BREW

Valen, delighted with his new item, couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. The mysterious scale—left behind by that unsettling yet oddly innocent girl—seemed far more than just a tool for weighing values.

He crouched beside it, examining every detail, running his fingers along its rusted frame. Beneath one of the pans, he noticed a small twistable switch, half-buried in tarnish and grime.

"A hidden mechanism?" he murmured, narrowing his eyes.

He twisted it. Nothing happened. The scale stood still, unmoving.

"Was it... just a screw?" he muttered with disappointment.

Still curious, he placed a cup of coffee on one side and a kitchen knife on the other. But unlike earlier, the scale didn't budge—no tilt, nothing.

"Did I break it?" he wondered aloud, an edge of frustration in his voice.

He removed the objects. But as he accidentally brushed his fingers across the cold, metal surface of the weighing pan, something changed.

A sharp glow pulsed from the center, and instantly, a searing pain pierced his skull. His vision blurred, his body trembled, and heat surged through his blood like fire. It felt as if something vital was being ripped from his very soul.

He collapsed to his knees, clutching his temples.

And then—clarity.

Not relief, but a vivid injection of knowledge, foreign yet oddly intuitive. He could now recall—without ever learning—a full method of cultivating coffee beans. Soil type, humidity, pruning seasons… instructions and techniques flowed into his mind like they were burned into him.

He stared at the scale in awe—and horror.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered, sweat dripping from his brow. His heart thundered in his chest as the glow faded, and the scale returned to stillness, as if nothing had ever happened.

Drained and wary, Valen stood up slowly, his fingers still trembling. He cast a final glance at the scale, now quiet and unassuming, like a predator that had just fed.

"I'm done for today. I need to rest... and get out of here for now."

He backed away from the object and toward his makeshift bed, though he knew—sleep wouldn't come easily tonight.

Valen let the weight of exhaustion pull him under. His eyelids fluttered shut, and as if by instinct, the eerie sensation of the dream-world slipped away, leaving only silence.

He whispered into the dark, "Maybe tomorrow will be better…"

But deep in the corner of the room, the balance scale began to glow—soft at first, then pulsing brighter like it was breathing.

Valen woke with a gasp.

His shirt clung to him, soaked in cold sweat. Every muscle in his body ached like he'd been run over by something massive.

He dragged himself to the mirror.

Faint, black, vein-like markings crawled from his fingertips to his collarbone. They throbbed like fading memories—something from that world had followed him back.

His eyes darted to the side.

The scale.

It sat neatly beside his bed—unmoving, silent, but undeniably real.

"I… brought it back?"

He reached for it, but stopped short. The brass looked darker than before. Tainted. As if it had seen too much.

He looked around.

This was his room.

The same cracked ceiling, the same rusted fan blades spinning lazily overhead. The same rotting air of the city's filth. He was back in the real world.

Then he noticed—Everything was subtly wrong.

The air reeked faintly of burnt coffee, even though he hadn't brewed a single drop.

The light above flickered erratically, humming with static.

He stepped into the kitchen.

The faucet let out a groan, then—drip, drip…

Thick black droplets splattered into the sink. Not water. Not oil. Something else. The liquid twisted before diluting into clean water again.

"What the hell is happening…?"

He needed air.

He stepped outside—and stopped cold.

Across the street, where the public playground with no swing had always been, now stood a public swing.

Old. Rusted. Swaying gently in the burning noon.

"No way…"

Dogs barked frantically in the distance, their howls sharp and terrified. One growled and backed away from the swing, refusing to go near. A rat scurried past, then touched one of the swing's legs.

Its body stiffened.

And in seconds, crumbled into ash.

Valen stepped back, hand trembling.

The surging heat of the noon didn't explain the cold he's experiencing.

"I didn't just leave that place…"

"I brought it with me."