need this outlet.

  Then, like a switch flipping in his brain, the solution hit him. He remembered the first gold shop, Prestige Metals. He remembered the source of the gold bar he had copied. It wasn't some random ingot; it was a standard bar from a legitimate, government-approved dealer. Which meant…

  A wave of pure confidence washed through Adam, chasing away the momentary doubt. He didn't just have gold; he had provably legitimate gold, thanks to his unique skill. He could use the system against itself.

  He looked directly into the shopkeeper’s suspicious eyes, his earlier calmness returning, now tinged with a challenging edge. "You think it's illegal?" Adam asked, his voice even.

  "You think it's smuggled or stolen?" He leaned forward slightly himself.

  "Then go ahead. When I give it to you, check the markings. Check the marks. Every bar I have came from a legitimate source. They carry the official government stamps that prove they're real, approved, and completely legal. Check for yourself." His tone was a clear challenge, daring the shopkeeper to find fault, daring him to doubt the evidence of his own eyes.

  Thomas stared at Adam, caught off guard by the direct challenge. He searched Adam’s face, looking for any sign of bluffing, any hint of deception. Was the kid just calling his bluff? Or did he really have properly marked gold? The possibility seemed insane, but the kid’s confidence was unnerving.

  And deep down, a desperate part of him wanted to believe it. If the gold was real and legal… this deal wasn't just good; it was a miracle sent from heaven. The temptation was almost overwhelming.

  After another long, heavy silence, during which the only sound was the faint ticking of an unseen clock somewhere in the back, the shopkeeper let out a deep sigh. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to physically dislodge the conflicting thoughts warring inside him.

  "If you'd walked in here six months ago," Thomas said, his voice low and grim, heavy with resignation, "and offered me this deal… I would have laughed you out of the shop. Or maybe called the cops. No second thoughts." He paused, looking around his decaying store. "Any sane person would have. A deal like this? It screams trouble. It reeks of suspicion from a mile away."

  Adam remained silent, his face unreadable, letting the shopkeeper talk, letting him work through his own internal struggle. He waited patiently.

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  The older man's voice softened slightly, taking on a tone of raw vulnerability. "But..." he continued, his gaze dropping to his worn hands resting on the counter, "...I don't have the luxury of being cautious anymore, kid. I don't have the luxury of sanity, maybe." He looked up again, his eyes meeting Adam’s, and the anger and suspicion were gone, replaced by a profound sadness and raw desperation that was painful to see. "I'm drowning. Drowning in debt. This business, my father's business… it's dying. Every day, I watch it die a little more."

  His expression hardened then, the sadness morphing into a kind of grim determination. He had clearly reached his breaking point, the point where risk seemed less terrifying than the certainty of failure.

  "So, fine," he declared, his voice suddenly firm, decisive. "Fine. I'll take the risk. I accept your deal." And without waiting for Adam to react, without a moment's further hesitation, Thomas extended his rough, calloused hand across the counter. It was a clear, universal gesture. A handshake to seal an agreement. His hand was steady now, his eyes filled with a desperate, fragile hope for a new beginning, a way out of the darkness.

  A slow, warm grin finally spread across Adam's face, genuine this time. The tension eased from his shoulders. It had worked. He reached out and grasped the shopkeeper's offered hand.

  The handshake was firm, solid. In that brief moment of contact, a strange current seemed to pass between them – the desperate hope of the old man meeting the secret power and calculated purpose of the young one. A dangerous, unlikely partnership was forged in the dusty silence of the failing shop.

  Still holding Adam's hand firmly for a second longer than necessary, the shopkeeper pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Adam's face, the practical businessman in him already taking over now that the decision was made. "So," he asked, his tone laced with curiosity, "this gold you have… how much are we talking about? How much do you actually have?" He needed to know the scale of this miracle, or this potential disaster.

