Chapter 72: Chapter 72
Home sweet home. Finally. Now I could check what that milestone reward was... hopefully without getting robbed again. Or hallucinating. Hell, I still wasn’t sure if that whole robbery thing actually happened, or if it was just fever dreams.
I grabbed my coffee, pulled the blanket around my shoulders, and sat down by the window. Rain pattered against the glass. Neon lights from the street cut sharp lines into the night.
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Milestone Reached!
Partner: Jasmine
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Reward:
50 EXP
Mystery Chest
50c
+2 Mastery Points
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Holy shit. Just for hitting that milestone, I got stacked with rewards. If I’d known it’d pay this much, I would’ve focused on it sooner.
The only thing I still didn’t fully get was those Mastery Points. I’d seen the option once before, but had no clue how to actually use them.
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CURRENT STATS
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Strength: 2
Charm: 10
- Manipulative Charm
- Emotional Charisma
- Seductive Allure
Libido: 6
Pleasure: 3
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Unused Mastery Points: 2
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Right. So mastery points only worked if I reset my Charm skill. Resetting would let me push those extra points into Manipulative Charm, Emotional Charisma, or Seductive Allure.
It would also raise the cap—Charm could go up to twenty instead of ten. But the catch? Resetting only refunded five points. Not worth it yet. Maybe later, once I had more ability points stacked to push Charm back up to ten, at least.
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SHOP
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• Aphrodisiac Drink (10c)
• Silk Lingerie Set (25c)
• Sensual Massage Oil (15c)
• Mystery Pleasure Toy (30c)
• Flirt Potion (20c)
• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)
• Time Stop (90c)
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Credits: 70c
Select item to purchase.
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Seventy credits. Damn—I was loaded compared to before. Still, I had to spend smart. No more Sensual Massage Oil for now. Without it, I was actually raking in more EXP anyway. That whole "system penalty" thing was a pain in the ass.
Though... eventually, I’d have to use that massage oil on Anotta. God. She was probably pissed I’d ditched her.
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Name: Evan Marlowe
Age: 21
Height: 179 cm
Weight: 71 kg
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Level: 4
EXP: 175 / 311
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With the last UI fading from my sight, I let out a long breath and took another sip of coffee. Something about drinking coffee while staring at rain—it soothed me. Made me feel like I was on top of the world. Beaten up, sure. But still standing.
A knock at the door snapped me out of it.
"Ugh... who the hell visits at this hour?"
I set the mug down, shuffled over, and peered through the peephole. My stomach dropped.
"Cops?" I muttered. "Great..."
I unlatched the door and opened it a crack. Two officers stood there—one man, one woman. Both in plain uniforms, both giving me that trained, unreadable look.
"Mr. Marlowe?" the man asked. "Detective Harris, this is Detective Vega. Mind if we come in for a moment?"
"Uh... sure," I said, stepping back.
They entered, boots heavy on the floor. Harris was tall, graying at the temples, square jaw that looked like it had been broken once. Vega was younger, sharp-eyed, hair tied back tight. Neither looked like they came for coffee and chit-chat.
"Sorry for the late hour," Harris said as I gestured them toward the couch. "We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important."
"Yeah? So what happened?" I asked, sitting on the arm of a chair instead of the couch. My place suddenly felt way too small.
"Karim Obza," Harris said flatly. "Does that name mean anything to you?"
I shook my head. "No. Should it?"
Vega leaned forward. "We have witnesses who say that a few nights ago, here at this building, Mr. Obza assaulted you outside your apartment door."
"Ohhh," I muttered. "That was his name? Figures. Fuck that guy."
"Why didn’t you file a report?" Vega pressed.
I scratched at my jaw. "I was sick. Fever. Didn’t want to deal with paperwork and cops hovering over me. Simple as that."
Harris studied me for a long moment. "The reason we’re asking is because we found Mr. Obza tonight. Roughly four hours ago."
"Yeah?" My throat went dry. "And?"
"He was in very bad condition," Vega said, her tone steady but cold. "All of his fingernails had been removed. The words how dare you were carved into his back with a knife. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for days. When we found him, he was begging for death. He was kidnapped, as you can guess."
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, leaning back. "You serious?"
"Do you know anything about that?" Harris asked, watching me closely.
"What?" I barked. "No. No way. I’m not saying a damn word without my lawyer. What the fuck—are you saying I did that to him?"
Harris raised both hands slightly. "No. You’re not a suspect. The assailant fled before we arrived."
"Then why are you here?" I asked, voice sharper than I meant.
