8. A Dumb Way to Die

Rowan hurtled backward, limbs flying out. His head hit the asphalt, and a sharp crack rang out. A second later, pain stabbed through his head. He shouted, surprised and hurt.

“Jealous? You think I’m jealous?” Terry laughed, short and sharp. He kicked Rowan again, between the legs this time.

Rowan screeched and curled into a ball. Unimaginable pain rushed upward, radiating through his legs, his spine, sinking sick into his stomach. He gasped for air, barely able to breathe.

“H—help…” He reached out.

All around, combat classes stared. A few whispered to each other, while others grinned and laughed. No one moved to intervene.

And you’re supposed to be heroes? Rowan glared, gritting his teeth.

Terry kicked him again, again. Rowan retracted his hand and curled tighter, shuddering under the blows. “Piece of shit. No one cares if you die. I could kill you right here, and no one would stop me. Jealous? Who’s jealous of trash like you?”

“S…stop,” he mumbled, hating himself. I can’t raise a hand against Terry. Even that loser can kill me easily now.

Terry laughed. “Beg me harder! Like your life counts on it! Maybe then—”

He fell silent abruptly. Curled in a ball, Rowan peeked up.

Silver glimmered at Terry’s throat. A straight razor pressed into his neck. Dressed in a gaudy white coat trimmed with fur, a boy with long, dark hair glared at Terry, eyes sharp as swords.

Terry gulped. His Adam’s apple bumped against the blade. “W—who—”

“N. Kaidu. Hairdresser.”

Rowan half-sat up from where he curled on the floor. That super famous Hairdresser my sister was obsessing over? It can’t be. No way. The longer he looked, the more the boy looked exactly like N. Kaidu. He looks younger than in the magazine, but… if I put that aside… it’s got to be him.

What the hell is he doing here?

At the word ‘Hairdresser,’ Terry laughed, suddenly unafraid. He pulled away and stroked the stubble on his chin. “What, offering me a close shave? I appreciate it, but I’m trying to grow out the beard for my Kayt.”

N. Kaidu’s eyes narrowed. His hands blurred.

Terry jumped back. “Hey! Hey! You don’t want to see me get serious!”

“Mind the razor burn.” Passing him by, N. Kaidu offered his hand to Rowan.

Awestruck, Rowan took it. Someone else has done it. A support class who can stand on his own. I thought it was impossible, but he’s already doing it.

“Mind the—ow! Ouch! Ah! My beard, it’s—” Terry patted his baby-smooth cheeks in shock and staggered back, startled.

Kayt caught him, eyes wide. “How dare you! You shitty little support class, how dare you lay your hands on my Terry!”

N. Kaidu held his hand out. “Fifty dollars.”

Flabbergasted, Kayt stared. “Fifty—”

He lifted a brow. “People wait in line all day for the privilege of a shave from me. It isn’t cheap.”

“You—” Terry charged at him, fist raised.

N. Kaidu twisted neatly on the spot, gripped Terry’s fist as it passed, and yanked him forward. Terry fell, off-balance. N. Kaidu caught him, holding him half-fallen.

“Apologize to my friend,” he demanded.

Only visible to Rowan and Terry, a pair of scissors glimmered in N. Kaidu’s other hand, sharp tip pressed up against Terry’s ribcage.

Terry gulped. “I—I’m sorry.”

“You… don’t apologize to support trash!” Kayt demanded.

N. Kaidu released Terry. He retreated, dragging Kayt with him. Disgust crawled over his face. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t dirty ourselves messing with trash like that.”

Watching him go, N. Kaidu snorted. “All System, no technique. Trash.”

Belatedly, Rowan brushed himself off, then offered a hand. “Rowan Promet. Thanks so much.”

Ignoring the hand, N. Kaidu put his blades away. They vanished somewhere on his body with quick motions Rowan couldn’t quite track. “Are you the one who posted for support classes? I thought you’d be at least level ten.”

“Ah—yes, that’s me. Are—are you here…?”

Looking Rowan up and down, N. Kaidu snorted and flicked his ponytail over his shoulder. “I was. But I didn’t come to weigh myself down with trash.”

Rowan backed up a step, stung.

“Watch out!”

He whirled in time to watch a dozen vials of blue liquid pour down on him. Rowan tensed and backed away, but a moment too late. Burning liquid splashed over his body, soaking into his clothes.

“Oh no, oh shit, I’m so sorry.” Jude hurried up to him, still wearing the puffy blue jacket, but now dressed in tight green jeans. At the sight of Rowan, his eyes widened. “You again?”

I feel like saying the same thing! Rowan shouted internally.

Discomfort coiled in his stomach. His skin crawled, and the world shivered, wiggling around him. Rowan staggered back.

N. Kaidu stepped neatly out of his way.

He smacked against the ground. His vision wobbled. In the corner, a now-familiar display appeared.

Poisoned. Fatal in 0:40.

“Oh no, oh no, that was serpent venom for a quest! It’s highly toxic, are, are you alright?” Jude asked, hovering over Rowan.

“I’m poisoned,” he managed, but it came out blurred, his lips and tongue half-numb, his jaw barely cooperating.

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry, er… uh, what was it again?” Jude hesitated, his hands shaking.

N. Kaidu looked down at Rowan, eyes half-laughing, half-concerned. “Someone call a healing class!”

“I’m a Medic, I just… which skill was it? Detox? Er… do I have any casts left? Oh, c’mon… does anyone have a mana potion?” Jude looked around the crowd hopefully.

What a dumb way to die, Rowan thought, as black loomed into the corners of his vision.