The sale had been messy in a way Roy liked. Botched gas fees, a late-night auction ballet, a last-minute bidder with a handle that was nothing but numbers. Opensea's interface glowed on his laptop — familiar and foreign at once. He watched the chain whispers: wallet addresses, minted timestamps, and tiny on-chain notes he'd made to himself — a date, a line of poetry, a phone number with its digits inked in wrong so he'd never call. There was a warmth in watching a chain record a promise.
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