On the Malecón seafront, with the sound of an old saxophone in the air, sat a man with a different kind of face.

  Not foreign — different. Calm. Not searching, not begging, not hustling. He drank water from a flask made of recycled materials and looked at the ocean as if it could answer a question long since resolved.

  "Hey, amigo, café?" called out a local man, his face lively, jeans worn. "One dollar, just a dollar!"

  The Mozaic resident looked up and nodded.

  "Alright. One coffee. No sugar."

  The Cuban, used to bargaining and games, paused in surprise. Usually, tourists balk at the word "dollar" — they haggle, they hesitate. This man just agreed, calmly, like he wasn't bound by price.

  When the coffee was ready, the Mozaic resident pulled out a gray card with a holographic triangle from his jacket.

  "What's that?" the seller frowned. "We only take dollars. No crypto crap."

  "It's not crypto. It's a Mozaic ID."

  "So what am I supposed to do with that?"

  The resident tapped the screen:

  Name: Rafael Dunen

  Social Raiting: 740

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  Contribution this year: 312 hours

  Sector: Education & Urban Planning

  Exchange Program: Caribbean Goodwill / recognized by Havana Bank

  He clicked "Transfer Compensation," and the seller saw a notification:

  "1.80 CUC received to your card. Exchange through MozaEx is commission-free."

  "So what are you, some kind of volunteer from the future?" the Cuban smirked.

  "I just live in a system where coffee isn't earned through profit — it's the result of trust."

  "You mean you never work for money?"

  "Only when the system around me isn't ready to recognize value in another way. Then I play along. But inside — I'm not for sale."

  The Cuban raised an eyebrow.

  "And how do you get food, housing, vacations?"

  "I give. I contribute. I participate.

  My life is a network I weave myself into.

  At first small threads. Then deeper. And now — I'm in Dominica for the weekend.

  And you're here.

  Not because I'm better — but because we chose to build differently."

  "Hmm..." The seller paused. "Here, if you don't catch a dollar, you don't eat tomorrow."

  "And for us — if you help no one, you can't look in the mirror tomorrow."

  They both fell silent.

  One holding a cup.

  The other with the notification that he just served Havana's first Mozaic customer.

  The saxophone kept playing.

  The ocean breeze carried the scent of change.