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"I didn't expect my hair to turn white overnight either," Max chuckled, twirling a lock of his snowy hair. "I guess that's what burnout looks like. The price of ambition."
He kept his tone light, but Jasmine wasn't laughing.
She was gripping her stainless steel spoon so hard her knuckles were white.
SNAP.
The spoon bent in half, the metal groaning in protest. Then, with a final CRACK, it snapped cleanly into two pieces.
The table went silent.
Max stared at the broken spoon. The vendor stared at the broken spoon. A couple at the next table stared at the broken spoon.
"Oops," Jasmine muttered. She looked genuinely embarrassed, hiding the debris under her napkin.
Max felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. It wasn't fear (though maybe it should have been). It was gratitude. She was angry for him. She hated that he had suffered.
"Don't worry about the spoon," Max said softly. "But compared to my boring desk job... what about you? What have you been doing for eight years? You mentioned the army?"
Jasmine didn't answer immediately. She reached across the table and grabbed Max's half-finished cola. Disregarding the "indirect kiss" trope entirely, she chugged it down in one go, like a veteran downing a shot of whiskey to numb a bad memory.
She slammed the empty can down.
"Eight years," she sighed. "It's a long story."
She leaned back, crossing her arms.
"You know how it is. No degree, no future. Without that money you gave me, I would have ended up in a factory, screwing bolts until my hands fell off. Or worse."
Her eyes darkened for a moment, remembering the life she had escaped.
"I used that 20,000 yuan—uh, 3,000 dollars—wisely. I worked part-time, studied at night. I retook the entrance exams. I wasn't smart enough for a top university, but I got into a vocational college."
She shrugged. "But sitting in a classroom wasn't for me. I had too much... energy. Too much anger."
She flexed her hand, the muscles in her forearm rippling.
"So, I enlisted. The Army. Infantry. I figured if I was going to be angry, I might as well get paid to channel it."
"Five years," she continued. "I did five years. My squad leader wanted me to stay for twenty. Said I was a 'natural born killer.' But I couldn't do it. The military... it wears you down. You start to lose pieces of yourself."
She looked at Max, her gaze intense.
"I took my discharge pay and came here. To the big city. The land of opportunity. I wanted to start a business. Open a gym maybe. Or a security firm."
"And then," she grinned, the darkness vanishing. "I turned a corner and saw a white-haired emo kid buying barbecue."
Max laughed. "Emo kid? Ouch."
"I almost didn't say anything," Jasmine admitted. "I thought, 'No way that's Max. Max has black hair and looks like a nerd.' But... I had a feeling. Call it intuition."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"I'm glad I did. It's good to see you haven't forgotten me."
She looked him up and down.
In ancient stories, there are two ways to repay a life debt.
If the savior is handsome: "I have nothing to offer but myself. Take me."
If the savior is ugly: "I have nothing to offer but my labor. I will be your horse in the next life."
Jasmine wasn't usually superstitious. But looking at Max now?
He was 6'0". Lean but broad-shouldered. His white hair gave him a mysterious, edgy vibe that was weirdly attractive. His face was clean, sharp, and handsome in a rugged way.
And his aura...
Before, Max had been a soft, kind boy. Now? There was something dangerous about him. A faint, cool aggression that simmered beneath the surface. It was the Count of Monte Cristo template bleeding through.
He was like a naive little wolf pup that had grown into a Dire Wolf.
And Jasmine? She liked wolves.
At 6'6", dating was a nightmare. Most men were intimidated by her. They didn't want a girlfriend who could bench press them. They wanted a shrinking violet.
But Max? He didn't flinch when she broke the spoon. He wasn't scared. He treated her like... an equal. Or maybe even family.
Jasmine felt a predatory grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
He's handsome. He's single. He's rich (apparently). And I owe him my life.
The math was simple.
"You know," Jasmine purred, her voice dropping an octave. "Since I'm looking for a job... and you need protection..."
She reached out and poked his chest. It was solid.
"I'm expensive," she teased. "But for you? I might offer a family discount. Or maybe... a different kind of payment plan."
Max blinked, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere. "Payment plan? Like... stock options?"
Jasmine laughed. It was a loud, hearty sound that made heads turn.
"Sure, Max. Stock options. Let's go with that."
She stood up, towering over the table.
"Come on. You look like you're about to pass out again. Let's get you home. We can talk 'stock options' later."
No rush, Jasmine thought, watching him struggle to stand up with his food baby. Fishing takes patience. And I'm a very patient woman.
"By the way," Jasmine added, grabbing the tray of leftover skewers. "I'm finishing these. Protein is expensive."
Max smiled. "All yours."
As they walked out of the restaurant, Max felt safer than he had in weeks. Vanguard Games could send their lawyers. They could send their trolls.
He had a Valkyrie on his side.
And she worked for barbecue.
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