Just three hours and eight beer bottles were empty, Trent was thoroughly drunk at a dingy bar in the industrial district. The bartender had stopped asking for ID after the third bottle, either out of pity or giving up to ask again.
"You know what's funny?" Trent said to the bored bartender. "I studied. I actually studied forr the awakening. Like it was some kind of test you could prepare for." He laughed bitterly. "Meditation, mana exercises, special diets. All that bullshit they sell you."
He pulled out his certificate and slapped it on the sticky bar counter. "E-rank Water Mage. The 'E' stands for 'Everyone point and laugh at this loser.'"
His phone vibrated for the twentieth time. More texts from his mother and sister. He silenced it without reading the messages.
"My dad died thinking I'd take care of everyone," he continued, pouring another shot. "What am I supposed to do now? Go to college? With what money? Get a regular job that pays shit wages for the rest of my life?"
He drank the shot and stood up unsteadily. "I'm going home."
The bartender finally spoke. "You're not driving, are you?"
Trent patted his pocket where the keys to his pizza delivery scooter jingled. "Just a little scooter. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Call an uber."
"Can't afford it." Trent tossed some crumpled bills on the counter and moved toward the door. "Got to return the scooter to the pizza shop anyway. Or get fired if I don't."
Outside, the night air did nothing to clear his head. The delivery scooter with peeling pizza poster and cracked headlight—waited in the alley.
Trent struggled with his helmet before giving up and leaving it dangling from the handlebar.
"Fuck it," he muttered. "Not like an E-rank Water Mage needs protection anyway."
He started the engine and speed out of the alley, weaving into late-night traffic. The world blurred around him as he accelerated,
streetlights streaking into lines of color.
The wind against his face felt good—cleansing most of his pain. For the first time since walking into that awakening room, he felt something deeper other than crushing disappointment.
Trent twisted the throttle further, pushing the little scooter beyond its recommended speed limit. The engine whined in protest, but he didn't care. Let it break. Let everything break.
He took a curve too fast, the bike wobble dangerously. In his drunk state, the sensation felt exhilarating rather than terrifying.
That's when he saw something in the road—a shape illuminated in his headlight crossing the road. Trent swerved instinctively, not wanting to add "killer" to his list of failures.
The motorcycle tilted sharply, tires losing traction. Physics took over, and Trent found himself airborne, separated from the bike, flying through the air in what felt like slow motion.
He hit the pavement with a sickening thud, rolling several times before coming to a stop. Pain exploded throughout his body, but somehow, he remained conscious. Blood pooled under his head, warm and sticky.
Groaning, Trent pushed himself to his knees. What the hell had he almost hit? A child? A dog?
"Hey!" he called out, voice shaky . "Are you okay? I didn't hit you, did I?"
He dragged himself walking toward where he'd seen the shape crossing the road, blood dripping down his torn jeans. His vision swam in and out of focus, but he could spot something small on the asphalt.
He walked toward the small shape crossing the road. As he drew closer, the absurdity of the situation hit him like a second crash.
"A tortoise!!!!!!! A fucking tortoise."
He laughed, the sound coming out as a pained wheeze. "I nearly died for a fucking tortoise?"
It was just sitting there, its old, wrinkled head poking out from its shell, staring at Trent with what he could only call as tortoise disdain.
"Are you kidding me?" Trent's voice rose shouting. "I nearly killed myself avoiding a TURTLE?"
"Tortoise," his brain helpfully corrected, a random fact from elementary school biology surfacing through the alcohol haze.
"WHATEVER!" Trent screamed at the reptile. "Do you know what you did? DO YOU?"
The tortoise blinked slowly.
Something in Trent broke. This awakening day—this entire miserable day—had led to him wrecking a company vehicle to save a stupid, slow reptile that had no business crossing a highway. It was too perfect. Too cruel to be coincidence.
"You know what?" he growled, raising his foot. "Fuck you and your shell! I'm going to make tortoise soup!"
## But as his foot swung forward, his blood-soaked shoe slipped on the pavement. Trent felt himself falling backward, arms windmilling uselessly. His head connected with the concrete with a crack that echoed through his skull. The world went dark and then blindingly white.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Trent floated in darkness, the rhythmic sound penetrating the void around him. Gradually, other sensations filtered in—voices, the smell, a pressure on his chest.
"BP dropping!"
"Multiple fractures, possible internal bleeding!"
"Charge to 200!"
A jolt of electricity surged through him, his body twitching in response.
"No pulse! Again!"
Another jolt. Nothing.
"Charge to 900! Clear!"
"What do you mean 900!"
"Yes fucking 900! You moron"
"Okay I hear you Dumbass!"
The third shock hit like a thunderbolt, electricity coursing through every cell. Trent's eyes flew open with a gasp. Bright lights blinded him, masked faces hovering above.
An ambulance. He was in an fucking ambulance.
"He's back!" a female voice announced.
Trent tried to sit up, panic setting in. "What—where—"
Gentle hands pushed him back down. "Sir, please remain still. You've been in an accident."
Accident. The scooter. The idiot tortoise. His head hitting the pavement. It all came flooding back.
"I can't—" Trent tried to push the hands away. "I can't pay for an ambulance! Let me go!"
"Sir, please calm down," the paramedic insisted. "You've suffered a severe head trauma. You need to stay still."
But Trent wasn't listening. All he could think about was the cost. Ambulance rides cost hundreds of thousands of Yanjin Credits. The hospital would be millions more. His mother would have to work even more shifts. They might lose their apartment.
"No!" He thrashed against the restraints, ripping the drip from his arm. "I'm fine! Let me go!"
The female medic turned to her colleague. "We need to sedate him before he hurts himself further."
A large male medic moved toward Trent, preparing a syringe. "Sir, we're trying to help you."
"I said NO!" Trent swung wildly, his fist slamming into the male medic's face with surprising force. There was a sharp crack, and blood spurted from the his nose.
The nurse staggered back, clutching his face—then lunged forward with a growl. "You little piece of shit!" His fist crashed into Trent's jaw, snapping his head back against the stretcher.
"What the hell, Jinwoo?" the female medic screamed, staring at her colleague in horror.
Trent tasted blood. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges. The last thing he heard was the female nurse panicked voice:
"What the hell? His vitals just crashed! BP zero, no pulse!"
"It was just a punch," the male medic stammered, staring at his fist. "It shouldn't have—"
"He's dead, you moron! You killed him!"
As the darkness claimed him, Trent had one final, absurd thought: *I hope that tortoise gets hit by a bus.*
Then everything went black.