The bell above the glass door jingled as Tyler stepped into the clothing store, his sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished linoleum floor.
The air inside was cool—overly so from the humming AC vents—and carried that familiar mix of detergent, cardboard, and plastic hangers.
It was a mid-sized neighborhood store, the kind that used to be everywhere—local, functional, and modest.
There were no glossy displays or mood lighting—just rows of plain metal racks packed tight with jeans, polo shirts, and cotton sweaters in basic colors.
The ceiling lights buzzed faintly overhead. The walls were bare white, with faded posters showing outdated fashion trends from five years ago.
A small CRT television hung from a corner, playing static-filled morning news. Somewhere near the back, an old boombox could be heard playing a R&B song on low volume, the tape occasionally wobbling as if it was tired of holding itself together.
Tyler took a slow breath as he glanced around.
Even though it had been years from his perspective since he was last here, nothing had changed.
Technically, it had been years due to his unique circumstances—but in reality, he was just here last year with his mom and Devin.
This was the same store he and Devin used to come to with their mom—on payday, when they could afford a "new" outfit. Back then due to how difficult things were for them, even second-tier jeans from this place were a luxury.
He walked past the discount rack near the entrance and picked up a gray hoodie. $19.99. And he blinked in slight surprise.
It had been nearly five days since he regressed, and he was still getting acclimated to everything. One of the things he was still trying to get used to was the cost of things.
If it were the future, the amount of groceries he bought for $50 on the first day would have been beyond impossible.
It was the same for the hoodie in his hand. If it were in the future, with its quality, it would definitely cost more. Probably going for more than $50.
In his past life—especially after 2020—these types of stores slowly vanished, swallowed by fast fashion giants and e-commerce platforms.
The air-conditioned aisles of budget clothing chains were replaced by algorithm-curated feeds, micro-trend drops, and overpriced basics delivered in flashy packaging.
And the clothes themselves? Tyler ran a hand along a flannel shirt. The material was rough, thick, made to last.
There was no stretch fiber or recycled polyester being advertised as premium material. It was real, quality cloth.
He picked up a pair of straight-cut denim jeans. $24.99. It was the real denim—stiff, durable, unyielding. It wasn't the fake elastic "denim" hybrids that passed for jeans in his previous life.
Even the style was different. These clothes didn't chase the fleeting aesthetics of online virality. They were plain, functional, and meant to be worn until they tore at the knees and became crazy jeans, or until you outgrew them.
Tyler let out a quiet breath as nostalgia mingled with frustration. He couldn't help but feel pissed at how things had deteriorated and gone off the rails in his previous life.
"We didn't know how good we had it back then. These were humble, sure—but they didn't fall apart after two washes," he muttered to himself, and let out a small sigh.
He turned toward a smaller aisle where kid-sized clothing hung in quiet disarray. Devin's section.
The t-shirts were colorful but simple—no weird slogans, no flashy branding. Just dinosaurs, trucks, comic book heroes.
They reminded him of the time his mother had to pick between two shirts because she couldn't afford both, even at clearance prices.
For as long as Tyler could remember, things had always been very difficult for his family. But his poor mother did her absolute best to raise her two lovely boys—himself and Devin.
She continued to do so until she was suddenly pulled down by that illness. But even in the hospital, and with all the pain she was going through because of it, she still wanted to provide and care for them.
Even after the illness had eaten away her muscles and memories, and taken away her ability to speak, she still showed them just how much she loved them.
"I want to get something for her but she would definitely not accept it since I've given her that money. I should just get something for myself and Devin," he said to himself, letting out a low sigh.
The thought of his mother's struggles couldn't help but bring back memories. And now that Tyler thought about it more clearly, he realized that—contrary to what he previously believed—the illness had shown symptoms.
Six months before his mother collapsed, she started complaining about constant muscle cramps and stiffness, then progressed to balance issues, as she began tripping over her own feet. Shortness of breath, unexplained weight loss, and even a change in her voice followed.
