Vonjo exhaled through his nose and shook his head. No… gambling is mid. Just like what they would think in his head. It's fun, but not badass enough to keep me in the spotlight.

Meanwhile, George, seeing Vonjo's thoughtful silence, misinterpreted it completely. His eyes widened slightly in realization.

"Ah… I understand, sir. You don't want to get involved in those dens because most of them are tied to the House of Sutterfouse, yes? You despise their influence."

Vonjo's eyes widened. "Huh? Who said—"

But George continued confidently, "It makes sense. A man like you, walking away from the family's chains… why taint your hands with their money?"

Vonjo opened his mouth. "Holy shit, I took the money from my brother and his guards, and you think I don't want to use their money?" Then he closed his mouth, deciding to let the misinterpretation of this guy ride on its own.

Then George leaned in conspiratorially. "Sir… if gambling is too tied to the family… then maybe you should try pit fighting."

Vonjo froze. His eyes flicked to George, then narrowed. "…Pit fighting?"

George's voice grew animated, almost feverish, as he began to describe it in loving, exhaustive detail. "Yes, sir! The underground pits! They're… thrilling. Real Sorcerers, stripped of all the noble pretense, fighting with nothing but their bodies, their curse energy, and the will to survive. It's raw. It's violent. It's life and death.

"People bet fortunes on each match, and the roar of the crowd echoes in your bones! You see blood fly, curse energy clash like lightning in a bottle, and when someone wins… the arena erupts like a festival of madness.

"Every fighter there risks death. And the best part? The House of Sutterfouse doesn't touch it. They call it illegal, beneath them. Which means… true freedom, and true danger."

He kept going, voice rising with excitement. "The fights are held in abandoned arenas, sewer chambers, even in old factory basements. Fighters come from all over—the fallen, the desperate, the blood-hungry. And if you win, not only do you earn money, you earn infamy. People whisper your name.

"They fear you. And if you bet on the right fighters, the payout is massive. But the real thrill, sir? Stepping into the pit yourself."

Vonjo's mind exploded with imagery.

He imagined stepping into a dimly lit arena, the crowd howling like demons, his coat swaying as he walked through the blood-stained sand.

He saw himself catching blades with two fingers, devouring curse energy mid-fight, laughing as opponents fell one by one. The bullet comments in his head came alive:

BloodArenaFan: "HOLY CRAP VONJO IN THE PIT?? PEAK CINEMA."

FightClubber: "Imagine the bets! Everyone would lose their minds when he no-sells the first hit."

GlazerKing: "Bro will eat curse energy and spit out W's. Instant legend."

Vonjo felt a slow grin creep across his face. Pit fighting… now that… that's badass.

George was still talking, rambling about the dangers, the illegal entrances, the underground network of bookies and fighters, the chants of the crowd, the way blood steam rose in the cold air of the pits.

Vonjo barely heard the words now. His mind was already in that arena, standing tall and untouchable.

Finally, he let out a low, amused laugh. "…Hah. You know what? A hobby as a pit fighter… sounds fun."

Behind George, Eugene stiffened.

George himself froze mid-sentence.

Both of them stared at Vonjo as though he had just declared his intention to wrestle a volcano.

Their expressions were a perfect blend of horror and disbelief.

Vonjo leaned against the van's window, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel, when George cleared his throat, his voice tinged with unease.

"Sir… about the pit fighting," he said carefully. "They don't hold one in this city this week. We're… uh… the lowest-ranked pit community. Matches rotate between the major cities in the lower realm, and honestly, our pits are more like side shows compared to the bigger arenas."

He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Eugene as if debating whether to continue.

"And, um… sir, you'll have to register as 'danger level 20' or below. If you're higher than that… you can't officially join."

Vonjo cocked his head, a slow, confident grin spreading across his face. "Danger level 20 or below? Hah. I'm well within the range." He said it with the casual arrogance of a man who could devour a city and still claim he was unarmed.

George's brows furrowed, clearly unconvinced, but he didn't dare question him. "Alright… then I'll remind you Sir. When the next pit match is scheduled in this region, I'll send word. Anytime you want to show up, I'll make sure you know where to go."

"Good," Vonjo said. He paused for a beat, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Save my number, both of you. If something… happens to one of you, the other can still contact me."

The words hung in the air like a curse.

Eugene and George exchanged a slow, uncomfortable look. Even the air in the van seemed to grow heavy.

Vonjo's tone hadn't been overtly ominous, but the way he said it carried the subtle implication of fate, as though he were predicting that one of them wouldn't be around for long.

