"Morning coffee… damn. It wakes you right up."
A young man in a long black coat muttered as he took a sip. Sitting at a table outside the café, he used his phone propped against a tissue box as a mirror, while running his free hand through his messy hair.
"Oye, Petyr! How long does it take to finish such a tiny cup? Hurry up. We don't have all day."
A frowning middle-aged man approached, a bag suspended over his shoulder and resting against his waist.
Beside him walked a cute little girl in a school uniform. The backpack she carried looked far too heavy for her small frame, and the strain was clearly visible on her grim face.
"Old virgin, if you don't want to take leave, fine. But at least let Stacy skip school."
From start to finish, Petyr didn't look at his old friend, Charles.
His gaze remained fixed on Stacy, who looked too aggrieved to ignore.
"Who the hell are you calling old, you fool? I haven't even turned forty yet. And as for my daughter—" Charles adjusted his bag and shot him a glare.
"I don't need advice from a single dog like you," he snorted. "Thirty-two and still unmarried. And you've got the nerve to call me an old virgin?"
Hearing the mockery, Petyr sputtered his coffee. Fortunately, no one was sitting nearby.
He quickly wiped his mouth and glared at Charles. "Do you have to be that blunt?"
"Who started it?" Charles shot back with a grin.
Deciding that any further argument would only make him look worse, Petyr grabbed his phone and began walking with the father-and-daughter duo. That was when he noticed someone following them.
The man's face was covered with a mask, his head hidden beneath a black hood.
At first, Petyr ignored him. These days, youngsters loved to look cool, blaming pollution, allergies, global warming, and more, just to wear a mask.
But every time they turned a corner, the man did the same, maintaining the same steady pace.
Petyr slowed down slightly.
"Buddy, let's take a taxi," he said, stopping and patting Charles on the shoulder. "I'm not feeling great today."
He wasn't sick. He just wanted to see whether the man would stop too.
And sure enough, the man halted, pulling his hands out of his pockets.
"Hm… If you're unwell, let's see a doctor first." Charles placed a hand on Petyr's forehead, checking his temperature.
But Petyr's body felt cold. Ice-cold. Yet sweat covered his skin.
His eyes were locked on the man's hand — now gripping a knife.
"No… this isn't good."
Before he could warn Charles, the masked man lunged forward, thrusting the knife straight toward Stacy's neck.
Without hesitation, Petyr shoved Charles aside and stepped between Stacy and the attacker.
Thwack!
The blade pierced just above his waist. But he had successfully shielded her.
"Ahhh!"
A heart-rending scream escaped his lips. His eyes turned bloodshot as his body went rigid, arms tightening protectively around the stunned Stacy.
People in the alley turned toward the commotion. When they saw what had happened, they froze, trembling in shock.
"I'll kill you, you bastard—!"
Seeing his friend gravely injured, Charles flew into a rage and charged at the attacker.
Realizing his plan had failed, the man fled, leaving the knife embedded in Petyr's body.
"No!" Petyr called out weakly. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.
Charles, who had just begun chasing the attacker, stopped abruptly. With visible reluctance, he let the man escape and rushed back to Petyr's side.
Stacy was already on her knees. Though young and unable to fully grasp what had happened, she understood one thing that her uncle was hurt saving her. Instantly, her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Let me call an ambulance!"
One of the women standing at a distance shouted as she dialed her phone.
While on the ground, Petyr felt his life slowly slipping away.
He looked at Stacy.
For reasons unknown, he felt that saving her wasn't a bad ending. Her mother had died giving birth to her. And Charles had never remarried, trying to be both father and mother at once.
It would not be right if she lost her only parent in this world.
Once, he had asked his grandfather what it felt like to be on the verge of death. It had been a foolish question, also an insensitive one, even. Asking such a thing of a man whose days were already numbered would have been difficult for anyone.
But his grandfather had merely chuckled.
"I don't know," the old man had said gently. "Truthfully, no one really knows how to put it into words. But if you're too attached to this world… it only makes it hurt more."
That was all he had said.
And today, lying in a pool of his own blood, Petyr finally understood. The weight of the unfinished desire was heavier than the wound itself.
"If somehow, I survive…" he thought weakly, his consciousness fading, "I'll marry."
A brief pause crossed his mind.
"No… I'll have many women. Many… many…"
As that final absurd resolution formed in his mind, his body gave out completely and his vision turned black.
[Ding!]
[System successfully activated.]
[Passive Pain Resistance Skill currently in operation.]