One problem with that.
I got kicked through a window.
I fell onto the pavement in a shower of sharp, mana-reinforced glass. My chest hurt like a bitch. The shards cut into my clothes and painfully scratched at my skin, but thanks to [Iron Skin], they stayed as scratches and not, y’know, actual cuts.
My soon-to-be-murderer calmly stepped through the broken window he’d created. Glass crunched underneath his shoes.
Kim Min-jae cracked his neck. Although I was different from the Golds in almost every way imaginable, his distorted, fucked-up perception of justice saw otherwise. I was his enemy no different than those heirs and heiresses, and that came with an inexplicable blood-debt.
He said,
My jaw dropped.
In a single bound, he reached my position and reared his ugly leg back. I raised my arm to block the kick, but it didn’t come. Briefly, just for a moment and nothing longer, I dropped my guard—and that’s when he kicked me.
Boom, everybody could point and laugh at a flying girl suffering from the consequences of her thoughtless actions. I landed on grass, rolling ‘til my spine rubbed against an exposed root of a tree. My head was ringing, and my vision was terrible enough to be qualified as legally blind. I lifted my hand, but something warm dripped onto my fingers and grass. Something red.
Blood.
My fingers brushed underneath my nostrils and a stream of iron-goodness was pouring out.
Min-jae hit hard. Really hard.
That made me pissed, but let him fight me, beat me up, whatever.
I didn't care about winning—now wasn't a time to show my strength, I think—but I did care about having two unbroken legs.
“Dammit…” I hissed and tried turning around—
I twisted my hip and drove my fingers deep into his forearm.
[Skill Unrecognized: Anti-Slayer Technique - Phenomena Zero]
[Phenomena Zero], it disabled all PPS activity around at the point of impact. Unlike the other [Techniques], it wasn’t immediately painful. You’d feel pins-and-needles, but as soon as you attempt to channel mana in that particular spot—bang! Pain galore.
Min-jae gasped and let go of me, clutching his affected arm out of shock. I think that was his dominant arm too, awesome!
With this opening, I ported the fuck outta there.
As I sped away in a random direction, blood rushed down my chin, then neck, and finally my ruined shirt, making me look like an escaped hospital patient. I ran past buildings I didn’t recognize and fancy architectural pieces that told me nothing. I must’ve passed a couple dozen students—couldn't tell their grade-level or section—but they kept to the sides and refused to come close to me. Yeah, prolly couldn’t rely on them for help. Assholes.
Think… Where could I go—? The Headmaster Building! Even Min-jae wouldn’t dare to ruin its polished stone steps with my blood.
I pulled my phone out as my little legs ran. “Hey phone—! Tell me directions to—!”
A long shadow stretched along the sidewalk, the figure swallowing my own like a hungry lion.
I rolled outta the way not-so-elegantly, landing on my arm and nearly breaking my phone in the process. After stuffing my phone away, I looked up to see the Demon of Baekyong Academy: steaming from all orifices with his right arm dangling uselessly. Look at me, able to execute [Phenomena Zero] in this state. He felt the pain, which was good.
But he felt pain, deeply, which was very bad.
I wiped blood from my nose, staining my hands red.
Min-jae came at me again but he was noticeably slower. Yeah, no kidding. With his right arm disabled, he didn’t wanna risk further damage. If his previous attacks were at ninety-percent, give or take, he was used fifty here.
I actually had enough time and room to avoid another kick, then a few searching punches and elbows and palms; they were all easy to guess and avoid since the strikes came from the one arm.
Every miss had him grunting more and more like a wild dog being denied his steak. Angrily, he threw a hard straight, missed me, and ended up striking a lamppost. Even when shifted down a couple gears, the post fucking bent and swayed to the side, crooked. Just who the hell was this guy?
I stumbled away, blood still dripping, and everyone ‘round us gawked at the scene.
[Skill Activation: Dark Cloud Palm]
I got launched. I landed on my back and slid for a solid three meters before stopping. Kim Min-jae had turned my stomach inside out and twisted my intestines into a physical knot. Being humiliated by an emo piece of shit was one thing, but vomiting blood, saliva, and breakfast was more than just plain humiliation. It was career-ruining, and it was only my third day in Baekyong.
Eh, not the worst day I had.
