CHAPTER 42: NOT FOR ME OR FOR ANYTHING

A few days ago, just after the Eastern District Gate Challenge.

The overhead lights inside the clinic flickered, casting uneven shadows across the sterile floor.

The walls, stained faintly yellow by age and fluorescent fatigue, reflected the soft pulse of machines, a steady beeping from the heart monitor, and the occasional quiet drip from the IV.

Rows of narrow hospital beds stretched across the room in clinical symmetry.

At the end of those rows, in the furthest corner near a half-shaded window, Theodore sat hunched forward on a flimsy stool.

His duffle bag lay on the floor beside him, half-zipped and tired-looking, while his blade — still sheathed — leaned against the wall within arm’s reach.

His elbows rested on his knees, fingers laced together, and his gaze was fixed on the frail shape curled up on the bed in front of him.

Lea hadn’t stirred in hours, tucked beneath a paper-thin hospital blanket pulled all the way up to her chin, her face barely visible under the dim lighting.

Her hair was flattened on one side, slightly tangled. The color had started returning to her cheeks, but she still looked like someone who had been dragged back from the edge of something. Not death, but something exhausting.

The room was still. The silence was loud. And then, faintly, like the flicker of a candle that refuses to go out, Lea’s eyelids twitched.

A second later, she blinked — once, twice, three times — and turned her head slightly to the right.

When she saw him, her body flinched. The recognition hit her like a quiet jolt.

"Surprise," Theodore said, his voice soft, more warmth than volume.

Lea’s lips parted as her eyes lit up, just a little, like a curtain drawn halfway open. The corners of her mouth curled upward, the smile too weak to last but real enough to count.

"You’re back," she said, voice raspy but warm.

"And safe," he added with a sheepish shrug. "Mostly."

She scoffed, but didn’t push it further. She leaned her head back against the pillow, but the smile lingered just long enough to matter.

The silence returned, this time not quite as heavy.

Theodore looked down, gaze dropping to the floor like he was trying to find his courage in the grout lines. "Hey, Leanore... um..." His voice faltered, the words struggling to organize themselves.

She noticed. Of course she noticed. He never, ever, struggles to organize his words.

She let out a small sigh and sat up, ignoring the slight resistance from the IV tugging at her arm. "Just tell me what happened, please."

"No, no, you don’t have to—hey, you should lie down, it’s fine, really, I can just—"

"I said tell me."

She was fully upright now, posture stiff but determined. The look in her eyes made it clear: no sugarcoating, just... the truth.

Theodore exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, scratching nervously at his scalp like the gesture might summon a better version of what he was about to say. "Okay. Alright. I’ve got good news... and not-so-bad news."

Lea quirked an eyebrow. "Good news first."

"The good news is... I only have to work one job now."

That earned him a small reaction — a softening in her shoulders, the tiniest upward twitch at the corner of her mouth. Relief, thin and worn but genuine.

The idea of him not dragging himself through shifts like some undead wage slave was a rare bright spot.

"And the bad news?" she asked, voice quieter now.

He hesitated. Just for a moment.

"I’m... joining a guild."

Her wince was subtle, but the way she looked at Theodore — sharp and blazing — didn’t leave much room for doubt about how she felt.

"You’re gonna join a guild?" she asked, voice scratchy but rising with disbelief. "Are you actually serious right now?"

Theodore barely had time to open his mouth before she bulldozed over the silence, her words coming fast and heated, built from frustration and fear she’d clearly been holding back for too long.

"Most local guilds don’t even care if you’re good," she continued, hand gripping the blanket like it could ground her. "They just want warm bodies to fill their party quotas. They toss out flashy recruitment promises, get you to sign one of their garbage contracts, and then boom, you’re trapped.

Monthly clears, team runs, mandatory sync sessions, and if you’re lucky, they might actually split the payout. But half the time? You’re the one doing all the work while they hog the credit and the gear drops."

She paused to cough — painful enough that it made Theodore flinch — but she didn’t let it slow her down.

"And that’s only if the gate clears clean. Most of them don’t. And if it doesn’t? If you’re hurt, or late, or don’t make your damn quota? They drop you with no f*cking remorse. Just like that. You think they’re gonna help with hospital bills then? Hell no," she hissed, her hand gesturing vaguely to the IV and the wires beside her.

Her expression softened — just a little — as she looked at him again, her voice no longer sharp, but frayed at the edges.

"I’m not gonna sit here and watch that happen to you. Not for me or for anything."

The room fell quiet again, filled only by the ambient beeps and low murmurs of the clinic’s machines.

End of Chapter 42.

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ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO

Level: 13

EXP: 64 / 130

Next Reward: +10 Stat Points to a chosen stat

Global System Tracking: DISABLED

World Rank Association: UNLINKED

Stats:

STR: 10 | AGI: 10 (Affinity) | VIT: 5 | DEX: 5 | INT: 11 | WIS: 5

[Available Stat Points: 0]

[Derived Stat — MANA: 55 / 55]

Skills:

[Crimson Slash Lv. 1]

[Phantom Stride Lv. 2]

[Blade Control Lv.1]

[Parry Timing Lv.1]

[Reflex Sync Lv.1] (Passive Skill)

[Combat Awareness Lv.2] (Passive Skill)

[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]

[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]

[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]

[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]

Equipment:

Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)

Goblin Dagger

Spiked Boar Tusk Shard

Lightweight Chest Padding

Boots of Basic Mobility

Fingerless Gloves (Basic)

Starter Cloak: Faded Black

Training Ring (+1 VIT)