With a few desperate taps on his breast, Connor growled: "I can't believe you almost let me die!"

"It couldn't have been that bad," I grumbled and rolled my eyes.

"Oh, really?" he questioned. "Then I hope you'll coke on your water. I swear, even if you pass out on the ground, I'm not going to lift a finger."

His comment reminded me of how I caught Reyna when she ran out of mana. I did it instinctively, my mind as blank as the sheet of paper Connor likely handed out during the written exam. Jokes aside, I'm sure both of those siblings would do the same for me if the situation demanded it. Not that I'd ever want them to see me in that kind of position, to begin with.

"Whatever you say."

I continued talking with Connor, mostly poking fun at him whenever the occasion aroused. Dylan, although a bit more awkward and silent than us, overcame his initial reluctance and began actively participating in the conversation as well.

Throughout this, an odor I was all too familiar with assaulted my nostrils. That of booze. It came from a vagabond who seemed to be in even worse shape than when we last met. He extended his filthy hands toward Connor, the person nearest to him. It was surprising to see him visit all the way from the 2nd to the 3rd District.

"Could you please give me—" he tried to say his usual line, which I'm sure has worked on many people by now. It certainly affected me.

"Keep going," I told him.

He shifted his bloodshot look from my friend to me. It wasn't uncommon for his eyes to widen as he remembered who I was. Meanwhile, Connor and Dylan only gave me puzzled looks, which went unnoticed.

"Come on. Tell them about how you haven't eaten in days..." I urged but paused as I sniffed in. "Judging by your pleasant odor, there's no way you just brought yourself some alcohol with the spare change I gave you a while back..."

If I handed him money, others were bound to follow suit. Otherwise, just some spare change from my side wouldn't have been enough for him to acquire booze. And the chances of me forgetting about someone I'd met and given money to were little to none. This wasn't a mistake on my part; I knew exactly who he was and what he was up to.

He took a reluctant step back on the street and uttered: "I-I don't know what you're talking about—"

Behind him, a car's prolonged honk rang all the way to us. The beggar's expression distorted in horror as he noticed the vehicle approaching at high speeds. I got closer, grabbed him by the collar of his torn clothes with a disgusted grimace across my face, then tossed his stinky body to safety onto the sidewalk's pavement.

I stared at my chapped palm for a good second, a sour liquid surging up my throat. A tap on the shoulder redirected my focus away from my disdain. It was Connor who motioned for me to follow. I did precisely that, not sparing the alcoholic on the ground another glance.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I once asked Reyna why she deliberately imposed a state of mana depletion onto herself, but now I realize that my actions haven't been so different compared to hers. Despite knowing it was wrong and that it went against my principles, I drank alcohol of my own volition within the Underworld. I even tried smoking...

"So you're going around playing superhero now?" Connor asked with a grin on his face. He was definitely trying to cheer me up, so I shrugged.

"You can't really blame an addict for ingesting the goods you put in front of him," Dylan said. "But your reflexes are incredible. He would have been run over if it hadn't been for you, Gray."

"Didn't you mean to say he would've died because of me?" I asked, casting a sidelong glance at him.

If I feigned I didn't recognize him, he wouldn't have been nearly run over by a car.

"By that logic, it would be solely that beggar's fault for approaching us. And why would you even blame yourself if something happened to him, Gray? " Connor questioned, dumbfounded. "Since you can't control everything around you, it's illogical to believe the blame can be placed solely on one individual. For example, what about the driver who nearly ran him over? Shouldn't he be held accountable to some extent?"

Perhaps it wasn't entirely just my fault...

"Since when did you become so smart?" I blurted out.

"H-hey... I hate studying, but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

"Let's hope that's the case."

"That commentary was completely unnecessary!"

"Was it now?"

Then both of us were startled by a chuckle but stopped a few seconds after. We moved our gaze toward Dylan, the one laughing the hardest, and couldn't help but wonder just he found so amusing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, clutching his stomach and wiping a tear. "I had no idea you two got along so well."

"We do not get along well," Connor spat out. "Gray is a sarcastic jerk in most circumstances."

Since I definitely didn't consider myself as such, I grumbled: "Where the hell did that even come from..."

"Oh, here," Dylan said, handing me what appeared to be a package of wet wipes. "It may be a misunderstanding, but you didn't seem particularly eager to help that beggar, Gray."

I sighed, and despite knowing it was a mistake on his part, I accepted it. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, the crud I sensed just wouldn't come off. It made me sick as if it got under my skin.

"Here we are," the chauffeur grumbled as he got into his car. "Do you want us to drop you somewhere, Gray?"

"No, I'll just jog home."

I'd rather take a bath right away, if possible. Compared to Connor's ridiculous physical constitution, I sweated quite a bit. Thinking about how'd I get all sticky in the jeep made me refuse his kind offer.

"You're so stubborn," Connor mumbled, then lightly stabbed his elbow into my abdomen. My eyes widened as I gritted my teeth, trying to prevent a groan from escaping my throat. "If I hadn't messed up, I'm sure you'd have refused that bottle of water as well, mm? Something the matter, Gray—guh!"

I drove my fist straight into his plexus just as he was about to finish. "What the hell? I didn't hit you that hard, you animal!"

"Sorry," I said. "Reflexes."

That kind of hit would have left most people useless, yet Connor seemed to be merely irritated by my conduct. His harsh response stemmed from being caught off guard, and not from the pain itself.

"Whatever! Jog the entire way home, I don't care. Don't call me if you sprain your ankle or something 'cause I won't answer!" he yelled before getting into the car. "Let's get going, Dylan."

"A-are you sure you want to leave like this?" the chauffeur asked out of consideration, but Connor only shrugged his shoulders and looked the other way.

"Well, take care, Gray. Don't worry about Master Connor—"

"I told you to stop calling me like that. Get moving!"

"Sure!"

In seconds, the vehicle drove outside of my field of vision. I just remained there for a bit before placing a hand on my throbbing side.

"Connor, you have no idea how much of a moron you can be at times..."

You just had to hit where it hurts the most...