Chapter 72: Idle Days in the Slums
Zeon's life in the slums was one of utter idleness.
He did nothing and thought nothing.
He sat blankly in place, staring out the window all day, or lay in bed sleeping.
After eight years of constant tension, he craved this time desperately.
Time to focus entirely on himself, for himself alone.
And that's exactly what Zeon was doing now.
But no rest lasted forever.
After holing up at home for nearly half a month doing absolutely nothing, he suddenly craved fresh air.
Zeon rose from the bed and headed to the bathroom.
When he'd first returned home, the place had reeked of filth and waste, but now it was surprisingly clean.
He washed his face simply and stepped out.
Clunk!
As he emerged, the Watching Eye locked the door behind him.
Now he no longer had to worry about burglars.
The Watching Eye would guard it perfectly.
With no rush, Zeon took the stairs down.
It happened when he'd descended about fifteen floors.
"Hey, haven't seen you around before, bro."
A boy coming down the stairs spotted Zeon and spoke up.
He looked around fifteen or sixteen.
For his age, he wasn't particularly big.
His face had a somewhat vacant look, with unfocused eyes, slumped shoulders, and an overall listless vibe.
His head was buzzed short, flashy earrings and piercings catching the eye.
Like most slum kids, the boy radiated apathy.
Kids with no dreams or hopes, barely scraping by day to day—there was no room for motivation.
Zeon asked, "You live here?"
"Yeah! End of the fifteenth floor."
"Got it."
"What about you, bro?"
"End of the eighteenth."
"Same deal—end unit."
"Guess so."
Zeon nodded slightly.
"I'm Levin. You?"
"Zeon!"
"Cool name."
"Hear that a lot."
Levin was quite the chatterbox.
He chattered away at this stranger without a hint of fear.
"You in a gang, bro?"
"Nah."
"Then what do you do for a living?"
"Got enough cash to coast for a while."
"Lucky. We got nothing at home."
"That so?"
"Mom, me, little sibs. No clue how we're gonna eat tomorrow."
"Must weigh on you."
"Hey, since you're loaded, spot me some cash? I'll work hard and pay it back."
"Nope."
"Damn, that was cold."
"You're the one with no shame."
"Tch! No dice."
Levin wrinkled his nose, but it wasn't an angry look.
Living in the slums didn't mean tight-knit neighbors.
Maybe before the world went to hell, but not now.
At least, not in the world Levin knew.
At the bottom of the human food chain, the slums were rife with backstabbing neighbors.
Here, "kindness" was just another word for "sucker."
The kind-hearted got eaten alive.
By the time their chat wrapped up, they'd reached the first floor.
Outside, kids who looked like Levin's friends were gathered.
"Why're you so late, slow-ass?"
"Fuck! This prick always keeps us waiting. Like he even has shit to do."
True to form for boys their age, they greeted Levin with curses.
Levin shrugged it off casually, used to it.
"Sorry! New neighbor bro moved in—got held up talking."
"That guy?"
"Looks loaded."
The kids' eyes gleamed with greed.
Levin slung his arms around their shoulders and squeezed.
"Listen up, you greedy shits. Even blind with cash-lust, pick your marks. Touch that bro, and you're dead."
"What? Your shaman senses tingling again?"
"Dunno. But trust me—steer clear for your own good."
"Fuck! What a waste."
The kids spat on the ground at Levin's words.
But they quickly lost interest in Zeon.
Levin's nickname was "Shaman."
No one knew if he really had spirit sight, but his words usually rang true.
His friends didn't ignore him.
Levin tugged his friends along.
"C'mon! Not feeling it today."
"Why?"
"Dunno. Just sucks. Wanna go somewhere else."
"Dongdaemun then."
"Why there?"
"It's hot right now. Heh!"
One friend mimed snorting something. The others burst out laughing.
Levin shot back, "Keep sucking that shit, you'll croak early."
"Fuck! What's the point of dragging it out?"
"Gotta do something to stay sane. Let's hit Shinchon."
Levin and his crew yammered noisily as they vanished from Zeon's sight.
"Deep into drugs already, huh."
The "stuff" they mentioned was cheap narcotics, no doubt.
Euphoric highs when snorted, but it wrecked the body in the end.
Everyone knew it. Still, people chased it.
