The Story of When I First Met That Man -7- I'm Terrified Right Now

I'm scared shitless right now.

"It's you?"

Fuck.

"The one this little brat's looking for."

There was an insurmountable wall right in front of me.

This was my first time seeing an archbishop. Or more precisely, it was my first time laying eyes on the villain who would become one.

Topics that twisted. Malice that oozed out. It was all new to me.

I'd thought I'd met plenty of villains rolling around the slums all this time, but compared to the man in front of me, they were nothing.

Those guys at least had money as a motive, but this bastard killed people purely for amusement.

The thugs wandering the slums looked laughable in comparison. My shoulders trembled at the sheer depth of his evil.

It felt bottomless. No escape came to mind. No way to resolve this situation.

Even as an apprentice priest, my powerlessness before the man who would become an archbishop was like child's play.

A snot-nosed kid like me taking on someone who could laugh off a knight? It didn't make sense.

Sure, I was superior physically and mentally to other kids, but that was only by kid standards.

I was too weak to do anything, and I knew nothing would change even if I tried.

Honestly, running was the answer.

Otherwise, I'd die.

The Archbishop of Oblivion was the worst villain in the novel. He wielded fragmentary power over the concept of memory, twisting people's recollections to make them kill their own families with their own hands—a sick fuck with warped tastes.

Mikhail hated him the most, and he was the one I never wanted to meet.

No need to weigh the scales here. I had to run now if I wanted to survive.

Not stand here dumbfounded like an idiot.

This was the moment to abandon Mikhail and bolt, I screamed at myself.

Run.

Mikhail's the protagonist anyway. He'll live…

Fuck, you're just an extra. A nobody.

So move, damn it…

Protecting Mikhail came with risks I couldn't handle.

But damn it.

My fucking legs wouldn't move.

Like glue on my soles. My heart screamed to run, but my legs yelled to stay put.

I let out a deep sigh and said,

"Let him go."

I mustered what pitiful courage I had in my chest, trying to sound calm.

"I said let him go."

No matter how I thought about it, I was a total pushover.

What was so special about Mikhail that I'd do this? I couldn't answer myself.

Such a pushover.

Even after hearing those hurtful words, I couldn't just ditch him like that. It wasn't what a grown-up would do.

Wasn't it a waste? I'd fed and sheltered him this far. A brilliant connection that could bring wealth was right there, and letting it go felt like throwing away treasure.

I fed myself reasons I could swallow to stay put.

If I didn't, I'd bolt right now.

Seemed materialistic, but I had no choice. It was how I mustered courage, my consolation.

Suppressing my trembling heart, I slowly approached Yung.

"He hates it. Let him go."

All I had in hand was a thin wooden stick. Not a holy sword, not even a sharp blade—just something that'd snap in a second. But it was fine. This wasn't a fight I planned to win.

I held my shaking breath and gave Mikhail a gentle smile.

It's okay now.

Mikhail's eyes, meeting mine, began to tremble violently.

"..."

Relief, maybe? I hoped so.

I didn't know his feelings right now, but at least they weren't negative. That was a relief.

Good. He wasn't mad at me.

I thought he'd sulk after my harsh "handle it yourself," but it hadn't lasted. Relief.

Yung just stared at me silently.

Probably pondering how to toy with me, he wore an intrigued smile as I approached.

My fearless advance must've piqued his interest.

A normal kid would've freaked or fled at a friend in peril.

I calmly faced the man and said,

"What're you staring at."

"Heh."

"First time seeing someone handsome?"

"Fascinating."

"Your face is more fascinating. You look straight-up fifties no matter how I squint."

"Scared shitless, but that mouth's still alive."

"Would it be dead otherwise?"

Sharp bastard.

No bright future where he let me live seemed in his head anymore.

Fiddling with the dagger at his waist, he looked like he was sizing me up for dissection.

Might as well vent with my mouth since I'd lose everything anyway. I blabbered at him.

"Let that kid go."

"Or what?"

-Crunch...

Yung started squeezing Mikhail's neck hard.

Mikhail writhed on the ground in agony, struggling to escape the man's grip.

He yelled at me,

"Run...!"

I picked my ear and replied,

"What're you saying? Where would I go ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without you."

"Run...!"

"No can do. Can't run."

I gave a small laugh and told the man radiating chill menace,

"We're already fucked."

If I was gonna run, I should've done it ages ago.

Tell me sooner if you were gonna say it. Don't make me look bad.

I slowly pointed the stick's end at the man.

I had to do my best now.

The outcome was obvious, but better than doing nothing.

And who was I? The possessor who turned impossible into possible.

A guy like me, who created variables, had a plan to turn this around in my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head.

Of course, it'd cost sacrifices.

I gripped the wooden stick tight and gathered my strength.

· · ·

Maybe the author called God made me a consumable for this very moment.

I mouthed silently to Mikhail,

It's okay.

I'll figure something out, like always.

I said curtly to the man,

"Let go of that hand. Last chance."

"Nah."

"Then no choice."

I kicked off the ground and charged.

I hung my life on the predetermined scale, praying it'd tip my way even a little.

*

The Archbishop of Greed, Yung, watched the boy punch with an intrigued smile.

Strange stance, thrusting fists. Seizing tiny openings to grab at his collar sharply.

He must've trained in martial arts since childhood; the kid wielded tricky techniques.

-Clang.

How could such power ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠come from that tiny body? Even Yung, who got it but didn't, chuckled softly at the boy.

Fun.

The boy's wooden stick had long since snapped.

One strike to his wrist.

Didn't expect him to target the wrist.

The boy swung the stick at the wrist pinning Mikhail down.

He'd thought a slum brat's attack would be a joke, but his judgment was way off.

-Got him...!

-?!

-Crack...!

The boy never intended ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the stick as a real weapon.

Just a tool to pry Mikhail free from him.

Yung smiled faintly and looked at Mikhail, gasping roughly.

"Huff... huff..."

Still needed time to recover. Good sign.

The brat fit perfectly into his planned scenario.

He wanted extreme despair.

"Eyes on me, you flirt."

-Crack...!

Yung smirked bitterly as he blocked the boy's fist.

His wrist throbbed from the kid's hit. First strike must've cracked bone; strength wouldn't enter his right hand. He gritted his teeth at the rising pain.

Fun.

He wanted to plant despair in the boy burning with spirit, fighting him.

More stimulus. Create future backlash.

Yung had always loved revenge as a thrill.

Didn't know why. Raised in a den of betrayal, maybe. But he enjoyed being hated.

It fueled him, filled his dark magic.

And he anticipated it.

Someday, someone coming for him: "My friend's killer..." only to die miserably. Nothing more entertaining.

Yung chuckled softly, plotting scenarios in his head.

For more despair. How to season it just right. He kept fighting the boy.

"Don't get any funny ideas…!"

First things first. End this.

-Stab.

Yung drew a small dagger from his waist and thrust it into the boy's shoulder.

Not deep—death would ruin it.

Still deciding the main course. The boy? Or this Mikhail?

Yung smiled faintly, clamped the boy's mouth, and said,

"Let's see how you taste first."

The moment black magic tried to burrow into Ricardo's mind.

-Crackle.

Agonizing pain overwhelmed Yung.