David stumbled through the door, bruised and bloodied, a far cry from the usual calm he tried to project. His mother, Sara, froze for a split second, the shock hitting her like a punch. She didn't gasp, didn't yell. She just stood there, eyes wide, but already knowing what she would do next.
Without a word, she grabbed the ointment and bandages from the cupboard. David slumped into a chair, his body too tired to even protest. His mother's hands were gentle, the way they always were when she knew she couldn't do much to fix what had already happened. She'd known for a while that things weren't easy for him. He wasn't the kind of kid to come home with a story of victory or triumph — not anymore. But she didn't press. She just worked quietly, healing him as best as she could, hoping one day he'd let her in enough to tell her the truth.
David broke the silence first.
"I don't want to go back."
Sara didn't answer. She just stood there, still holding the half-used bandage in her hand.
"Please…" he continued, his voice low, almost pleading. "Let me drop out of the academy. I'll become a mercenary. I'll earn money. You won't have to work in that... place anymore."
That's when Sara's eyes welled up. She didn't sob or cry loudly — just quiet tears sliding down her face.
David didn't know what to do. He was never good with feelings — especially not this kind.
"I want you to stay in the academy," she finally said, voice trembling but firm. "I want you to show those rich brats and so-called prodigies that they're nothing compared to you. I want you to have a real life… a future here in Norris City."
David sat down slowly, avoiding her gaze.
Sara placed the ointment on the table, her hands trembling just a little.
"Rough day?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
David nodded. "I don't want to go back."
A pause. No shock in her face — just quiet understanding.
"I can drop out," he continued. "Find work. Anything. You wouldn't have to keep working at that place."
Sara didn't answer immediately. She sat across from him, took a breath.
"You think I care about the job?" she asked softly. "If that's what you're worried about... don't be."
He looked at her. "Then why not let me leave?"
She glanced down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.
"Because I want you to have a life that isn't just surviving. I want you to finish the academy. To prove to them that you're not just some nobody."
David said nothing.
Sara stood up, gently touched his shoulder.
"You don't have to be strong all the time. But just for now... hold on. A little longer."
"Fine."
David stood up and walked to his room.
He didn't slam the door. He didn't cry. He just… disappeared into silence.
Yeah, it hurt. Yeah, he was tired. But what could he do?
In this world, the weak weren't needed.
Maybe Sara was right. Maybe he had to keep pushing. But David... he was just so damn tired.
Still, he sat down. Cross-legged on the floor. Back straight. Hands relaxed on his knees.
Every night, the same routine. Draw in the qi. Store it. Build it up, slow and steady.
A cultivator generated a bit of qi naturally — a small trickle that gathered inside. But it wasn't enough. Not for a breakthrough. Not for real strength. That's where focus came in. That's where discipline mattered.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Draw the energy from the air around him, pull it into his meridians. Feel it swirl. Settle.
Hours passed.
Then—A faint shift. A subtle crackle in his chest.
A breakthrough.
"Beginner Rank 7..." he whispered to no one.
It wasn't much. But in a world that felt cold and empty, moments like these... they mattered.Just for a second — he felt alive.
After a long, brutal day, David finally let himself sleep.
When he woke up, the pain was gone. The bruises that had darkened his skin yesterday? Faded. Almost completely.
Even with Sara's medicine, that kind of recovery was too fast. But that was the life of a cultivator — faster, stronger, tougher. Even their wounds didn't last long.
He got dressed slowly, opened the door — expecting to smell breakfast, maybe hear the clinking of dishes in the kitchen.
But there was nothing.
Silence.
No footsteps. No warmth. No voice calling his name.
Weird.
Sara worked at night. In the mornings, she always cooked. Then she'd sleep around noon. But she was always there in the morning.
David's stomach sank.
Then his phone buzzed.
One notification.Just one.
[Kuro Brothel]Message:Your mother has died due to an unfortunate incident. Kuro Brothel sincerely apologizes for the inconvenience. As compensation, we are offering 10,000 magic stones.
He stared at the screen.
Blank.
Then again.
And again.
Like the words might change.
They didn't.
He sat on the chair. Just staring at the ceiling.
He wanted to scream. To shout something like, "God, why the fuck do I always get this shit?!" or "What kind of fucking accident kills a person like that?!"
But no words came out. His throat tightened, his fists clenched — and still, silence.
That day, the ceiling looked beautiful. Almost peaceful.
In his gaze, there was no pain, no tears, no anger. Just emptiness. The ceiling seemed to grow larger, consuming him, as if a black hole was swallowing the light.
Hours dragged on, as if seconds stretched into eternity. He couldn't tear his gaze away, as if his eyes were chained to the flat surface. He didn't know what to expect, but the sensation of timelessness was all that remained. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, and didn't have the strength to scream. Everything inside him had fallen silent.
