"Hey, still lying there? The Priest is calling for dinner. If you don't go now, you're going to get an earful."
Anzhi, the youth lying on the grass, pushed himself up with a sigh of resignation. He followed the person who had called out to him toward the detached church building.
Soon, the Priest, the Nun, and the "brothers and sisters" were all gathered around a dining table that smelled of decay. The wooden table had long surpassed its lifespan; the slightest movement caused it to emit a sharp "creak."
As if following a synchronized signal, everyone clasped their hands and closed their eyes simultaneously.
"Let's eat!"
As the chorus of voices fell, the "delicacies" on the table were picked up one after another. They were... nothing but potatoes. This church, which had almost no income, relied entirely on cheap, filling potatoes to raise a group of orphans.
Anzhi chewed slowly, but the person next to him was eating at lightning speed, even finding the breath to speak: "Why are you eating so slow?"
"Chewing slowly aids digestion. If everyone ate like you, someone would have choked to death by now," Anzhi sighed. It was ridiculous to compete with a "muscle monster" at eating; he had to keep his temper in check.
Fortunately, the Priest spoke up in time: "Anzhi is right. You should eat slowly; it's better for your body. Everyone, remember that."
"Understood!" the children answered in unison.
"However, Anzhi needs to eat more so he can grow tall, alright?"
"I understand, Priest!"
"In that case, have another one!" Lily, the Nun who always wore a gentle smile, immediately placed a steamed potato onto the plate in front of Anzhi.
"Um... alright." Anzhi stared at the familiar potato in his bowl; his mouth and stomach felt a wave of nausea.
Eating this every single meal for 366 days—no matter how high-quality the starch—was unbearable. But he had no other choice. He wanted to change his fate, but the opportunity hadn't come yet.
After all, he didn't originally belong to this world of magic. It all started in another world, one shrouded in smog.
Three days ago, I was still a food delivery rider. That day, while on a delivery, I saved a young boy who was running across the street. It happened to be caught on camera by a reporter who was conducting an interview nearby. The female reporter surrounded me, pressing for my feelings about the rescue. I was terrified of being late for my delivery, so I brushed her off with a shout.
As a result of that shout, I became an internet sensation.
Soon, a man named Li Cong sought me out. He claimed to be a talent manager and wanted to turn me into an influencer: "Live streaming, brand deals—you'll earn more money than you could save in several lifetimes."
Being an orphan, I had always been wary of "pies falling from the sky" and didn't believe a word of his nonsense. Just as I was about to kick him out, a senior rider who had taught me the ropes, Chen Chong, walked by. Chen Chong was a small-time blogger with tens of thousands of followers who usually taught us newcomers "survival guides," like how to avoid low-paying orders.
Everyone at the hub called him "Brother Chong."
"Yo, Manager Li, what are you doing here?"
Chen Chong greeted Li Cong with great familiarity. After learning about the situation, he turned to persuade me: "This is a good thing! I only made it because of him back in the day. Don't miss this chance!"
I was stunned—if Brother Chong said so, could this actually... be real?
Seeing he had help, Li Cong struck while the iron was hot: "We share the same last name, Li—we're practically family. Would I lie to you? If you don't trust me, don't you trust your Brother Chong?"
I stared at the contract for ages and couldn't find a problem. Just as I finished signing, Li Cong said I needed to pay a deposit.
"More money? This is a scam!" My voice spiked instantly.
"It's to ensure you don't run off once you're famous," Li Cong said calmly. "Isn't it enough to have Brother Chong as your guarantor?"
Chen Chong immediately beat his chest: "Don't worry, I'll cover the rest of the deposit for you! Once you're famous, just help me gain some followers."
My total savings were only 31,900, and I still had a mortgage to pay. But since Brother Chong had spoken up... Li Cong even slammed his ID card on the table; the photo and info all matched.
I finally relented and handed over my savings. Watching Chen Chong make up the remaining balance, my heart was full of the excitement of being "scouted."
But the next day, Li Cong's phone was disconnected, and Chen Chong wouldn't pick up. Instead, I received calls from other couriers at the same hub. They were all asking where that bastard Chen Chong was. They had all been scammed.
His method was a "guaranteed" stock tip! He had convinced them to lend him all their money, promising to return it several times over. Because of their trust in "Brother Chong," everyone at the hub except the new hires had fallen for it. (The new hires had no money to be scammed!)
Panicked, I rushed to the police station and handed over the surveillance footage, phone numbers, and the ID. The officer's words were like a bucket of cold water: "This kind of fraud is hard to track. Finding them is like looking for a needle in a haystack."
I walked out of the station in a daze. I bumped into people but didn't have the energy to apologize; I just listened to the fading curses behind me. Returning to the small rental apartment I had a 30-year mortgage on, I lay there all night and made a decision.
I put on my only cheap suit—the one I used for interviews—and walked to the edge of a 30-story rooftop.
Down below, some were heckling: "Jump! If you don't jump, you're not a man!" Others were live-streaming with their phones: "Don't waste time."
I looked at the crowd below, appearing like ants, and suddenly felt the urge to laugh. In this filthy world, I was an orphan no one cared about anyway. If I died, no one would be sad.
Perhaps, this is for the best...
"God!! If you truly exist, then don't let me return to this filthy world ever again!"
After screaming those words at the sky, I leaped forward. As I fell, I saw a piercing orb of light floating in the dark clouds, like a glowing cloud itself.
What was it? It didn't matter anymore.
The fire department hadn't arrived; there was no air cushion. Nor were there any tree branches to break my fall.
I hit the ground, becoming a fresh piece of "earth graffiti."
Final Summary: It's not a thug who knows martial arts that you should fear; it's a thug who understands psychology.