CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 40: THINGS THAT DON’T HEAL

Steam curled off Franz’s shoulders like mist rising off a battlefield.

His hoodie lay crumpled in the grass beside the pull-up bar, darkened with sweat. His black T-shirt clung tightly to his body, soaked through, tracing the sharp lines of his chest and arms. Veins rose under his skin like roots, his hands raw from repetition.

He pulled himself up again.

Three hundred.

A final breath escaped his lips as he dropped down lightly onto the dirt.

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Quest Complete: "Being Healthy"

✅ 300 Push-ups

✅ 30 KM Run

✅ 300 Pull-ups

[Reward Unlocked: One Bottle of "Healthy Whiskey"][Penalty Lifted: Cigarettes Unlocked]

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Franz let his arms hang for a moment before walking over to the rusted iron bench beneath the park’s oldest tree. The sun peeked lazily through the leaves above, dappling light onto the cracked path. There weren’t many people this early—just a few joggers in the distance, shadows gliding through fog.

With a soft flicker of static, a glass bottle shimmered into existence beside him on the bench.

Great job.

Franz grabbed the bottle, twisted the cap, and brought it to his lips without hesitation.

He was expecting heat. Bite. Something sharp and numbing.

Instead—sweetness.

His mouth filled with the taste of apples, oat grain, and something suspiciously... herbal.

He pulled the bottle away, blinked, then spat it onto the grass.

"You motherfucker," he muttered. "This is juice."

Healthy whiskey. Boosts your immune system. Hydrating. Liver-safe. All-natural. [Perfect for post-workout sipping!]

"Go fuck yourself."

Still, he took another long swig. His throat burned—but not from alcohol. From thirst, from fatigue. He let the bottle rest in his lap and leaned back, eyes half-closed. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, running down his temple and catching at his jaw.

The world was quiet. The air crisp.

Then—

Footsteps.

Light. Rhythmic. The sound of sneakers padding across pavement.

Franz looked up.

A girl passed him, jogging with steady breath and perfect pace. Black leggings. Running tank. Her long hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, sleek and black as ink. Her glasses barely bounced with each stride, framing her sharp profile.

For a moment, time slowed.

The early sun painted her in gold. Her skin glowed with the effort of movement. There was focus in her eyes, and a distant, thoughtful look—like she wasn’t running from something, but toward something.

Beautiful.

Franz straightened just slightly.

As she passed, her gaze shifted.

She looked at him. Looked at the bottle. At the sheen of sweat on his arms. His messy black hair, the dirt-smudged joggers, and the old hoodie crumpled on the ground.

A full picture.

And muttered without stopping—

"Fucking alcoholic."

The moment shattered like cheap glass.

Franz stared after her, blank.

Then exhaled.

"I guess we’re done here."

She ran into your life and ran out with your dignity.

[You gonna pretend this didn’t happen, Don’t you ? ]

He stood. Pocketed the cigarette. Brushed his hands off on his joggers.

"Alright," he muttered, stretching his shoulders with a wince. "Let’s go check on him."

...

....

.....

Orion’s POV

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

A knife trembled in my hand.

Not pointed outward.

Inward.

Toward myself.

My face was pale, my breath ragged. The overhead light buzzed like a nervous insect, flickering across my reflection—wide eyes, clenched teeth, sweat lining my forehead.

The blade dragged softly across the side of my neck. Not enough to slice. Not yet.

But I could feel it.

The pressure.

The temptation.

Why can’t I settle down?

My heartbeat thumped—not from panic. From something... darker. Something twitching beneath my skin.

Disgust bloomed in my gut. Self-loathing, cold and familiar. My eyes traced the shallow line on my neck—the one I’d just made.

It stung.

My chest heaved, but there was no comfort in breathing. The air burned as it entered.

I despised myself for this. God, I hated this part of me. The first time it happened—I panicked, cried, couldn’t even look at what I’d done.

But now... now all I could do was remember.

The adrenaline.The pulse racing like a war drum.The fear—raw, metallic, alive.

And then, the sensation. That feeling of steel grazing flesh, opening it—slowly, deliberately. It made my stomach churn. It made my heart want more.

"No..." I whispered, voice hoarse. I lifted the blade, just inches from my neck. My skin twitched as it passed—gently, almost teasing.

Don’t do it.

But my hand moved on its own. A small line opened. A thin red smile formed beneath the blade.

"F-Fuck!" I jerked back as blood welled up and trickled down my collarbone. "Why the fuck am I doing this!?"

I slammed my fist into the mirror. Glass cracked, spiderwebbing outward. One shard fell—caught the light—fell again, this time into the sink. My knuckles tore, blood mixing with the trail already on my chest.

"Fuck!"