"Because Obza didn’t have friends, no family ties we can find," Vega explained. "But while we were treating him, he kept repeating something—your name. He said it was your fault."
I laughed once, hollow. "Yeah, well, that’s his problem, not mine. This has nothing to do with me."
"Then perhaps you can help us understand why—" Vega started.
I cut her off, pushing up from the chair. "Yeah, no. I’m done. You want answers, you can talk to me when I’ve got a lawyer next to me. Until then—" I opened the door wide. "Out."
The two detectives exchanged a glance. Vega’s brow twitched; Harris exhaled slow.
Finally Harris stood. "Understood. We won’t keep you."
"Good evening, Mr. Marlowe," Vega added, voice clipped.
They walked out, their footsteps fading down the hall.
I shut the door hard, leaned my forehead against the wood, and muttered to myself, "What the fuck is going on..."
I sat back in front of the window, pulled the blanket tight around my shoulders, and lifted the mug again. The rain streaked down the glass, neon bleeding through like watercolor.
The coffee tasted bitter, burned, but I sipped anyway.
My laptop hummed awake on the desk beside me. A couple of clicks later, I was searching. Karim Obza.
News feeds, police reports, scattered forums.
"Shit..." I muttered. "They weren’t lying."
The screen glared back at me. All nails removed. Knife wounds. Extreme dehydration. Starvation.
Kidnapped. Tortured. Someone had made him pay.
"Why though? By who?" My hand tightened around the mug until the ceramic clicked. "I didn’t even know the guy. He jumped me, sure, but—what the fuck does any of this have to do with me?"
The words blurred on the screen. Too much to take in. My pulse thudded at my temples.
I didn’t want to deal with cops. Not now. Not ever. Too much work. Too much trouble.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I hissed, running a hand through my hair. "Why’s it always me? Always me, stuck in this shit?"
He was muttering my name when they found him. No wonder the detectives came knocking. No wonder they looked at me like I was already guilty.
"Maybe..." I whispered, heart still hammering, "...maybe I should dump some points into Strength."
A chill ran up my spine. The thought of someone out there—someone who could do that to a man—knowing my name? No thanks.
I shut the laptop. The reflection of my own tired, bruised face vanished with the screen’s glow.
I pushed up from the chair, set the mug down, and went to the light switch. Click. Darkness swallowed the room, leaving only the hiss of rain outside.
I checked the door. Lock clicked into place. Deadbolt, too.
I tugged it once. Twice. Just to be sure.
"I still don’t even know if I was robbed or not," I muttered under my breath, forehead against the door. "God..."
Satisfied, I turned and padded toward the bedroom. Each creak of the floor felt too loud. Too sharp.
The room was cold. The sheets even colder when I threw myself face-first onto the bed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling the blanket over my head.
"Just sleep it off, Evan," I whispered. "Just fucking sleep."
—
A knock on the door woke me.
Honestly, I was grateful it was just a knock—not some suspicious sound in the living room, not my imagination cooking up more ghosts.
Still... that night. Did I really hear something? And was my boxer always on the ground? Ugh. I was turning paranoid. No thief in their right mind would rob me. I had nothing worth stealing.
Except that damn drawing. Paid a fortune for it once, for reasons I couldn’t even remember now. Maybe I should just sell it, get rid of the dead weight.
I grabbed my phone. Nine a.m. My shift wasn’t until eight tonight, so I had the whole day to burn.
"Coming..." I muttered, dragging myself up.
I shuffled to the door, unlocked it, then peeked through the peephole.
Kim. And beside her, her boyfriend Tom.
I opened up. "Hey."
"Morning," Kim said, flashing a small smile. "We’re gonna have breakfast. Want to join us?"
"Oh... yeah. That’d be awesome." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Your place, right?"
"Yep." She nodded. "I actually called Jasmine too. We got to know each other that day... y’know, waiting around at the hospital."
"You two became friends?" I chuckled. "Guess it was worth me getting my ass beat, then."
"Don’t say stuff like that," Kim frowned.
"Hey, silver linings."
She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, whenever you’re ready, come by. Jasmine’s already—"
Right on cue, Jasmine’s door opened. She stepped out with a pan in hand, blinked at us in surprise, then locked her door and came over smiling.
"Hey," she said. "Are we ready?"
"Yep," Kim said. "Evan’ll join us later. I thought he’d be up by now, but he was still sleeping."
"Great." Jasmine glanced at me. "Don’t be late, Evan, okay?"
I gave a lazy salute. "Yes, ma’am."