Chapter 79
Lucas found himself back on Earth, sitting at his desk in the evening light while an employee stood in front of him, crying.
The man pleaded desperately not to lose his job, promising over and over that he would try harder.
For Lucas, none of this made sense.
He had died.
How could he be back in time?
He closed his eyes, trying to piece together what had just happened.
He remembered standing in front of the demon.
She had touched him, and then everything went dark.
Did that mean this was an illusion? If it was, he should still be able to feel his mana.
But right now, he couldn't sense anything. He tried harder, pushing himself, until suddenly a sharp pain exploded on his cheek.
His eyes flew open.
The man was shouting right in his face. "You think my suffering is funny, huh? Screw you! If you think for a mom—"
Before he could finish, his fist connected with Lucas's face, knocking him to the floor. Lucas slowly stood up from behind his overturned table.
The man's nose was bleeding.
"If this is an illusion," Lucas thought, wiping his own blood, "then it's a powerful one." He looked directly at the man.
"You attacked me first, so don't bother wasting our time with the company. We'll destroy you. And second—you're fired. Get out of this building. You're worthless to this company. If you had any value, this never would have happened. You're weak, so you got what you deserved."
The man stared at Lucas with burning anger, but after a moment, he stood up and walked out of the office. Lucas was left alone with his thoughts.
"If this is my life now, maybe I should just live it. But I hate leaving my mom behind there. I don't know how to get back. Maybe everything was just a dream... maybe. But it doesn't matter. I'll find out soon enough."
Lucas walked to the window nearby and caught his reflection. The man looking back wasn't lean or skinny.
He had a well-kept beard that matched his black hair, and his eyes seemed to glow red.
"I look nothing like myself," Lucas laughed quietly. He gazed down at the city spread out below him.
A moment later, someone entered his office—a strikingly beautiful woman who served as secretary to the building's boss.
"Mr. Cain is calling you," she said simply, then left.
Lucas nodded and followed her. When they reached the boss's office, he stepped inside.
Cain immediately started complaining about Lucas punching that idiot employee. Lucas assured him not to worry—he had everything under control.
"Hmph. If this comes back to bite me, you're fired," Cain warned.
Lucas chuckled. "You won't hear another word about it." He knew it would work out. That guy had thrown the first punch, so no matter what he did, Lucas had plenty of ways to handle this.
He finished his work for the day and stopped by the window again, watching cars drift through the streets below.
He remembered this night so clearly. He remembered what he had done on this night before.
This was the night he had been fired. The night he had been killed.
It was a beautiful evening. And because he had given that guy a good reason not to report the small fight, nothing really happened this time.
He wasn't fired. And he wasn't going to die.
That meant he wouldn't be going back.
Why had Lucas done things this way?
For one simple reason: you play the cards you're given. Nobody knows the future. Nobody knows anything. Everyone just guesses their way through life.
It's just that some people's guesses seem heavier than others. But the truth is, we're all clueless.
And if it weren't for the hardships that had changed him back then, he never would have handled things this way.
Lucas smiled and walked toward the parking garage.
With a single step, everything around him changed.
He was surrounded by black—an endless space with no beginning and no end.
His body shifted back to its true form: a sixteen-year-old boy with white hair and blue eyes.
"What was all of that?" Lucas murmured, confused. He looked around and saw nothing but darkness. He sighed and started walking.
Time passed. He wasn't sure how much, but he knew it was moving as he kept walking through that empty space.
Days passed, More days, He kept moving.
There was nothing to eat, so hunger began to consume him. After three weeks, he collapsed.
He woke up, still starving. His body had become thin, almost without fat. He kept moving, collapsing three to five times a day.
Lucas knew a day had passed because he counted every second.
A month went by. Honestly, by this point, Lucas was walking, thinking, and collapsing on pure willpower alone.
He didn't waste a moment—he just focused on counting and moving.
Even in sleep, he kept counting.
But eventually, his body reached its limit. His heart stopped beating, yet he was still alive.
He felt the pain of every organ eating itself. He felt the agony of seeing no color for months.
Months later, only his skeleton remained. The endless dark. The feeling that he had no mind, no blood, no muscle, no heart.
It tormented him.
But he kept counting. Because that was the only thing he could remember. The only thing he could do.