I coughed blood as my guts were stirred by an invisible ladle.
My vision blurred again, but I could recognize Kim Min-jae’s distinct frame approaching me. Shit—
Someone stood in front of me.
Min-jae stopped.
I didn’t know that name. Wasn't in my section.
Min-jae bit hard on his lip and noticed the growing number of witnesses to his crimes. Even if I had technically kicked the chain of events off, who was everyone gonna blame? The known pariah or the bloody, beaten-up girl on the ground?
Chae Yo-han lifted his head, his violet ponytail swaying in the gentle wind.
Then, I greeted my angel.
If Tae Jun-hyeok was the mathematically-gorgeous product handcrafted by his agents, then my savior was a sickly beauty. He lacked the physique of the idol and the emo-asshole, and from the bags under his eyes, he lacked sleep too. Funnily enough, sleep deprivation was a good look on him. Made him look more…delicate. Yeah, that’s it. Chae Yo-han was a delicate flower, something to admire from a distance like a fragile art-piece behind glass.
And for your own safety.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
You know what they say: be wary of a cunning fox more than a deadly wolf.
<...Dorothea Zhang,> he said, kneeling before me.
With hardly any choice, he took me.
***
[Eun Chang-min]
[Skill Activation: ESP Healing]
By the time Chae Yo-han was finished with my treatment, I was feeling way better. Physically, I mean. Mentally, eh. There was no fixing the mania going on inside my head. No one was gonna live that down: “Adorable transfer from the United States nearly got beaten to death by an emo dipshit then vomited her guts out over the sidewalk!”
Least Yo-han didn’t seem to judge, but maybe he was pretending to be courteous so he could charge me thousands of dollars for healing.
My “savior” sat back in his fancy stool, downing an entire water-bottle in a single go. From what I’d seen with Victor, healing took a lot out of you. Taking care of your health was just as important as taking care of your patients, but that went for all physicians.
I chomped down on a “nutrient bar” that tasted like cardboard, but it was his insistence (order).
Yo-han rolled to a side-table, plucked a few papers from a folder, and began jotting stuff down.
I nodded, understanding, but there was a bigger question on my mind:
He laughed and shook his head.
That’s pretty impressive. The Year 1 Healer Section was smaller but I heard their curriculum was “tougher than you’d think.” Having to climb outta rock-bottom took some skill, some clever wit, and a lot of unconventional thinking. Either Yo-han was being humble or he was purposefully masking his talents; regardless, whether or not he was in my section, he shouldn’t be underestimated.
Best part? He was a healer.
If today was any indicator for the rest of the semester, I was gonna really need a healer that I could trust.
So I put on my best voice:
Yo-han stopped writing for a sec. <...Why did you join Baekyong?>
Here’s the big question. Rector and Uncle Ali said almost everyone would question my motives because they had a damn good reason to. To an outsider, transferring to this shithole of a “school” was bizarre at best and suicidal at worst, but luckily, I’d rehearsed a thousand answers. This was the best one: <’Cause I wanna. I always wanted to go to Korea, plus I recently decided to be a Slayer. Why not knock out two birds with one stone?>
Yo-han looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Didn’t know if that was confusion, pity, dismay, or everything across the spectrum. <...We all have our motivations.>
Yo-han hastily wrote.
I giggled.
A few knocks rattled the door.
It opened, and a wine-haired woman stepped inside.
She was so pretty and naturally charming that you’d think she was the lead actress in a medical drama: the young, gorgeous, and ambitious doctor ready to reform the medical world. That’s the vibe I got. As such, she had to look nice but not uptight: unbuttoning her doctor’s gown, wearing slippers, letting her long and curly hair breathe—she didn’t just wanna care for her patients, she wanted to be their friends too.
Here, at Baekyong of all places.
But I couldn’t ignore the little scars on her hands. Her rough calluses. What memories laid behind the sparkle of her dark red eyes.
Lynn, that was her name.
Lynn Asche.
Yo-han faced her and waved.
I swallowed nothing and nodded, my neck creaking like an old door hinge.
“I-I know…”
“That’s what my name-tag says,” she said, switching to English. She had a smooth, comforting British accent. “Yo-han is my only assistant. Without me, he’d be back home.”
