The morning light was gentle but Jackson's thoughts were anything but settled. He sat stiffly on his blood soaked bed, his hands with a slight tremor, replaying the events of the previous night. The flower he had was now decayed and dried, almost as if the very life essence was stolen. The anxiety sat uncomfortably in his belly, even void of exhaustion in his body and pain in his chest.
All of this after suddenly, a chill rung in his ears and an emotionless, mechanical voice echoed.
[Ding! Notification: Host currently has a life expectancy of 3 days, after which death is guaranteed.]
Jackson's heart fell. His breath caught for a moment. Three days? He did feel his eyes widen in disbelief. I just healed. I just felt alive again. And now… only three days?
He started to spin as panic sunk in. Does that mean... that if I wouldn't did the extraction I was already dying? Or did the extraction deprive me of the inevitable?
He tightened his fists, his nails pierced into his palms. "Three days... I don't take three days," he whispered to himself, shaking. "I don't want to die... not now. I can't die like this—some pathetic loser for the world to laugh at."
He glanced out the window. There were four pots of flowers on the sill, each leaning slightly stemmed and wilted. They seemed vulnerable—cut flowers needing more water or sunlight. Jackson moved closer, awkwardly, as if maybe he would learn how to live from the helpless little plants who also tempted deaths door.
Last night... the bloom I stroked sure brought me back and back to life. After all, maybe I can do it with these four. He crouched lower, his yellow eyes faintly illuminated by morning light. He looked in the dirt. Dry, cracked, neglected, neglected, neglected—every visual cue of a plant's life never given a good watering. No wonder they were so vulnerable. They probably too didn't have much time to live.
The idea made him anxious. Plants... they live, they die, and I can take that away from them, too. If I take more from one plant... How long will I live? Will I live more than three days
The System's voice returned calmly, as unquestionable as always...
[The host can extract life from any living thing. Life energy will transfer to host based on how long the plant had lived and its overall health.]
Jackson's fingers lingered over the nearest flower but was not touching it yet. I...could take all of them. But does that mean I will be stuck doing this forever? Am I really just what amounts to a life thief if it means I lived? He went back and forth inside himself, guilt, fear. But underneath all of this, there was a darker idea whispering: If I don't do it... well then, I die. Is that not worth it to live?
The door creaked open before he could decide.
"I brought your breakfast, young master—." The servant's voice was interrupted by a sharp gasp.
The food tray fell from his hand and hit the floor with a clatter. The servant did not notice that there was a container of hot broth and pieces of broken porcelain on the floor. He eyes fixed in front of him and his eyes wide with fear.
Jackson slowly turned his head. He was still dressed in the bloodied night robe from the last night, the bright red stains showing starkly against the light colored fabric. Rather than looking like a sickly young lord, he appeared unnatural under the pale glow of his yellow eyes.
The servant's face drained of all color. "Y-young master, y-your… your clothes… the blood—!"
For a moment, Jackson almost laughed bitterly.
So this is what I look like to them… like a ghost crawling out of death itself. He glanced down at himself and realized he hadn't changed his clothes. The sheets, the floor—everything was still drenched in blood. To an outsider, he might seem to have just escaped an assassination.
But rather than embarrassment, he felt a strange sense of peace. His lips curled into a slight smile as he slowly straightened. "Oh, sorry. I totally forgot about this mess."In a sharp contrast to his hideous appearance and his tone was soft almost joyous.
The servant flinched, taking an involuntary step back.
Jackson chuckled softly. "Don't look so frightened. It's not like what you think." He waved his hand lazily toward the bed. "Go on. Bring me fresh clothes. And would you clean this mess up?"
It seemed the servant was perplexed, and he blinked his eyes open. He had always known a quiet, shy, and self-conscious Jackson, bowling his head in reaction to whispers around him. The presence before him, covered in blood, spoke in a manner so soft and almost playfully.
"Y-young master... are you hurt?" the servant stuttered, his voice shaking.
Jackson lifted his head and let his vivid eyes meet the servant's. For a split second, the boy inside him, the boy who had cried himself to sleep the previous night, was close to letting it all out: the three-day countdown, the System, the stabbing. Instead, a tiny smile came across his lips.
"No," Jackson said quietly. "I have never felt better."
The servant's confusion deepened. His gaze flickered between the bloodstains and Jackson's calm expression.
Jackson added with a light laugh, "Honestly, you worry too much. Just get me a new set of clothes, something simple. And… clean this room thoroughly. We don't want everyone talking about ghosts in the young master's quarters, do we?"
The servant hesitated, clearly unsettled, but bowed quickly. "Y-yes, young master. Right away." He backed out of the room, his hands still trembling as he picked up the broken tray.
Servant bowed to him and said "please wait, I take care of this first."
Once more, Jackson was left alone in the room, as the servant had stepped out to get him some different clothes, the door closing behind his. When the latch clicked shut, his small laugh vanished and was replaced by a dizzying burst of thought.
Three days... only three days. If I don't extract, I die. If I extract, I live... at what price, though? His eyes skipped back up to the flowers sitting on the windowsill. These four plants... they're weak; they're starving... yet still alive. If I take them, will that buy enough time? Or just usher forward the inevitable by another day?
He balled up his fists. No. I won't die like a dog. I won't let them laugh at me, or call the likes of me useless. If the delay gave me this system, that means I have a chance. I'll take it, however ugly it is.
Jackson sat back at the edge of the bed and looked down at the dead flower he was holding—the first life he had taken. He could not deny the truth to its dried and crinkled petals: he was no longer the same boy.
Though he acted cheerful with the servant, Jackson was emotionally far from calm. He felt fear, desperation, and an awakening determination that battled against his weakness.
No, for three days. I will survive. I will get stronger. Even if it means taking part of my own life. He gritted his teeth and his muscles shook as if they were taking in the weight of his vow. There was just a hint in his eyes that grew stronger and stronger. His lips twisted into a strange, unsettling smile that wasn't happy. It was thin, tight and full of something darker. He looked like he had already won the contest before it even started.