I pressed my hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it wouldn’t close. It pulsed with every beat of my heart, warm and insistent. I stumbled back, legs shaking beneath me. My mind was fraying, unraveling by the second.

One night.

Just one fucking night ruined everything.

The college transfer. The new city. The distance from his family’s name and work.

But no amount of distance erased what ran in your veins.

The violence.

"I thought if I just kept quiet, stayed out of trouble... maybe it’d all go away," he muttered to the cracked mirror. "But it doesn’t."

But I know fate doesn’t die. It stalks me. It waits...

I can’t run from it. I can’t just bury it.

This feeling—it’s inside me. A hunger. A scream with no voice. And I have to do something before it eats me alive.

Then... I saw him.

Not in the mirror.In my mind.

Franz.

The memory of the alleyway.

The memory of warehouse.

Of screaming men. Gunshots. Blood like paint on pavement. Bones breaking under bare fists.

That chaos of black messy hair. Those ice-blue eyes—inhuman in how calm they stayed while blood dripped from his fingers.

He killed.And killed.

I should be terrified of him.Just thinking of him makes my legs weak.

He’s everything I fear.And everything I need.

Because I’m still alive.Because of him.

And maybe... maybe he knows what this is.This feeling.This thing clawing at the walls of my skull.

I haven’t left this goddamn house since that night.

But I have to now.

I need to find him.

I can’t wait.

....

.....

....

In front of Orion’s Apartment

Franz stood in front of the decaying apartment building, eyes fixed on the rusted numbers above the doorframe. The old man hadn’t hesitated to give him the address.

He raised his hand to knock.

But before his knuckles could meet the wood, the door clicked.

It opened.

Orion stood there, breath shallow, eyes wide and hollow like he’d seen a ghost. His red hair was matted, his skin pale, and his hand—wrapped in a bloodstained cloth—hung limply by his side. Thin lines marked his neck, faint but fresh.

Franz’s gaze slid over him in silence.

Then he spoke, voice smooth but direct."Where are you going?"

Orion blinked, lips parting without sound at first. Then came the stuttering breath

"I... I was coming to find you, Franz..."

Franz didn’t wait for an invitation. He placed a hand on Orion’s shoulder—light, but final."No need," he said. "I came to you."

Without another word, they stepped inside.

The apartment was a mess. Dim. Claustrophobic. Shadows stretched too long across the peeling wallpaper, dishes stacked like monuments to neglect. Franz’s eyes swept the room, then landed back on Orion.

"You look like shit," he said bluntly.

Orion flinched. The words landed harder than they should have.

"You shouldn’t live like this." Franz dropped onto the stained couch like he owned it. One leg crossed lazily over the other. "Forget about gangs and that whole fucked-up world. Just do what you want. I’ll handle the rest. So relax."

But Orion’s fists clenched. His jaw trembled.

Relax?

He snapped.

"How the hell am I supposed to relax, Franz?!" he shouted. "I saw you kill people! I severed a man’s head while he was still screaming! And—" his voice cracked, "—and I liked it. I hate myself for that. Do you get that? I liked it."

Franz’s expression didn’t flinch.

Instead, his tone turned cold. Razor-sharp.

"Keep your voice down," he said, each word precise. "You ungrateful fuck."

Orion froze. The room dropped into a heavy, suffocating silence.

A chill ran down his spine. His eyes fell to the floor. He knew—he knew—he’d crossed a line.

Franz stood slowly.

He stepped forward and gripped Orion’s red hair, tilting his face up, locking eyes with him. His gaze was ice.

"Listen to me. I’m going to say this once."

His voice was low, steady, dangerous.

"I did nothing wrong. I killed them because they came after me. After you."

He leaned in closer.

"And cutting that bastard’s head off? Had to be done. By you. It wasn’t pointless. It was a message. It saved your family’s life."

Franz’s stare bore into him like blades."Look at me. Do you see guilt in my eyes? Do you?"

Orion swallowed hard, still frozen under Franz’s hand.

"They tried to kill you. They would’ve succeeded. That night, you had power. We had power. There’s no such thing as right or wrong. Morality? It’s just a leash people with power put on the ones without it."

Franz released his grip.

"People at the top make their own rules. That night, we made ours. And it worked. No one’s coming for your family now. No one’s got the balls."

[That’s some speech you got there.]

Okay, Thanos. Calm down.

Orion’s shoulders trembled.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

Franz stepped back, eyeing him with a mixture of contempt and something unreadable.

"...Why the fuck are you crying?" he muttered.

He’s crying because you’re terrifying, dumbass.

Orion wiped his face, shaky fingers smearing the tear across his cheek.

Franz sighed and stood up, brushing dust off his coat.

"Go wash your fucking face."

He moved to the door and glanced over his shoulder.

"I’m starving. Let’s go eat something."

[Didn’t you eat with everyone before.]

"I am hungry after workout."