Free Web NovelChapter 158: Nicolas Frey
Inside the realm, Cael and Junior were still adjusting to the dense mana.
The mana still pressed against their skin. The gravity still weighed on their limbs.
Junior was still pale, but at least now he could breathe without feeling like his lungs were being crushed.
Then Cael felt it.
A heaviness behind his eyes. A dull fog was settling over his thoughts.
’Sleepy.’
He hadn’t slept for more than a day. The walk from Rainfall Forest to District Usha. Breaking the Sealing Formation, descent into the realm.
All of it had kept him going non-stop. But now, with nothing left to do but wait, exhaustion was catching up.
He turned to his clones, and he spoke.
"Stay guard, wake me if anything happens."
The Frostflame and Black Lightning Clones nodded.
Cael looked around for a place to rest. Then he found a tree branch that was good enough for him to sleep on, and the leaves above formed a natural canopy.
He sat down and leaned on the tree trunk.
The wind passed over his face, fluttering his long silver hair. It was gentle and warm. It felt like a mother’s embrace.
It made him recall his mother back on earth.
’Strange, why am I recalling her?’
She had abandoned him. Left him in an orphanage without looking back.
His eyes grew heavy.
The wind continued to blow, carrying the scent of unknown flowers. The leaves rustled above him, a soft lullaby.
Cael drifted into sleep.
...
-Beep.
-Beep.
An annoying, persistent sound drilled into my skull.
I tried to ignore it. Tried to sink back into the darkness where there was no noise, no light, no anything.
But the beeping didn’t stop. It just kept going, steady and relentless, like a metronome counting down the seconds of my miserable existence.
I opened my eyes.
White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic and dried flowers.
My body felt heavy and disconnected, as if someone else’s limbs were attached to my shoulders.
I turned my head slowly, taking in the room. Curtains. A window with the blinds half drawn. A chair in the corner.
And beside my bed, a machine with a green line jumping up and down in time with the beeping.
Heart monitor.
Right. That’s what that sound was.
A hospital. I was in a hospital.
’What am I doing here?’
I tried to remember. The last thing I recalled was water and... a woman with white hair and red eyes is pushing me into the river.
’That bitch.’
The door creaked open.
A nurse walked in, carrying a clipboard. She glanced up, and her eyes widened when she saw me staring at the ceiling.
"You’re awake!"
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and hurried out of the room, her shoes squeaking against the floor.
I heard her voice echo down the hallway.
"Doctor, he’s awake!"
I closed my eyes again.
’Great. More people.’
...
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
A man in a white coat stepped inside, followed by the nurse. He had gray hair and tired eyes, the kind of eyes that had seen too many patients and not enough weekends.
"Good morning," he said, pulling a small penlight from his pocket.
"How are you feeling?"
"Alright, I guess."
Hearing that, the doctor just nodded and shone the light into my eyes, one after the other. freewebnovёl.ƈom
"Any dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision?"
"No."
"Headache?"
"I’m fine."
He clicked off the light and made a note on his clipboard.
"You’re lucky. A passerby saw you fall into the river and called for help. If they’d been a few minutes later..."
He didn’t finish the sentence.
I didn’t need him to.
’Fell into the river?’
Right. That’s what they thought.
I could have told him the truth. Could have told him about the woman with white hair and red eyes who pushed me.
But what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t undo the medical bills that were probably already piling up.
The doctor asked,
"Do you remember your name?"
I paused.
Not because I had forgotten. But the question felt strange. Like being asked to prove I was real.
"My name is..."
I hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"...Nicolas Frey."
The doctor nodded and wrote something down.
"Any family we should contact?"
"No."
After a few more check-ups, he just told me to rest and left the room with the nurse.
I stared at the ceiling.
’Nicolas Frey.’
That was me. Twenty-two years old. Orphan. Office worker.
A man with no purpose, no dreams, living solely because... to find a reason to live.
...
The reception hall was cold.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The floor was polished white tile, so clean I could see my own reflection staring back at me.
My face was pale and tired. I looked pathetic.
I stood at the counter while the receptionist typed something into her computer.
Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately, as if she wanted me to savour every moment of my financial ruin.
Finally, she turned the screen toward me.
"Your total comes to..."
I looked at the number.
’There goes all my saved-up money.’
I didn’t sigh. I didn’t curse. I just pulled out my card and swiped it.
What was the point of complaining? It wasn’t like the hospital would accept "a mysterious woman pushed me into the river" as a valid insurance claim.
After all, I don’t know that woman’s name or face; for all I knew, she might be cosplaying.
I took the receipt, shoved it into my pocket, and turned toward the exit.
"Wait!"
The voice stopped me.
I turned around and... I saw her.
White hair. Red eyes.
She wore a black-and-white shirt tucked into dark pants, and her high heels clicked against the tile floor with every step.
She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover, not in a hospital reception hall. Early twenties, maybe.
People stared at her.
Of course, they stared. White hair and red eyes weren’t exactly common.
But she didn’t seem to care. She walked through the crowd like they were furniture, her gaze fixed on me.
Then my brain caught up.
’Isn’t she the one who pushed me?’
The nerve.
The absolute nerve of this woman.
She tried to kill me, and now she was walking toward me as if nothing had happened.
I felt something hot rise in my chest. Anger? No. Not anger.
Opportunity.
If I played this right, I could sue her. Medical bills. Emotional distress. Lost wages.
If I got even a fraction of what I was owed, maybe a million dollars, maybe more, then my life would be settled.
No more worrying about rent. No more counting pennies.
I waited until she stood before me.
She was shorter than I remembered. Or maybe I remembered wrong. Either way, I had to look down to meet her eyes.
"I am very truly sorry; I was drunk last night."
I was caught off guard.
Not by her words. But by her smile.
A guilty smile. Apologetic. Embarrassed. The kind of smile that made you want to forgive someone even before they finished explaining.
’Damn it.’
My lonely heart took a blow.
I had spent years building walls. Years convincing myself that I didn’t need anyone, that love was a lie, that trust was a weakness.
And this woman, this stranger who had tried to kill me, was tearing through those walls with nothing but a smile.
I steeled myself as I said, my voice flat,
"Sorry won’t do, you need to compensate me."
Her guilty smile vanished. For a moment, I thought she might argue. Might make excuses. Might run away.
Then she smiled again. A relieved smile. A grateful smile, then she said,
"Sure, how much do you need me to pay?"
I took a small breath as I raised one finger.
I wanted to say a million. That was enough. That was more than enough. That would change everything.
Before I could part my lips, she spoke.
"One billion, sure."
...
I walked home in a daze.
No cab. The apartment was close, and I needed air. But my eyes stayed glued to my mobile screen.
One billion dollars. The number hadn’t changed. Hadn’t faded. Hadn’t turned into a cruel joke.
That girl, she transferred the money without hesitation. Without bargaining. Like she was paying for coffee.
My anger vanished. Replaced by gratefulness.
Call me a hypocrite. I don’t care.
She changed my life.
A few hours later, I stood in front of my new house. It was three floors of solid walls and wide windows.
I felt happy.
"Why are you here?"
I turned and saw the white-haired girl again. She stood in my doorway, dressed in a simple sweater and jeans.
Before I could speak, she looked at my new house and said,
"Oh, you bought this house? What a coincidence."
She pointed to the building next door.
"That’s my house. I guess we’re neighbors now."
