All he could see in his line of sight were things that could be of no use to him—flowers, trees, and a pole. The things he was once glad for, that could help him block his figure, now became a nuisance.
He would turn back after his unfruitful search, staring straight into the eye of the muzzle pointed at him.
The weight of his circumstances would finally bear down on him.
With a trembling voice, he would speak, trying to deter the man before him, "I've already told my people where I am, and they'll call the police once they cannot reach me. Your apartment will be swarming with cops at any minute."
He would tilt his head, showcasing a false bravery. Perhaps shaken by the confidence in his tone, the bald-headed boss in front of him would lower the barrel, feeling unsure.
To which Jidenna would release a small sigh of relief, thinking it was over. But in the next second, that belief would shatter.
His relief would turn into despair. His eyes would widen, quaking, as his vision became coated in a layer of moisture.
The words he would hear were, "But I never said I cared," followed by a bang.
****
'Huu'
Jidenna's eyes snapped open. He shot up from the bed, wheezing, his hands moving to his chest, hitting it.
Another series of loud coughs ripped through his throat; his saliva had entered the wrong pipe.
After a few minutes, he lay back on his bed only to feel a chill and the sticky feeling of wetness where his exposed body had come into contact with the bedsheet.
He turned back to check, feeling the bed with the back of his palm. His conclusion was:
"The bed was wet." A flash of an unknown emotion went through his eyes.
It was precisely soaked with sweat.
He had a dream—no, a nightmare about last night, but in his nightmare, he saw the worst outcome of yesterday.
If he had decided to be led by his emotions...
Once again, among the numerous times yesterday, he was thankful for his self-control.
'If not—' he stopped his train of thought, unwilling to go down that path again.
Thinking back, he remembered the remark he made when his mother had shown him the picture of the original owner smiling with his friends, ignorant that that day would be his death day.
Looking at it now, that was a very careless statement.
He let loose a chuckle of self-deprecation. He sat on the edge of the bed, the foam sinking to bear the added weight.
He held his head between his two hands, laughing at himself—his ignorance, his stupidity, and most especially laughing at the pit of pride he had thrown himself into.
The pride that almost got him killed yesterday.
From the day he arrived in this world, the day he was nearly killed, discovering a clue into the death of the original owner...
From then on, he had secretly looked down on the original owner in his heart, thinking he must have been stupid, a fool, not to notice the ill intentions of his friends.
Sneering at his pathetic death; dying silently in a self-contained apartment, alone, in front of his admission letter that was his gateway to a better life.
He even thought in disdain, 'Would he have been smiling so widely if he knew he would die…?' when the original owner's mother had shown him the picture.
Sneering at the original owner while using his body...
That disdain was now pointed towards himself.
After feeling nothing but contempt toward the original owner's life decisions,
he turned around, thinking he was invincible, and committed a worse mistake.
What gave him the impression that he was invincible?
Was it his height?… Body build? Or the inexplicable powers he awoke with on his first day?
Was it when he found out that, in this world, having powers like his is not normal, and could only happen in their imaginations?
Did that make him believe he was invincible in this world? That's why he took the rash decision of following the murderers into their den, their territory, where they had absolute control.
What got into him?
'No, he needs to correct this mentality immediately! He was lucky to escape the first time, but he might not be the second time.'
'Hah,' he sighed for the nth time, ruffling his hair in frustration, feeling useless.
He looked down at his large hands, turning them sideways. He could imagine his fingers wrapping around the bald man's neck, strangling the life out of him, but the imagination quickly dispersed like bubbles, remembering the gun attached to him.
He wasn't aware that man had hidden a gun under his shirt. If he can, what about the others? Do they also hide guns?
The corners of his lips dragged down into a frown, feeling gloomy about the coming days. He wasn't optimistic, but he had to try.
He had only a week left.
If he couldn't do it in one week, then he would have to let it go for now.
But that thought did not sit well with him. If he left this, he didn't think he would be able to sleep well at night.
It would be like a sword above his head, flirting with his neck, sometimes caressing it, but at any moment, that sword could swing down, ending his life. So, he needed to do something about it before he left for school. But at the same time, he could not reveal that it was him.
He could not leave a handle for someone to hold against him in the future, so he had to do everything himself, with a little disguise, of course.
Everything had to be ready and prepared.
Since he couldn't be the man who barges straight in like a martial arts master and sweeps everyone off their feet, straight to Ekwensu, then he could only go through the other route.