  Adam paused, tilting his head slightly, considering the question. He could tell him about the single 12.6 kg bar he'd copied. But where was the fun in that? And maybe it was better to keep the shopkeeper guessing, to maintain a bit of mystery, a bit of control. A playful smirk touched his lips.

  Instead of giving a straight answer, he turned the question back on the jeweler. "That depends," Adam replied, his voice light but carrying an underlying challenge. "How much do you want?"

  The shopkeeper's tired eyes instantly lit up. The question itself implied a potentially large supply, far more than he'd dared to hope. The spark of hope within him flared brighter.

  "Okay," he said quickly, leaning forward again, his voice firm, decisive. "Okay. Let's start. I want to buy one gold bar. At your half price." He paused, then added quickly, a hopeful eagerness in his voice, "And the deal you mentioned… the extra one? The free gift to start our partnership? That's still active, right?"

  Adam couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. The man was desperate, but he wasn't stupid. He was already making sure he got the best possible deal. "I thought maybe you'd ask for more right off the bat," Adam remarked, his smile widening.

  He respected the man's nerve, even in desperation. "But yes, absolutely. The deal still stands. One purchase, one gift to seal it."

  Without further ceremony, Adam reached down towards the simple canvas bag resting by his stool. To the shopkeeper, it looked like he was just reaching into his bag.

  But Adam’s hand actually phased momentarily into the invisible interface of his inventory. With practiced mental commands, he selected the massive gold bar he’d copied, then materialized a second identical one right beside it in the inventory's virtual space. Then, he 'pulled' them both out.

  His movements were smooth, almost casual. He brought his hands up and placed two heavy, gleaming bars of pure gold onto the dusty countertop between them. They landed with a solid, satisfying thud, a sound of real weight, real value.

  The shopkeeper gasped audibly. His breath hitched in his throat. He stared, mesmerized, at the two identical, brilliant bars lying there, glowing warmly under the shop's dim lights. Their sheer presence seemed to suck the air out of the room. The reality of it, right there in front of him, was almost too much to take in.

  The rich, heavy gleam of the metal was hypnotic, filling the small, struggling shop with an almost sacred air of possibility.

  His hands, trembling slightly again, reached out tentatively. He hesitated for only a second before his fingers closed around the cool, heavy metal of one bar, then the other. He lifted them, testing their surprising weight, turning them over and over in his calloused, experienced hands. These were no mere trinkets. This was serious wealth.

  As he examined them closely, his eyes suddenly widened further. There, clearly stamped into the side of each bar, was a small, official-looking insignia. A hallmark. He recognized it instantly. It was the government certification mark, the symbol that guaranteed the gold's purity, weight, and origin. It meant the gold was genuine, assayed, and met all the strict official standards.

  A wave of immense relief washed over Thomas, so powerful it almost made him dizzy. He wasn't lying! It's legit! he thought, his mind reeling. The gold wasn't smuggled. It wasn't stolen. It wasn't fake. It was real, pure, government-approved gold. The kind he could melt down, craft with, sell, without fear of legal trouble. The kind that could genuinely save his business.

  In that instant, the crushing weight of his debts, the constant fear of failure, seemed to lift, just a little. His heart pounded in his chest, a wild mix of excitement, disbelief, and dawning hope. I actually did it, he thought, feeling a surge of adrenaline. I struck gold. Literally. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to imagine a future where the shop didn't close, where the bills were paid, where maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

  A quick calculation flashed through his mind. Two bars like this… bought legitimately through his usual suppliers, even if he could afford them, would cost him upwards of $60,000, maybe more depending on the day's market rate. But this kid… he was offering them for half price, plus one free. He was essentially getting $60,000 worth of gold for just $15,000 – the price of one bar at 50% off. It was a deal so unbelievably good it felt like a dream.

  He looked up from the gold, his face softening completely. The suspicion was gone, replaced by genuine awe and a newfound respect. He looked at Adam differently now.

