CHAPTER 35: IGNORE THE RESCUER.

Jelo sat there for a moment, still straddling Garin’s unconscious body, his chest heaving with exertion. His fists were covered in blood—Garin’s blood mostly, though some of it was his own from where his knuckles had split against bone and teeth.

The system notification was still hovering in his vision, waiting for his acknowledgment. His eyes focused on the new skill he’d unlocked.

**[New Skill Unlocked: Wingburst Dash]**

Jelo mentally selected it to see the details.

[Wingburst Dash]

[Type: Active Mobility Skill]

[Description: Propels the user forward in a sharp burst of speed, allowing extremely rapid movement for a brief moment. Can be used to close distance on opponents, create space from attackers, or dodge incoming attacks.]

Jelo read through the description carefully, his analytical mind already working through the tactical applications despite his current emotional state. The skill was essentially a dash ability—a short-range teleport or extreme acceleration that would let him move faster than his already enhanced speed for a split second.

It would be incredibly useful for dodging attacks he couldn’t block, especially ranged ones or attacks from weapons like Garin’s chain that came from unpredictable angles. And just as importantly, it would be useful for launching his own attacks—closing the distance to an opponent before they could react, or getting inside the reach of weapons users who relied on keeping distance.

It was a good skill. A valuable addition to his growing arsenal.

But as the tactical analysis faded from his mind, Jelo’s attention returned to the present moment. To where he was. To what he’d just done.

He looked down at Garin, who was still lying motionless on the ground beneath him.

The boy’s face was barely recognizable. His nose was clearly broken, twisted at an unnatural angle. Both eyes were already swelling shut, dark purple bruises spreading across his features like spilled ink. His lip was split in multiple places, blood still trickling from the wounds. There were cuts above his eyebrow and along his cheekbone where Jelo’s knuckles had connected with bone.

Blood pooled on the floor around Garin’s head, dark and viscous in the dim lighting of the stairwell.

Jelo felt something cold settle in his stomach as he stared at the destruction he’d caused. The satisfaction from completing the quest was there, yes—that warm feeling of gaining ESS and unlocking a new skill, the system’s reward for his violence.

But underneath that satisfaction was something else. Something darker and more disturbing.

He felt a tremor run through his hands as he looked at them—at his blood-covered fists, at the way his knuckles were torn and bleeding. He’d done this. He’d beaten Garin until he was unconscious, and then he’d kept hitting him. Even after the quest had completed, even after the system had given him his rewards, he’d continued punching.

For a moment, a cold thought slipped into his mind, unwelcome and horrifying:

*Am I becoming a monster?*

The question echoed in his head, refusing to be dismissed. He thought about how easily the violence had come to him, how natural it had felt to keep hitting even after Garin was down. The way the system’s obsessive push toward revenge had overridden his normal moral compass, his usual hesitation about hurting people.

Xino. Now Garin. Two revenge quests, two brutal beatings.

And the system would likely give him more. More targets. More quests. More opportunities to hurt people in exchange for power.

Was this who he was becoming? Someone who solved problems with violence? Someone who beat people bloody and felt satisfaction from it?

Jelo climbed off Garin’s body slowly, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. He stood up, looking down at the unconscious form one more time.

Jelo turned away, unable to look at what he’d done any longer. He needed to leave. Needed to get out of here before someone found them, before teachers or security showed up, before he had to answer questions about why a rank F student had beaten a rank E student into a bloody pulp.

He started walking, moving on autopilot, his mind still churning with dark thoughts.

-----

Jelo found himself heading back toward the janitor’s closet almost without conscious thought. It was as if his body remembered the guilt from earlier and was drawn back to confront it.

When he reached the closet, he saw the door was still closed, the lock still engaged from the outside where he’d left it.

Ken and Atlas were probably still in there, still trapped, still furious with him for the betrayal.

Jelo reached for the lock with his blood-covered hands, hesitating for just a moment before pulling it open.

The door swung wide.

The closet was completely empty.

Jelo stared at the vacant space in confusion, his tired mind struggling to process what he was seeing. The shelves with cleaning supplies were still there, undisturbed. But Ken and Atlas were gone.

How?

"Surprised to see it empty?" a voice said from behind him, the tone almost teasing.

Jelo spun around sharply, his body instinctively dropping into a defensive stance before his mind caught up and recognized the voices.

Ken and Atlas were standing there in the corridor, both of them looking considerably less angry than he’d expected but still clearly annoyed.

"How—" Jelo started, his confusion evident. "How did you get out?"

Atlas crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between irritated and amused. "You really thought a simple janitor’s closet lock was going to hold us?"

-----

*The scene flashed back to earlier, shortly after Jelo had locked them inside.*

Atlas and Ken were still trapped in the closet, banging on the door repeatedly. Their shouts had died down after the first few minutes when they’d realized Jelo wasn’t coming back, replaced by frustrated silence as they tried to figure out how to escape.

"There has to be a way out," Ken said, examining the door carefully. "These locks aren’t designed to trap people inside. It’s a safety hazard."

"The lock is on the outside," Atlas pointed out, his voice tight with frustration. "Unless you can phase through solid wood, we’re stuck until someone lets us out."

They continued trying different approaches—shoulder-checking the door, looking for tools among the cleaning supplies that might help, even attempting to remove the door hinges from the inside (which proved impossible given their design).

After about ten minutes of increasingly desperate attempts, they heard footsteps in the corridor outside.

Both of them froze, listening intently.

The footsteps slowed, then stopped right outside the door. There was a pause, then a confused voice: "Hello? Is someone in there?"

"YES!" both Ken and Atlas shouted simultaneously. "We’re stuck! Can you open the door?"

There was another pause. "Uh... okay. Just a second."

They heard the sound of the external lock being manipulated, and then the door swung open.

Standing there was a small, nerdy-looking student—probably a first-year like them based on his age. He had thick glasses, messy brown hair, and an expression of bewildered concern.

"Are you guys okay?" the nerdy student asked. "How did you get locked in there?"

Atlas and Ken immediately stepped out of the closet, neither of them bothering to answer the question. They ignored their rescuer like he wasn’t even there.

The nerdy student stood there for a moment, confused and a bit hurt by their complete disregard for his help.