How I Became Ultra Rich Using a Reconstruction System-Chapter 222: The Vacation Part 2

Timothy turned to her. "You already set them."

"No," Hana replied. "New ones. For here."

Timothy waited.

Hana held up one finger. "We eat like normal people. Not protein bars. Not whatever you consider fuel."

Timothy nodded once.

Second finger. "We walk. We don’t sit in the room and pretend that resting is staring at a wall."

Timothy nodded again.

Third finger. "If you talk about the car, I throw your phone in the ocean."

Timothy stared at her. "That’s extreme."

"That’s effective," Hana said.

Timothy gave a small nod. "Fine."

Hana moved away from the balcony, went to the bed, and lay flat on her back like she had been shot.

Timothy stood there, unsure what to do with that image. Hana didn’t rest like most people. When she stopped, she stopped hard.

"You okay," Timothy asked.

Hana closed her eyes. "No. Yes. Shut up."

Timothy sat on the edge of the bed, then stood again like he didn’t want to be in the wrong place.

Hana opened one eye. "Sit. You’re pacing."

"I’m not pacing," Timothy said.

"You’re pacing," Hana repeated.

Timothy sat down.

Hana stared at the ceiling. "This is the part where you try to talk."

Timothy didn’t answer immediately. He looked at the room. The plain furniture. The small lamp. The curtains that didn’t fully block sunlight.

"What do you want to do," he asked.

Hana’s mouth twitched. "That’s the most dangerous question you ask. Because it implies I can choose."

"You can," Timothy said.

Hana sat up slowly. "Okay. I want food. Then I want water. Then I want to lie down again."

Timothy nodded. "Let’s go."

They changed into lighter clothes. Timothy wore a plain shirt and shorts he had bought for this trip and hated. Hana wore simple clothes that still looked like she could walk into a boardroom and win an argument.

Outside, the heat hit Timothy first. Not unbearable, just heavy. The sun was bright. The shadows were sharp. Hana walked ahead like she didn’t care.

They found a small restaurant near the road. Nothing fancy. Plastic chairs. A menu board with items written in marker. The smell of grilled food and fried oil sat in the air.

Hana picked a table in the corner. Timothy sat across from her.

A staff member came over. Hana ordered for both of them after a brief glance at Timothy like she knew he would order the safest, blandest option and regret it.

"Trust me," Hana said when Timothy opened his mouth.

Timothy closed it. "Fine."

They ate slowly. The food was simple and strong in flavor, the kind of food that didn’t apologize. Timothy felt his shoulders loosen as he chewed. It wasn’t magic. It was just not eating at a desk.

Hana drank water like she was correcting a mistake.

"You look less sharp," Hana said, watching him.

"You said that last time," Timothy replied.

Hana nodded. "It’s true."

Timothy stared past her at the road. A scooter passed with two people on it, both relaxed, one holding a bag that swung gently with motion.

"What," Hana asked.

Timothy looked back at her. "Nothing."

Hana narrowed her eyes. "That means something."

Timothy hesitated. He kept it simple. "I forgot people move without urgency."

Hana leaned back in her chair. "They still have urgency. It’s just not yours."

Timothy nodded once, then took another bite.

After lunch, Hana dragged him—literally by the sleeve—toward the beach.

"Walk," she reminded him.

The sand was warm and uneven. Timothy’s feet sank slightly with each step. He hated it at first. Then he stopped thinking about it. The wind carried salt. The water line foamed and pulled back like a breathing thing.

Hana took her shoes off and carried them.

Timothy followed her lead and did the same.

They walked along the edge where the sand was firmer. The ocean stayed on their right. A few tourists took pictures. A couple of locals sat near a small boat, talking and laughing like time wasn’t a resource.

Hana stopped and looked at the water.

Timothy stopped beside her.

"You’re quiet," Hana said.

"I’m trying," Timothy replied.

Hana glanced at him. "Trying to what."

"Trying to be here," Timothy said.

Hana nodded once. No sarcasm. No insult. Just a quiet acceptance like she understood the effort.

They kept walking. Hana pointed out nothing. Timothy asked no questions. They let the scene do the work.

After twenty minutes, Hana stopped again and turned to Timothy.

"Okay," she said. "Now you talk."

Timothy stared at her. "About what."

"About anything that isn’t the tower," Hana said. "If you don’t, your brain will crawl back to spreadsheets."

Timothy looked out at the water, then back at Hana.

"What do you do when you’re not working," he asked.

Hana’s expression went blank. "That’s unfair."

"It’s not," Timothy said. "It’s a question."

Hana stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and looked down at the sand.

"I don’t know," she admitted. "I read. I clean my apartment like it’s a crime scene. I organize things that don’t need organizing. Sometimes I watch stupid videos until I hate myself."

Timothy listened.

Hana looked up. "See. Not inspiring."

"It’s honest," Timothy said.

Hana narrowed her eyes. "Don’t use my word against me again."

Timothy didn’t smile, but something in his face shifted. "Okay."

Hana stepped closer to the water and let a wave wash over her feet. She flinched slightly at the cold, then stood still and let it happen again.

Timothy watched her do it, then did the same.

The water hit his ankles. Cold, sharp. He inhaled once through his nose and held still.

Hana glanced at him. "You look offended."

"I am," Timothy said. "It’s cold."

Hana’s mouth twitched. "Good. That means you’re alive."

Timothy didn’t respond fast enough. Hana walked forward another step and the water rose higher on her calves.

Timothy followed, careful.

Hana turned back to him. "Don’t overthink it."

Timothy took another step anyway, water tugging at his legs, the sand shifting under his feet as the wave pulled back.

Hana watched him like she was supervising a toddler learning to stand.

"Relax your shoulders," she said.

Timothy exhaled. "Yes, boss."

Hana smirked. "Say that again and I’ll drown you."

Timothy stepped forward as another wave came in, the water pushing against him, steady, not violent. He glanced down, watched the foam break around his legs, and for a few seconds he stopped thinking about anything else.

Hana moved beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his when the water pulled.

"You’re still here," she said.

Timothy kept his eyes on the water. "Yes."

Hana’s hand came up and caught his sleeve, not romantic, just steadying him as the sand shifted and his footing slipped.

"Careful," she said, tone flat.

Timothy planted his feet again, water swirling around his ankles, and looked up at her.

Hana didn’t let go right away. She kept hold of his sleeve like she was making sure he wouldn’t retreat.

A wave rolled in stronger than the last, pushing against their legs, and Hana shifted her weight without thinking, still holding on, pulling him half a step forward instead of letting him step back.

Timothy followed the pull, water rising, the cold biting again, Hana’s grip firm on his sleeve as the next wave gathered and came in.