  "This… this is incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost speaking to himself. He shook his head again, slowly. "This kid… you're not normal, are you?" There was no accusation in his tone now, only wonder, hope, and maybe still a healthy dose of cautious excitement.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, the shopkeeper made his decision. No more hesitation. This was his chance. "Alright," he said, his voice firm again, meeting Adam’s gaze squarely.

  "I trust you." He carefully placed the two gold bars back on the counter, side-by-side. He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a determined light. "Okay. I want more. I want six more bars. Right now."

  Adam's eyebrows lifted slightly. He hadn't expected the shopkeeper to jump in so fast, so deep. "Six more? That quickly?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought you'd want to sell these first, maybe test the waters, make sure everything is okay."

  A confident smirk, the first genuine one Adam had seen, touched the shopkeeper's lips. The desperation was still there, but it was now fueled by opportunity. "Test the waters?" he scoffed lightly.

  "Kid, I've been drowning for years. This isn't water; it's a lifeboat. This deal is too good to pass up, too good to waste time on." He reached into the inside pocket of his worn jacket and pulled out a small, surprisingly thick bundle of cash, held together by a rubber band. "This is it," he said, placing the cash on the counter next to the gold.

  "This is everything I have left in the world. Savings, emergency fund, everything. I'll give it all to you right now. For those six bars. At your price."

  A thrill surged through Adam. It was working better than he'd dared hope. The shopkeeper wasn't just taking the bait; he was diving in headfirst. This is it, Adam thought. This is the start. Without a word, without a moment's hesitation, he reached down to his bag again. His hand dipped into his inventory, and one by one, he pulled out six more identical, heavy, gleaming gold bars.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  He carefully placed each one on the counter, stacking them neatly next to the first two, creating a small, glittering pyramid of immense value right there on the dusty countertop. Eight massive gold bars in total. A king's ransom.

  The shopkeeper's eyes grew impossibly wide as he stared at the growing mountain of gold. He looked from the pile of bars to Adam's ridiculously small, ordinary-looking canvas bag, then back to the bars.

  Disbelief warred with amazement on his face. He could hardly comprehend how this young man was carrying so much weight, so much value, so casually. How the hell is he carrying all that in that tiny bag?! The question screamed in his mind, filling him with a fresh wave of bewilderment and a renewed sense of unease about the source, about the how of it all. It felt like magic, something beyond normal explanation.

  But he quickly pushed the thought away again. Right now, the 'how' didn't matter as much as the 'what'. And what was sitting on his counter was a chance to save his life's work. He reached out almost reverently and picked up one of the new bars, feeling its familiar, reassuring weight, admiring its warm glow.

  Still holding the bar, a sudden thought seemed to strike him, wiping the acquisitive gleam from his eyes and replacing it with genuine concern. He looked up at Adam, his brow furrowed.

  "Kid…" he began, his voice low, serious. "This is… a lot of gold. Aren't you worried? Walking around with this much value? In broad daylight? What if someone sees? What if someone tries to rob you? It's dangerous out there." The worry in his tone was real, perhaps born from his own experiences in a world that hadn't been kind.

  Adam looked at the pile of gold, then back at the concerned shopkeeper. A strange, enigmatic smile touched his lips. It wasn't cocky, exactly, but deeply confident, almost detached. "Fear?" he mused quietly, the word sounding strange on his lips. He shook his head slowly. "Fear is a luxury, shopkeeper. It’s for those who are powerless, those who have things to lose and no way to protect them."

  He leaned in slightly again, his eyes darkening, holding a look that seemed to mix steely determination with something else, something deeper, almost unsettling, hinting at the hidden power the shopkeeper couldn't possibly comprehend.

  "My time for being afraid," Adam said, his voice dropping to a near whisper but resonating with chilling conviction, "is over. Long over." He straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the gold bars, then locking back onto the shopkeeper’s bewildered face. "Now… now it's time to act."