Leon stared at the numbers for a long moment with that particular blank expression people get when the brain registers information but can't process it yet. His jaw actually hung slightly open, like he'd forgotten he was supposed to close it, because fifteen points of Agility, ten Strength, and ten Vitality from a single opponent didn't fit any scale he'd learned from earlier fights, not even the worst ones.
And before he could gather his thoughts, before he could even allow himself a reaction beyond sheer disbelief, the system did what it always did.
It kept going, without caring whether the user could keep up.
The first window vanished, replaced by another.
[Level Up: LVL 8 → LVL 9]
[Stat Points Gained: +4]
Leon barely managed to blink before three more notifications stacked in front of him.
[Level Up: LVL 9 → LVL 10]
[Stat Points Gained: +4]
[Level Up: LVL 10 → LVL 11]
[Stat Points Gained: +4]
[Level Up: LVL 11 → LVL 12]
[Stat Points Gained: +4]
He stood there amid chewed-up asphalt and blood as it finally hit him, he'd jumped four levels in a single fight. Fifteen minutes ago he'd been level eight, and now the system had casually decided he was twelve.
"What the… " he started quietly, but didn't finish, because something else snagged his attention in the same instant.
By the dead body of the violet marten, right where its energy had been pulsing, items began to form, one after another, unhurried, as if the world itself wanted to give him a second to understand this wasn't a hallucination.
First, a familiar matte Gray Box.
Next to it, a heavier, more clearly defined Brown Box.
And finally, hovering a few centimeters above the ground, a skill scroll, its parchment soaked in a faint violet glow.
"Pretty damn good loot…" Leon muttered, more disbelief than joy.
That was when he heard voices.
A dozen people, maybe a bit more, who hadn't scattered in panic jogged closer, though they still stopped at a safe distance from the beast's corpse. Their faces were a mess of emotions too tangled for a single word, fear, relief, disbelief, adrenaline. Someone asked if he was okay. Someone else just stared like they were trying to memorize every detail, because they'd just witnessed something that would've been impossible yesterday.
Leon only nodded.
And then he remembered.
The backpack.
For a split second his stomach tightened as he realized he'd handed it to the girl, the first one he'd saved on campus, so it wouldn't interfere with his movement while fighting. In all this chaos, he might never see it again. Nobody promised fear wouldn't win over loyalty.
He scanned the group sharply until he spotted her a few meters away.
She was still there, the backpack slung over one shoulder, slightly hunched under its weight.
Relief only truly hit when he walked up to her and, without a word, she stepped aside and let him open it. Leon stuffed the Gray Box, the Brown Box, and the scroll inside, fast, almost routine, feeling the curious stares on him. They could only see "some items," but not a single one asked what they were, as if instinct told them this wasn't the moment for bargaining or curiosity.
He zipped the backpack and handed it back.
The girl adjusted the straps without protest, tightened her grip on them, and nodded like it was obvious she'd be carrying it now, even if her shoulders already ached.
Leon looked at her again.
Light brown hair tied in a messy ponytail, a few strands stuck to her face with sweat and blood she hadn't been able to wipe away. Her jacket was torn along one sleeve, and a thin smear of dirt cut across her cheek, making her look more real than most of the people around them. Not like a heroine. Just someone trying to survive the next fifteen minutes.
He paused and turned toward an older man standing slightly off to the side, hands braced on his knees as if he'd only now allowed himself to feel exhaustion. His graying hair was mussed and plastered down with sweat in a way that didn't match the image of a lecturer Leon remembered from a few days ago.
"Professor…" Leon began, then hesitated for a fraction of a second, like he was checking whether old forms still mattered. "Mr. Kowalczyk… what happened to the others?"
The man lifted his head and looked at him with tired eyes. For a moment he seemed to be deciding where to even start, then he scratched his cheek out of habit, the same gesture he always made during lectures when searching for the right word.