Nothing beat drugs for forgetting the miserable present.
Levin seemed clean so far, but his friends reeked of addiction.
Such kids were a dime a dozen here.
No point lecturing—they wouldn't listen, and Zeon wasn't the meddling type anyway.
Everyone owned their own fuckups.
Rot from drugs or grind for cash—it was on them.
Zeon shook off thoughts of Levin and the kids, heading to the market.
Long time out, but the market vibe hadn't changed much.
"Huh? Still kicking?"
Clexy the old man spotted Zeon and looked shocked.
Zeon plopped down at Clexy's stall.
"What, thought I kicked the bucket? Why so surprised?"
"Hadn't seen you—figured you croaked."
"Just chilling at home."
"Holed up for over half a month?"
"Yup!"
"You're one creepy bastard."
Clexy grimaced in exasperation.
Zeon had ghosted so hard, he'd even pulled surveillance.
Wasted manpower otherwise.
First time Clexy had ever cut eyes early.
"Weird. Just plain weird."
"What is?"
"You. All of it."
Zero intel on Zeon—left Clexy deeply irritated.
First one to rattle him like this. Made him all the more curious.
"Eaten?"
"Here for food. Whatever you've got."
"Tch!"
Clexy clucked his tongue, prepping the meal.
While waiting, Zeon scanned the area.
The market felt oddly subdued.
"Something happen?"
"Why?"
"Vibe's off."
"Viper's on a rampage lately."
"Viper?"
"Too sly and venomous for a mere loach."
"What's the deal?"
Zeon showed interest for the first time.
"Some psycho's butchering folks."
"Psycho?"
"Chops 'em up post-mortem, decorates like art."
"That exists?"
"Even in this mad world, psychos like that are rare."
Drains blood for paintings, carves bodies for ornaments.
No sane person could stomach it.
"Goran's just letting it slide?"
Goran ruled Shinchon.
Criminal overlord or not, he had to maintain some order.
A freak killer loose could erode trust.
"As if. Sent fixers already."
"Catch soon then."
"Hope so..."
"Not?"
"Told you—viper. Approach like a loach, get bit hard."
"Hm."
"Care? Hunt it yourself."
"Don't give a shit."
"Heartless prick."
"You catch it then, old man."
"Me? What power do I got for killers?"
Clexy bristled.
"C'mon, you look spry."
"Looks only. Every joint aches."
"That's spry. Why snap?"
"Live to my age. Days become torture."
"Sure, sure."
Zeon half-assed it, picking his ear with his pinky.
Clexy unwittingly made a dumbfounded face.
First in these streets to treat him so casually.
Used to bootlickers—Zeon felt refreshingly novel.
What kinda life has this punk lived?
Anything but ordinary.
Thud!
"Here. Chow down."
Clexy slammed the food down irritably.
Broth splashed everywhere—yet not a drop hit Zeon. Infuriating.
"Lucky bastard!"
"Hear that plenty."
Zeon replied coolly, digging into the mystery grub.
Crabby personality aside, Clexy's cooking was legit.
One bite, and a grin broke out involuntarily.
"Bastard... splitting grins..."
Clexy smirked too.
Zeon polished off the bowl in seconds.
"Thanks for the grub."
"Heading straight home?"
"Yup."
"Ain't you bored cooped up daily? Young buck living like a monk."
"What's wrong with holing up?"
"Wasted youth—that's the pity."
"Living it up plenty. No worries."
"Tch!"
No dice— Clexy clucked again.
Couldn't pry shit if Zeon never emerged.
Hit a brick wall.
Oblivious or not, Zeon dropped cash and stood.
"Catch ya later."
"Hmph!"
Ignoring Clexy's snort, Zeon walked off.
Sky had darkened already.
Slum lights flickered on one by one.
Zeon's building lit up too—but bulbs blinked unstably, power cut looming.
Zeon thanked his stars for the mana generator, climbing stairs.
Around the tenth floor.
"Kyaaak!"
"Agh!"
Screams erupted from above.
Ear-piercing shrieks yanked Zeon toward them unwittingly.
The cries came from the fifteenth floor.
Crowd clustered at the corridor's end.
Zeon pushed through.
The wide-open door revealed hell on earth.
Zeon's brow furrowed.