The illness could be described as a more advanced and aggressive form of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS).
His mom had shown all the signs, but they hadn't recognized them for what they were until it was too late. And because she constantly overworked herself, they dismissed the symptoms as simple exhaustion and assumed she just needed rest.
"How stupid of me?!" He said in low, solemn voice.
He felt a very great urge to punch himself in the face. But he knew that it won't fix anything.
But there was something else he knew he could do. He quickly went down memory lane, trying to find out the date his mother started displaying symptom.
It will give him an idea of when the illness timeline and how much time he has left.
"8 months from now... Given mom's character and how she like keeping things like that so that we won't get worried, I would say that she will start experience the symptoms 11 months from now. Which means I have 7 months to get the cure ready...," Tyler's voice became so low at the end, that it was frightening.
He suddenly realised that it he doesn't have as much time as be thought he had.
His fist clenched tightly and his eyes narrowed to thin slit. His heart started beating quickly as the thought of losing his mother again started surfacing.
Fuck those stupid restrictions! They put it in place so that individuals can't make more than those damn institutions—those that actually control the market," Tyler raged in his heart.
At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to lift the restrictions on VaultX and have it start bringing in hundreds of millions to even billions daily. But he understood that how stupid and dangerous that is.
Even though he was privileged to regress to the past with his memories intact, he wasn't powerful enough, to fight the government and those that control the world.
Attempting to do something like that won't only see him serving a lifetime behind bars, he will also be putting his family in danger.
Tyler thought about this and took a deep breath to calm himself down. He knew that no matter how much he raged, he wouldn't change anything.
All he can do is be patient and also look for other means to make money while VaultX continues making money for him on the side.
"I'll think of something when I get home. I've been here for too long. I should just buy the things I need and leave," Tyler muttered, exhaling as he pushed his cart forward.
He moved through the cramped aisles, picking out a few pairs of plain but clean jeans in his size, neutral-colored t-shirts, a couple of button-down shirts, and a solid black hoodie.
The quality wasn't high-end, but it was decent—far better than the faded, overwashed clothes he and Devin had been wearing.
When he got to the section with children's clothes, he slowed down and took his time. Devin was small for his age, so Tyler picked up a few adjustable-waist jeans, some colorful shirts, a warm hoodie, and a set of plain tees. He added a decent pair of sneakers for him too—something durable, not flashy.
"Need help with sizes?" a store attendant asked, a woman in her early 40s with a tired but kind face. She wore a name tag that said Marla.
"Yeah, please. These are for a twelve-year-old. I want something he can grow into but not oversized either."
Marla nodded and helped him adjust the selections, replacing a couple of shirts and switching out one of the shoes for a better fit.
Tyler thanked her and headed toward the athletic wear section. There, he picked up two dry-fit workout shirts, a pair of breathable shorts, and a hoodie for cold morning runs.
He grabbed a solid pair of black sneakers with a cushioned sole—nothing fancy, but comfortable and supportive. He also picked up a water bottle, gym gloves, and a wrist sweatband.
Before leaving, he returned to the accessories section and got a pair of wristwatches—simple digital ones, one for him and a smaller one for Devin. He added socks, a belt, and a backpack for Devin.
Satisfied, he made his way to the counter.
The cashier scanned each item carefully. The small screen showed the prices ticking up with every beep.
"Alright," the cashier said. "That'll be $416.27."
Tyler nodded, pulled out a small stack of cash, counted out $420, and handed it over.
"Keep the change," he said quietly.
"Thanks," the cashier smiled and bagged the items in three thick plastic bags.
Tyler collected them, balanced the load in his arms, and walked out of the store. The air outside was still warm, the sun halfway dipped into the horizon.
He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, scanned the street, and raised his hand as a yellow taxi turned the corner.
It pulled over. Tyler opened the back door and slipped in.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"Midtown Grove," Tyler replied.
The taxi pulled into traffic, as Tyler leaned back in the seat. His mind was already racing, trying to come up with a way to fix his current situation.