After the intense battle and the prize money securely tucked away, Arslan found himself strolling through the bustling streets of New York, a small bag of groceries in hand. The weight of his victory still lingered in his mind, but he couldn't help but feel the physical toll it had taken on his body.
Reaching the modest apartment complex where he resided, Arslan paused at the entrance, his eyes catching sight of a familiar feline. A small, one-eyed cat named Sparrow appeared, drawn to his scent.
With a gentle smile, Arslan crouched down, his hand tenderly patting the cat's fur. "What's good, Sparrow?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.
Retrieving a can of tuna from the grocery bag, he placed it beside the cat, ensuring she had a satisfying meal. "I hope you enjoy your dinner more than me tonight," he added with a wistful sigh.
Despite his physical pain, Arslan knew that the victory he had secured was worth every ounce of suffering. As he limped inside the apartment building, his determination burned brightly within him.
Climbing the stairs to the third floor, he reached his one-room apartment, a humble sanctuary he called home. The bruises on his body served as a testament to the hardships he had endured to make his dreams a reality.
Setting the bag of groceries on a small table against the wall, Arslan removed his clothes, revealing the aftermath of his grueling fight. He winced as his fingers grazed over the tender bruises.
Letting out a sigh, he attempted to channel a faint green light through his hand, but quickly withdrew it. "Not the time for this," he murmured to himself, acknowledging that he still had some business to take care of first.
Arslan reached into the bag and retrieved a can of soda, his chosen drink for the evening. He settled on the floor, leaning against the wall, and pulled out his phone. As he scrolled through its contents, a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation filled his weary eyes.
In this moment of respite, Arslan found solace in the flickering glow of the screen, momentarily setting aside the physical and emotional strain. The challenges he had faced were mere stepping stones on his journey towards a brighter future, and the fight with Voragor was just the beginning of a story that was far from over.
Arslan took a sip from his soda, ready to make a call, but his actions froze in an instant when an unexpected knocking sound reverberated through the room.
Knock, knock.
It was well past 11 pm, an unusual hour for a visitor. However, Arslan remained unfazed, a knowing look in his eyes as he set aside his phone and retrieved a shirt from his closet.
Slowly, he approached the door and swung it open, revealing a middle-aged man with a light complexion. behind him were two burly figures, their presence commanding attention. The man, dressed in a sharp black suit that contrasted with the scar that marred his face, bore the appearance of a businessman, though his demeanor suggested a different background altogether.
"Right on time, like always, James," Arslan greeted with a calm demeanor, leaving the door open. Without hesitation, James and his companions stepped inside, the door shutting behind them.
"Of course I am. Do you think Mr. Spark would come searching for you if I were late with his money?" James replied, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He made his way to the only chair in the room and settled into it before he continued speaking, "Nah, He'd be on my ass, demanding answers from me."
Arslan, his gaze fixed on the money he had just earned, began counting it meticulously. Once he had separated a substantial portion, he handed it over to James. Only a small fraction remained in his grasp.
James wasted no time, his experienced hands swiftly counting the bills, ensuring their accuracy. He exuded an air of caution and mistrust, a testament to the nature of their dealings.
Arslan's annoyance grew as he watched James continue counting the money, disregarding his desire for a swift conclusion. Letting out a resigned sigh, he secured the remaining cash in his wallet and settled onto his bed, longing for some much needed rest. "It's all there. No need to drag this any further," he muttered, his weariness seeping into his words.
James, seemingly unaffected by Arslan's impatience, finally finished counting the money. Carefully wrapping the bills with a rubber band, he raised his gaze, fixing his eyes on Arslan in a moment of silence. Then, he broke the stillness, his voice low and persuasive. "You're a good earner, Arslan. Why not join forces with us? I could speak to Mr. Spark, try to negotiate a lower interest rate on your debt."
