The night grew deeper.
The rain only got heavier.
Outside the window, water kept slapping against the pavement in a steady, endless rattle.
Inside the room, Leon sat at his desk and continued studying his new ability.
He pulled out a notebook and started organizing everything the strange flood of knowledge had left in his mind.
At the top of the page, he wrote:
On Buying Time and Selling Time
He paused, thinking, then continued writing beneath it.
These transactions, as far as he understood them, were not ordinary exchanges. They seemed to be governed by some deeper law—something woven into the structure of the world itself. Once both parties agreed and the deal was made, the transaction became binding under that law.
And in every one of those transactions, Leon stood at the center of it.
The broker.
The seller.
The buyer.
The one who made time move from one life to another.
From the information in his head, he learned one thing very quickly:
Whether he wanted to buy time from someone or sell time to them, he needed a formal instrument first.
A document.
In modern terms, a contract.
Its true name, however, was simple:
Time Contract.
Leon learned that the contract had to be drafted by him personally. Once both sides signed it, the agreement would be witnessed and enforced by the same invisible rule that governed the power itself.
No one could violate it.
Not the other party.
Not even Leon.
He turned to a fresh page.
At the top, he wrote:
Sample Time Purchase Contract
Then he started drafting.
Contract Number:
Seller of Time:
Purchaser:
Terms of Transaction:
He stopped after writing the headings and leaned back for a moment before continuing.
Some of the clauses came to him naturally. Others he added after a little thought.
No disclosure of the transaction to any third party.
No private investigation into the purchaser's identity or background.
No actions that would damage the purchaser's interests.
No false declaration of income or financial status.
Once signed, the transaction could not be halted unilaterally.
Any breach would trigger penalties proportionate to the severity of the violation. In extreme cases, the violator's remaining lifespan could be reduced to zero.
He tapped the pen lightly against the page.
Then added one final section:
Method of Payment
When he finished, he stared down at the notebook.
The contract was crude. Bare-bones. Not polished in the slightest.
But the structure was there.
More importantly, it worked in his favor.
Leon could not break the contract once it was signed—but he did have the authority to draft it.
And naturally, while drafting it, he had chosen to protect himself first.
If anyone else had looked at the terms, they would probably have called it what it was:
A one-sided contract.
An unfair one.
A bully's contract.
Leon didn't care.
He controlled the one thing no one else in the world had access to.
Time itself.
He turned to another blank page and wrote across the top:
On the Valuation of Time — Purchase Side
He stared at those words for a while.
How much was a year of someone's life worth?
People loved saying time was equal. Fair. Universal. Everyone got twenty-four hours in a day.
But that had never been the whole truth.
The value created within the same amount of time was wildly different from person to person.
For some people, a year could change an industry. For others, a year vanished into repetition, boredom, and survival.
If that was true, then could all time really be priced the same way?
Leon didn't want to cause chaos. If he priced time too high, the whole thing would become unsustainable. Too low, and he would be exploiting people in a way that would invite risk, attention, and eventually disorder.
He sat there for a long time before writing again.
At last, he began setting down a first draft of pricing rules.
For ordinary people—excluding those whose work carried exceptional social value, such as scientists, outstanding teachers, decorated service members, or doctors with extraordinary records of service—the valuation would follow a basic model:
If annual income was below $100,000, he would purchase one year of lifespan for $100,000, non-negotiable. If annual income was above $100,000, he would purchase one year of lifespan at the equivalent of one full year of their annual income, also non-negotiable.
He added a note beneath it:
Supplement:
If the seller had other factors that increased the real value of their time, the purchase price could be adjusted upward.
Then he flipped to another page.
At the top, he wrote:
On the Valuation of Time — Sale Side
This section took even more thought.
Selling time had to be controlled far more strictly than buying it.
No individual could be allowed unlimited access. And no buyer could be allowed to purchase without limits, no matter how much money they had.
Leon lowered his pen and thought for several seconds before writing:
For high-net-worth buyers—again excluding individuals whose social value required special consideration—the price of one year of lifespan would start at $1,000,000.
Then he added more notes beneath it.
Supplement:
First-time purchase conditions must be reviewed separately.The price of future purchases may only increase, never decrease.
His pen stopped.
A new idea had just formed in his head.
It was still rough. Still incomplete. But the shape of it was there.
Not just a business.
Not just a hidden market.
An organization.
A structure vast enough to contain power, wealth, secrecy, loyalty—and desire.
Leon turned to a new page.
At the center of the first line, he wrote two words:
The Eternal Club
He stared at them for a second.
Then he started building.
A private organization. A hidden circle. A place that could gather the most capable ordinary people, the most useful talent, the wealthiest buyers, the most ambitious strivers—from every industry, every field, every layer of society.
Membership would not be equal.
It would be ranked.
Nine levels, at least in the first draft.
He began with financial thresholds.
Level 1: $1 million thresholdLevel 2: $5 million thresholdLevel 3: $10 million thresholdLevel 4: $50 million thresholdLevel 5: $100 million thresholdLevel 6: $500 million threshold
That was enough for now.
Then he moved to lifespan exchange limits.
Level 1 members could exchange for up to one additional year of life.Level 2 members: up to three years.Level 3 members: up to five years.Level 4 members: up to ten years.Level 5 members: up to fifteen years.Level 6 members: up to twenty years.
Leon kept writing.
Admission rules.
Upgrade conditions.
Limits.
Exceptions.
Control.
Scarcity.
The outlines became sharper with every line.
By the time he finally put the pen down, the rain was still falling outside.
But something else had begun that night as well.
On the pages of Leon's notebook, in cramped handwriting and half-finished rules, a terrifyingly powerful idea had taken its first breath.
Not loud.
Not visible.
Not yet.
But one day, if it grew the way he imagined—
The Eternal Club would become something the world could feel without ever fully seeing.