Wakita’s shop sat at the edge of nowhere, in a nothing town where only transferring passengers ever passed through. He made his living buying up gold — rings, teeth, anything with someone else’s fingerprints worn into it — one unhurried transaction at a time.

One day a stout old man named Gonda rolled in, belly first, and dropped a ring on the counter with a thud.

“Take a look at this. Been in my family seven generations. Finest gold in the whole universe.”

Wakita peered through his loupe and gave a thoughtful hum. Old, sure. But gold like any other. Might as well knock the price down while he had the chance — not out of malice, just the reflex of a man who’d spent his life haggling.

“Sorry to say it, Gonda, but… this gold isn’t anything special.”

“What did you say?”

“A long time ago, out in some far-off sky, a star blew itself apart. Every scrap of gold in existence was born that one day. Your ring, my back molar, the gold tooth on the guy down the street — all of it traces back to the same event. Forget seven generations. Every piece of gold alive has the same birthday.”

Gonda’s mouth fell open. Then his face went red — and he burst out laughing.

“Well, how about that! That means every piece of gold out there is a piece of a star!”

”…Sorry?”

“If my ring’s a treasure, your molar’s a treasure too. Bless it. Bless every bit of it.”

Gonda tucked the ring back against his chest and strutted out beaming, deal forgotten entirely.

Unfortunately, word got around town.

“Treasure from the day a star broke apart, they’re saying.”

“Even my grandmother’s old dentures?”

“No way I’m giving that up now.”

After that, nobody pushed Wakita’s door open again. Everyone had decided even their last gold tooth was a family heirloom worth hoarding. The shelves sat empty, the register gathered dust, and Wakita finally printed up a sign announcing he was closing for good.

On the last day, a young woman quietly eased the door open.

“Excuse me… would you buy this?”

She slid a small gold band off one thin finger and held it out.

Wakita reached for it automatically — and stopped.

This was a ring from that day. The day the star broke. One shard, the only one of its kind, in the whole of existence.

”…No.”

Wakita gently pushed her hand back.

“I can’t take that from you.”

While the woman blinked at him, baffled, Wakita added one more trembling line to his sign.

“Buying: suspended indefinitely.”