Yo-han rolled his eyes.
“Fortunately for us, he doesn’t speak a dash of English so we can gossip about him and he can stay livid. I digress. Let’s see if you’re ready to get back out there."
Dr. Asche performed a post-healing check-up and made sure everything healed nicely. She was a good doctor—the best doctor. She walked me through every step and explained why, detailing the intricacies of healing and recovery without making me wanna kill myself from the complexity. And every time she had to touch me, it was gentle. Caring.
I almost wanted to cry.
She turned my dominant hand over and was taken aback at the artwork I’d made with my palm. “How did you develop these calluses?”
I told her, “Guitar.”
“Really? You must’ve had a lot of ‘guitar training.’” Dr. Asche looked closer at my calluses then over my hands and arms, noting the little scars. “In fact, years of training. I’ve seen hundreds of combat students and none of them have...features as developed as yours.”
I tried my best to not smile like a dork, but I did anyway. “What can I say? I’m, uh, really good at guitar. My… I had a really good teacher.”
“At guitar.”
“The best guitarist in the world. Taught me everything I know.” I glanced at her gloved hands. “You…seem pretty good at guitar too. Were you in a British band or…?”
“International, if I’m trying to understand your cheekiness right.” Dr. Asche adorably laughed and let go of my hand. “This is my second year at Baekyong, yet only Chungmu could tell I'd been a soldier by looking at me. It doesn’t make sense, though.”
“About what?”
“You’re eighteen. Eighteen. You’ve been using weapons before you learned how to drive. According to your file, you [Registered] a few months ago. Forgive me for prying, but the math doesn’t add up. Years of combat training, few months of [Registration], yet you were bested by Kim Min-jae who doesn't have a scratch on him. Why did you let yourself get beat up?"
Yo-han saw the irregularities in my story, but Dr. Asche could see that it was completely bullshit. She wouldn’t tell anyone, though. I knew she wouldn't.
I sighed, looking out the window as the afternoon was slowly ticking over. “Believe me, meeting an ex-Otherguard wasn't in the plans. I wanted to know how Min-jae fought. What he was capable of. That sort of thing. I could take a few hits now. No use trying to beat him when he's not even my primary target."
"That doesn't mean you should start earning more scars. You're too young for them."
I lifted my shirt a little, letting her see what was underneath. After a couple seconds, I let go. "The world didn't think that."
Dr. Asche briefly glanced downward at the scar that stretched around my side, then her blood-red eyes shimmered under the fluorescent light. Usually, Slayers had the side effect of glowing eyes whenever they were serious. The good doctor had the same thing, and she grabbed my wrist. Her strength was deceptive. You wouldn't think her arms carried enough muscle to crush a human bone, but they did. She could turn a skull into dust with her two arms, and I wasn't joking.
"Why are you really here, Dorothea?" she whispered so Yo-han wouldn't hear.
I smiled. "To make some friends."
Disappointment washed over her, but it wasn't directed toward me. It was toward the ones holding my strings. "Why's a sweet girl like you doing something so bloody dangerous? This isn't the place to play games."
"I know, but I have an objective."
Dr. Asche let go of my wrist. "Brilliant."
"Think I can get your number, though?" I asked despite knowing it was a bad idea. "I already told Yo-han, but I’m gonna need healers that I can trust.”
She shook her head. “You also shouldn’t trust so easily. You hardly know me.”
No, I knew you pretty well.
You saved my life before.
I remember what you said as you held me while a battle flared around us.
You took us out of Hangzhou.
You haven’t changed at all since then.
You don't know how much I wanna hug you right now.
“—Dorothea.”
“Are you gonna let a cute girl like me bleed to death?” I asked, already knowing the answer to my question.
***
When I finally made it back to my room, the door was thankfully not trashed.
I pulled a box from underneath my bed and found what I was looking for: a weird spherical-thing attached to a stand. An isolation bubble generator. I set it on the ground, turned it on, and let a bubble engulf half of the floor-space. According to Chie, this bubble also neutralized any listening devices caught inside, so hopefully she was telling the truth.
After making sure the bubble was active, I pulled my phone out and called Uncle Ali.
He picked up almost immediately. “Thea, is this business or just catching up?”
“...Both, I think.” I gulped. “I met Lynn today.”