"I'm afraid they… ran," he said at last, blunt. "When it got really bad and that beast showed up…" He trailed off, glancing toward where the violet marten's body still lay. "People panicked. They started fleeing in every direction, no plan, no destination, just away. They scattered… and honestly, I don't know where they are now."
Professor Marek Kowalczyk, economics lecturer for second-year students, had been one of those teachers people remembered not because he threatened exams, but because he treated students like humans instead of index numbers. Leon remembered him clearly: calm, practical, always willing to explain something again, whether the student came from money or worked nights behind a bar.
Now that same man stood in front of him, hands faintly trembling from adrenaline, trying to keep a shred of authority in a world that no longer needed it.
Leon only nodded.
He looked at the group that remained, just under twelve people, dirty and exhausted, faces tight from constant fear, and he didn't need to count to know more than half of those who'd been here minutes ago were gone. He also knew what that probably meant. In this world, people who ran without a plan and without the will to fight rarely had more than a few days ahead of them.
Yet he felt no anger. No grief.
Not because he understood them, because he'd barely survived a single violet marten himself. It had forced him to fight at the edge of his limits, to improvise, to spend free stat points in desperation. If not for Valeria's quiet whisper, her suggestion, he wouldn't have even thought of it.
He knew that if he hadn't had those points, if he'd been short even a few points of Agility, he'd be dead on the asphalt right now, and the rest of them wouldn't stand a chance.
He exhaled softly, more relief than fatigue.
The ones who ran stopped being his responsibility the second they chose panic over fighting. He'd saved them earlier only because he'd been nearby and hadn't wanted to watch his own species turn into helpless food for anything faster or stronger.
Now the line was drawn, even if nobody said it out loud.
Leon turned to the people who remained.
"We're moving," he said calmly, not raising his voice. "We need to reach the gym as fast as possible. We'll stop there, then you can rest."
He didn't wait for answers.
He took a deep breath, feeling fatigue start to creep into his muscles, slowly but clearly, and broke into a run. Not his fastest pace, but a speed the others could maintain.
The rest followed, twelve people keeping close, eyes wide with fear, glancing nervously to the sides like they expected another beast to burst from the shadows at any moment and steal their lives.
Valeria ran beside him as if the heavy air, the campus chaos, and the growing exhaustion settling into everyone's movement didn't apply to her. Her stride was even and quiet, almost unreal against the group's uneven breathing. For a brief moment her gaze returned to the spot where the violet beast had died, now partly hidden by a turn between buildings, like the world itself was trying to forget something like that had ever existed.
Then she looked back at Leon, at the tension in his shoulders, at how he'd started conserving steps without meaning to, shortening movements and breathing a little deeper even as he tried not to show it. People were running in front of him, and he clearly had no intention of allowing himself weakness while others hung their entire sense of safety on him.
She also noticed the way the group clung to him like a shadow, as if even a meter of distance would be enough for something to tear them apart and they wouldn't have time to run. There was not a gram of future planning in that focused, frantic sprint, only survival instinct pushing them forward one step at a time.
Her eyes settled on the girl running just behind Leon, the same one carrying the backpack, holding it with both hands like it was more than luggage. Like it was proof she had a job, proof she wasn't just another person waiting to be saved. Her hair was tied in a sloppy ponytail that bounced loose with every step, strands stuck to her sweaty face. And her gaze was pinned to Leon's back with a mix of terror and desperation that didn't need words to be understood:
If he falls, we all fall with him.
And still, she ran without complaining, without groaning, without looking back, teeth clenched, forcing her body to keep going long past what she'd normally be capable of.
Watching it all from the side, Valeria thought, mildly amused, that in this world even small, ordinary things, like someone running in silence instead of screaming, started to matter.
Her gaze flicked once more over the girl's messy ponytail, the way it bobbed with each stride, and for one brief moment, completely out of place, Valeria decided that later, if Leon survived, she was going to ask him whether that was the kind of hairstyle he liked on girls.