The bullet comments exploded.

ForeshadowHunter: "HOLY CRAP did Vonjo just flag George for death?!"

PlotSensei: "Bro, that's like a classic death flag line! 'If one of you dies…' LOL RIP George?"

ChillReader: "No way he survives more than 5 chapters now."

TheoryCrafter99: "Wait wait wait, HOW does Vonjo know this?? Is he aware of the future?? Is this guy… a meta-character??"

PanicPanda: "I'M STRESSED. I LIKE GEORGE. DON'T YOU DARE."

Vonjo's brow twitched as he read the flood of bullet comments only he could see. Damn it… he thought, I didn't mean it like that.

He quickly straightened in his seat and added in a firmer, more serious tone, "Remember this: the House of Sutterfouse will not forgive what happened today. You will be targeted for helping me. Don't grow complacent just because you have gadgets and that headband trick. I don't even trust it a hundred percent."

The bullet comments slowed, then shifted tone:

RelievedReader: "Ahhh okay he meant danger from the family, not doom flags. Phew."

SmarterThanYou: "See? It was about Sutterfouse retaliation. Stop overreacting."

SuspiciousMind: "Yeah, but George is still sus for a future tragedy…"

Vonjo smirked faintly as he saw the tide of panic ebb. He gave a single nod, satisfied, and then shifted the van into gear. The two men nodded back silently, their faces still tinged with uncertainty, and Vonjo drove off with a lazy wave of his hand.

As he pulled away, a soft chime echoed in his head.

[DING! System Notice: Vonjo has discovered a hobby and successfully transitioned into a Complete Side Character!]

[Conditions Met: Host now has an independent life loop. System designates host as "Free-Roaming NPC with Narrative Hooks."]

The mechanical voice went on and on, an unending wall of text in his mind:

[Because the host now has his own path, missions and rewards will adapt to side-character arcs. Bullet Comment Sight extended beyond immediate main character radius. Note: The more unique, impressive, or entertaining your hobby, the farther your comment reach will stretch.]

Vonjo grinned as the flood of bullet comments poured in, despite the growing distance from Eugene.

HypeMachine: "LET'S GO VONJO! PIT KING ARC COMING!"

RichQuick: "George is a genius, ask Vonjo to fight = instant jackpot!"

RideOrDie: "I will bet every coin on Vonjo, no hesitation. Man tanks Crimson Doom, pit fights will be child's play."

CynicalSpectator: "Careful… pit fights have assassins sometimes. But I'd still pay to watch him break someone in half."

Vonjo chuckled to himself, basking in the imagined glory of future arenas, when the van made a sudden KRAG-KRAG sound beneath his seat.

He frowned. The sound came again. And again.

…What the hell is that?

At first, he ignored it. Old van, old engine. Probably just a loose part. But then the van juddered, and the screeching noise repeated in irregular bursts, like metal grinding against bone.

Krraaaaag… krak-krak!

Vonjo's eye twitched. Okay, that's not normal.

He drove a bit farther, but the sound persisted, echoing under the floor like a death rattle.

Krraaaag-krak-krak!

Five times in a row now. Each one louder than the last.

Vonjo cursed under his breath and pulled over to the side of the road. He cut the engine, the sudden silence almost disorienting after the rhythmic screeching.

Before stepping out, he remembered the headband. Slowly, he slid it over his forehead. A black-hole-shaped symbol pulsed to life at the center, like a void etched in his skin. His vision shifted—strange, clear, and panoramic despite his eyes being technically covered. He could see the interior of the van as if his head were on a swivel, every angle perfectly clear.

"Not bad," he murmured, stepping out into the night air.

The van's hood was warm under his hand as he popped it open, steam wafting faintly from the battered engine. He crouched, inspecting the mess of wires and rusted components, and exhaled sharply through his nose.

Yeah… that's not getting fixed today.

He stood there for a moment, thinking. Then a slow, predatory grin spread across his face.

"Fine. New solution."

He extended his hand toward the van. Dark energy swirled from his palm, twisting and warping into a miniature vortex. The devouring force of his curse ability hummed in the air, the smell of ozone and scorched metal sharp on his tongue.

The van's metal began to warp and screech as it bent unnaturally toward his hand.

Skrreeeeeeeech!

Screeeeeech!

The sound of metal tearing against itself filled the quiet street as the vehicle was slowly consumed, piece by piece, by the hungry spiral of darkness.

Vonjo's grin widened as the devouring began in earnest.