When thoughts tried to form again, they shattered like sand slipping through his fingers. It wasn't pain, nor fury, but something more—emptiness. The consumption of everything that had been before. All the suffering he had carried inside turned into that very abyss he was sinking into. An abyss from which there was no return.
The ceiling became more than just a ceiling. It was his last refuge, his only witness. All he could do was sit, stare, and sink into the abyss, no longer expecting any answers.
The silence in the room felt suffocating, crushing him slowly. His thoughts were spiraling, spinning uncontrollably. And then, it happened.
He thought he saw her. His mother. Standing by the door, as if she had never left. Her familiar figure, her warm smile — it was like a cruel mirage.
He blinked, his heart racing. "Mom?" His voice cracked, desperate. "No... it's not possible... you're... you're gone." His fingers twitched, gripping the edge of the chair as if holding on to reality itself.
But the vision didn't disappear. She stood there, so real, so vivid. A ghost, or maybe just his broken mind playing tricks.
"Mom," David whispered again, his voice shaking. "You... you need money to survive. Please, go... go and take it. Take what they offered, take everything, just... just survive. I can't do this alone. I can't... I need you."
His chest tightened as if the words alone could bring her back. He stared at the empty spot where she had stood, but it was too late. The vision faded, slipping away like sand through his fingers.
David's breathing quickened, his hands trembling. He felt a suffocating need to get up, to do something, anything. But all that remained was the hollow emptiness of his thoughts, echoing with the lie he had told himself.
The ceiling above him was still beautiful. Still so calm. Too calm.
David stood up, his legs unsteady as if he had just woken up from a long, heavy sleep. The room still felt thick with the weight of his thoughts, but he forced himself to move. Each step felt like a mountain to climb, but he couldn't stop now. There was something he needed to do, something that had been gnawing at him ever since he saw the message.
He walked to the door, pausing for a moment before stepping outside. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face. It did nothing to clear his mind, but it grounded him, if only for a second.
The street was just as he remembered — dirty, noisy, filled with the stench of despair. People hustling and stumbling, oblivious to the world around them. The air felt thick with the sadness of it all, and David just kept walking, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
He passed by the usual crowd of beggars and drunks, their desperate calls barely registering in his mind. One man, hunched over and ragged, reached out a hand, asking for a coin. His voice was weak, but it cut through the air.
"Spare some change, brother? I haven't eaten in days..."
David didn't even glance at him. His gaze remained straight ahead, his footsteps unwavering. It was as though he no longer saw them — the beggars, the drunks, the broken souls. They were just part of the backdrop now. He didn't owe them anything, not today. Not after everything he had just learned.
The streets felt colder as he walked, but his mind was already a distant place. He didn't know if he was numb or just too tired to care anymore. Everything was slipping through his fingers.
Eventually, he reached the bordello. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the street, a dark, brooding building, its lights flickering like a warning. David hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He could feel his pulse thundering in his chest, the weight of his mother's death pulling at his insides.
He pushed the door open, and the smell hit him first — the thick, cloying scent of perfume mixed with something darker. The lobby was quiet, save for the soft click of heels against the marble floor.
Behind the reception desk stood a young woman, her face painted with an expression that was part sympathy, part cold indifference. She looked up as David approached, her eyes scanning him briefly before she spoke in a voice that was as empty as the space around them.
"You came for the money, right?" she asked, her tone matter-of-fact.
David didn't respond, just nodded. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. She handed him a small pouch of coins — a generous sum, though it didn't mean anything now. His mind was still spinning, consumed with the thought of his mother.
"She... didn't deserve this," the woman said, her eyes flicking nervously to the side. "It wasn't supposed to happen. But... it did."
David didn't speak. His eyes narrowed, waiting for more.
The woman sighed, glancing around as though making sure no one could overhear. "It was B.B.," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "A man with power, with influence. He's been using the girls here for his own sick pleasure for years. Your mother... she tried to resist him. He didn't like that. One night, during her shift... he killed her. Just like that. They said it was an accident, a 'misunderstanding.' But it wasn't. He's too powerful to be touched, and nobody dares speak his name. His reach is too far."
David's grip tightened on the pouch of coins, but he didn't say anything. His mind was spinning with what he had just heard. B.B. — some faceless, untouchable figure.
His mother... gone, taken by someone who had no regard for her life. It wasn't fair. None of it was. And yet, here he was, standing in front of the woman who handed him a few coins, as if that could undo the damage.
David's fists clenched as the weight of it all settled on him. He didn't know what to do. What could he do? The system was broken, the world was broken, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. But one thing was certain now.
He wasn't going to forget. Not ever.
He turned and left, the cold night air biting at his skin.