Arslan's smile held a touch of bitterness as he took another sip from his soda, considering James's proposition. "You know very well that I want nothing to do with you or your associates," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of resentment. "If it weren't for my parents' debt to you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
James raised his hand, signaling his two men to hold back their aggression, understanding the underlying tension. "You hold a strong disdain for us, yet it was our money that prevented you from living on the streets," James retorted, his tone firm.
Arslan's gaze hardened, his voice tinged with sorrow as he spoke the painful truth. "And if it weren't for your money, my parents would still be alive today," he shot back, his words heavy with the weight of loss. James hesitated at the door, pausing to face Arslan, who remained seated on his bed, contemplating the choices that had led him to this moment.
"We can play the blame game all night, but no one forced them to brag about their money in this neighborhood. They should have remained discreet, minding their own business," James remarked, his voice laced with a mix of accusation and justification.
Arslan sighed, the weight of guilt and regret settling upon him. He knew deep down that James's words held a painful truth. If only his parents had chosen a different path, chosen to protect themselves quietly, they wouldn't have been robbed and killed only three days after taking that loan.
The loan they had taken from the Moyah Family had led to their tragic demise, a burden Arslan carried within him every day.
"See you next week, Young Lion" James bid his farewell before he and his men exited the apartment, leaving Arslan to his solitude.
As the door closed, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Arslan's last sip from his soda. Weary from the encounter, he lowered himself onto his bed, his gaze fixed on the blank expanse of the wall before him.
Lying on his back, Arslan's thoughts drifted, his eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling. His hand slowly rose in front of him, his attention drawn to the faint green glow emanating from his palm.
"No matter how many times I witness it, I still can't fathom the reality of this power," he murmured softly to himself. Tentatively, he pressed his glowing hand against the remnants of his bruises, a soothing sensation coursing through his body as he felt the healing energy at work.
In a matter of moments, the bruises faded away, as if they had never existed, leaving Arslan's skin unmarred. The ethereal, green light dissipated from his hand, leaving behind a sense of quiet awe. "I still can't comprehend the origin of this power," Arslan contemplated, his mind drifting back to that fateful day one year ago, the day his parents had tragically passed away.
It was then that the translucent window materialized before him, reminiscent of the virtual games he used to immerse himself in. Within its transparent confines, he found a display of information, revealing his stats and other things.
Initially, Arslan had questioned his sanity, believing the window to be a mere hallucination amidst his grief. However, as days turned into weeks, he began to embrace the possibilities it presented, realizing that he held the power to alter the trajectory of his life.
Having healed his bruises, Arslan felt a surge of determination. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the status window, eager to assess the progress he had made since their last encounter.
=[Status]=
[Name: Arslan]
[Job: Underground Fighter]
[Level: 6]
[EXP: 1020 - 1920]
[Mana:288/288]
[Strength: 15]
[Stamina: 14]
[Agility: 19]
[Intelligence: 18]
[Luck: 4]
[reputation:12]
[Unused Stats Points: 0]
=[Skills 3 of 3]=
[Kickboxing: Passive - Lvl: 3]
[You learned the fundamental for KickBoxing, you're able to perform the basic skills easily]
[Full Power: Active - Lvl: 4]
[This Skill allow you to double your attack's power for the next 2 Minutes]
[Cooldown: 1 Hour]
[Healing Hands: Active - Lvl: 7]
[This Skill Allow you to heal wounds and Injuries]
[Cooldown: 5 minutes]
Arslan's sigh echoed through the room as he studied his stats and skills, disappointment clouding his expression. Despite the passage of time, he found no significant changes, except for the gradual accumulation of experience points required for leveling up, and his reputation that has increased after defeating Voragor.
The realization weighed heavily upon him, knowing that he had a long and arduous journey ahead. To increase his level, improve his stats, and unlock more skill slots, he would need to embark on countless challenges.
With a flick of his wrist, Arslan dismissed the status window, its glow fading into the darkness. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, a testament to the late hour. He wrapped himself in a warm blanket, seeking solace in the embrace of sleep, knowing that rest was essential for the trials that awaited him.