I finished washing the dishes and wrapped up my remaining tasks. The pile of dirty plates had been the hardest to deal with—not because of the quantity, but because they never stopped coming. One after another, they arrived in an endless, greasy stream.

  As evening settled in, it was finally time to head home. My face still burned, a stinging reminder of both the tears and the beating I had received from that fat bastard—Logan.

  Logan owned the food stall where I worked. It was a well-known spot, popular among low-level hunters who stopped by for a cheap, quick meal. And as for me—I was still unawakened.

  Most people awakened at sixteen. The moment they did, they could summon their status window, revealing the stats, abilities, and potential that would define their lives. But I was nineteen, and my status window had yet to appear.

  I sighed, stepping outside to inform Logan that my shift was over. I made my way toward his small wooden office, my hands hovering over the door—trembling. Still, I forced myself to knock.

  "Enter," a gruff, irritated voice barked from inside.

  I pushed open the door, wincing as it creaked on its hinges. It was always the same: a cramped, musty office where Logan managed his business. A small wooden table sat at the center, a single flower pot resting on top. A painting hung on the wall, surprisingly neat compared to the chaos of the rest of the room.

  But the worst part was the smell. The office reeked of sweat, stale food, and something subtly rotting. I hesitated as I noticed a change—the curtains were drawn tight. A cold chill crept down my spine.

  He never closes the curtains… Is he going to beat me again?

  My gaze shifted to Logan. He was slouched in his chair, his bloated belly pressed against the edge of the desk. His greying hair, a messy tangle of black and white, only made his features look more repulsive. I swallowed hard and stepped forward, standing silently before him.

  I was here for my pay.

  By law, wages were meant to be paid immediately after a shift. The government mandated a fair hourly rate—twelve dollars an hour. But some owners ignored the law, and Logan was one of them. Here, the pay was a flat sixty dollars for an eight-to-nine-hour shift.

  He stared at me for a long moment before looking away, reaching into his desk drawer. A few seconds later, he tossed forty dollars onto the table.

  I froze. My fingers clenched. “Uhh-hh, b-but i-it’s sixty… Why did you only give me forty?” My voice betrayed me, trembling as I spoke.

  Logan’s eyes darkened. He slammed his thick fingers against the table, making me flinch.

  “You worthless scum…” His voice boomed, sharp and venomous. “You didn’t work properly today, and now you have the audacity to ask for more?”

  I shrank back, my body shaking as his fury erupted. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

  "Do you even realize," he sneered, "that because of your laziness today, we lost customers? They left because the dishes weren’t cleaned on time. And now you're asking for the full rate?"

  My mouth opened, but no words came out. I knew that if I argued, he’d either cut my pay further or resort to his fists. There was no winning against a man like him. I stood there in silence, my gaze fixed on the floor, my fingers tightening around the crumpled bills in my fist.

  He noticed the gesture and smirked. "You wanted to hit me, didn’t you?"

  His words slithered into my ears. I snapped my head up, and the moment our eyes met, his smirk vanished, replaced by raw, unbridled anger.

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  I froze.

  "GET OUT IMMEDIATELY!" he bellowed. "AND TOMORROW—YOU WILL BE WORKING TWELVE HOURS!"

  I flinched at the command, but all I could do was nod and leave as fast as my legs would carry me. Shutting the wooden door behind me, I exhaled shakily. I stared at the forty dollars in my palm—a bitter pittance. With a sigh, I stuffed the money into my pocket and stepped out into the street.

  The evening sky stretched above me, painted in bruised hues of red and orange.

  Then—voices. Laughter. A group was approaching.

  My heart lurched as I recognized them. I wanted to run, but before I could turn, a voice called out.

  "Oyyy… Ren…"

  I stiffened. My feet refused to move. They were closing in—five of them. Three guys, two girls. All familiar faces. My old classmates.

  I had dropped out of school because of my family's situation, but that wasn’t the only reason. The truth was, I couldn’t endure the bullying from the awakened students anymore.

  The tallest among them, sporting dark hair and a confident smirk, was James—the leader of the group and my primary tormentor. He possessed superhuman strength and a rare talent for swordsmanship, though he usually preferred using "iron punches" to settle his disputes.

  Beside him stood Jimmy, short and stocky with blonde hair. He was a follower, clinging to James to avoid being a target himself. His skill was fire manipulation.

  Next was Lara, the "beauty queen." Her short purple hair matched her piercing violet eyes. She had the gift of mind reading, but in my experience, she was a beauty without a brain—someone people worshipped despite her vacuity.

  Then came Sophia. Unlike the others, she had a truly useful skill: healing. She could mend wounds during raid missions, and her long black hair and soft brown eyes gave her a gentle appearance that belied her cruelty.

  And lastly—Javier. The quiet one. No one at school knew much about him—not his status, nor his skills. He never joined in the bullying, yet for some reason, he still walked with this crowd. His short black hair fell just past his neck, shadowing sharp, unreadable eyes.

  James stepped forward, casually wrapping a heavy arm around my shoulder. "Hey, man… It’s been a while."

  I kept my gaze fixed on the pavement.

  "Nah, James, it’s been three whole months," Lara corrected, her voice dripping with amusement.

  "Oh! My bad. You know, Lara… I sometimes forget these things." James let out a loud, hollow laugh.

  "Fufu," Lara giggled along with him.

  Then James turned back to me, his grip tightening. "Well, man, I need something from you."

  The moment the words hit me, I knew what was coming. Money. I glanced around the group. They all wore smirks—except for Javier, who stood off to the side, looking entirely uninterested.

  "You understand what I’m saying, right?" James pressed.

  I swallowed hard and gave a slight, forced nod. "I-I don’t have any money right now, James," I stammered.

  His arm tensed. A sharp pain shot through my shoulder as he began to apply his superhuman strength. For a brief moment, his smile faltered, replaced by a cold, calculating glare.

  "Don’t lie to me, man… I know you just got your wages. That fatty Logan paid you—I’m sure of it."

  I didn’t respond. I just stood there, silent, my heart pounding against my ribs. The giggles of Lara and Sophia echoed in my head, taunting me.

  James clicked his tongue. "Come on, bro. Just give me twenty dollars. I’ll pay you back later. We’re friends, right?"

  Friends. The word felt hollow. No one wanted to be friends with a useless nobody who hadn’t awakened. But I knew the reality—if I refused, things would only get worse.

  With a clenched jaw, I reached into my pocket and handed him twenty dollars.

  Jimmy scoffed. "Why don’t you just give the rest, too?"

  "Yeah… he’s right. That’s what friends are for," Sophia chimed in, her voice dripping with mockery.

  My hands trembled. I wanted to fight back—but I knew I couldn’t. James watched my internal struggle, his smirk widening as if he were enjoying a show. Slowly, I handed over my last twenty dollars. My entire salary—gone.

  "Good boy," he chuckled, tucking the money into his coat. Then, with one last patronizing pat on my shoulder, he turned to the others. "Let’s go, guys."

  And just like that, they walked past me, laughing as if I were invisible.

  "Good pal," Jimmy whispered as he followed. Lara walked by with a smug grin, not even bothering with words. Sophia, however, leaned in close as she passed.

  "Useless wretch," she sneered, her voice thick with contempt.

  I stood there, frozen. I couldn’t say anything. A lump formed in my throat as tears welled in my eyes. But more than my own misery, a single thought consumed me: How am I going to pay my sister’s school fees at the end of the month?

  Then—a hand appeared in my field of vision, holding forty dollars.

  I blinked in surprise and looked up. It was Javier.

  "Take it." His voice was deep and steady—far more mature than I had expected. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak.

  Hesitantly, I reached out and took the money. He didn’t wait for a thank you or a response. Without another word, he turned and walked away to rejoin the group.

  I stared at his back, then down at the bills in my hand. Wiping away the tears before they could fall, I tucked the money into my pocket.

  He’s… different. And mysterious.