The old man had retreated, his hands shaking from nervousness. Zeno tilted his head, observing the intruder. Aside from his clown mask, he was dressed in casual clothing. Zeno then noticed something glinting from the man’s chest pocket—a small, shiny pocket knife that made Zeno’s eyes narrow.
“Are you deaf?” he exclaimed. “I said, give me the money.”
“Y—young man,” the owner stammered. “Please calm down.”
It was obvious that he was fearful. Zeno, on the other hand, felt not even a sliver of nerves.
“This is a coin laundry shop,” Zeno began. “Unless you want to stand there and wait for the owner to retrieve the coins from each machine, then please stay. Oh, and I doubt you can run fast from the cops with the coins clinking in your pockets.”
“Or do you want to steal one of my pillow covers to carry them effortlessly?” he asked teasingly.
The clown’s frustration was evident in his body language. As expected, he retrieved the weapon from his pocket, pointing it at the two of them.
“I’m not joking here.” He aimed the knife at the tip jar, where Zeno had just heftily deposited some money. “Give me that jar.”
Zeno frowned this time. The old man glanced at him. “Just give it to him.”
However, Zeno was having none of it. It wasn’t about the money’s value; he simply disliked the idea of it falling into the hands of someone so pathetic.
Zeno looked the intruder over, from head to toe. “You look pretty healthy to me. Why don’t you do some hard labor? Should you really be stealing? What a pathetic thing to do.”
Zeno knew he was escalating the situation, but somehow, he found it enjoyable. The clown was visibly shaking now, the teeth of the mask chattering against each other.
“Just give it, Zeno,” the old man whispered, but Zeno held onto the tip jar for life.
“Ah, really. This is annoying,” the clown exclaimed, and without any warning, jabbed at Zeno with the knife.
Zeno clicked his tongue and moved to the side before grabbing his wrist and hitting his elbow to make his extremity bend.
The knife fell to the ground and Zeno kicked it efficiently under the laundry machines.
The clown visibly froze, and even though his eyes couldn’t be seen, Zeno could feel his fear. He was significantly weaker than Zeno.
With that, the clown scrambled to get the tip jar. He managed to hold onto it, but Zeno placed his hand over his, not letting go.
The old man had already called the police while the two of them continued to fight.
The jar teetered in their grip, shaking violently between them.
Zeno’s jaw clenched. “Let go,” he hissed.
The clown shook his head. “Make me,” he said, sounding desperate.
With a sudden jerk, the clown slammed the jar down. The crash echoed through the laundry shop—coins and crumpled bills burst into the air as the jar shattered into jagged shards. They scattered like confetti across the floor.
“Damn it!” Zeno growled, diving for the spilled money.
But the clown was quicker, lunging low to scoop the cash with both hands. Zeno’s fist shot out and caught the fabric of the clown’s oversized collar, yanking it tight around his neck. The clown gasped, flailing as Zeno dragged him back with iron grip. He gasped for air he clawed at the collar, legs kicking against the floor, as the money fell back down.
“You greedy little freak,” Zeno muttered, tightening his grip.
“Zeno, let go. Stop it right now,” the old man exclaimed, hobbling over from behind the counter.
But before the old man could get closer, the clown swiped a chunk of glass from the floor and thrust it toward him. “Back off, grandpa. Unless you want a new smile.”
Zeno clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. He loosened his grip on the collar and stepped toward the clown. “Don’t you dare—”
But the clown moved first, slamming both palms into Zeno’s chest. The force sent Zeno stumbling backward, his heel catching on an overturned chair.
What the heck was it doing here?
He lost his balance—and then he fell.
Face first on the glass of shards and money.
The clown froze, and the old man gasped in shock. “Shit,” the clown muttered and ran from the laundry shop, unable to grab any money.
Zeno, on the other hand, turned on his back, glancing at the old man, whose color had drained from his face.
The sight before him was diabolical.
“Blood,” the old man muttered. “Y—you’re bleeding! On multiple areas!”
“Did that clown get any money?”
The old man couldn’t believe it. How could Zeno even think of this at that moment?
Zeno finally glanced at his chest and found multiple glass shards on his body, with two particularly problematic ones. It was the base of the glass jar, and they held up pretty well.
One was on his abdomen while the other was to his chest, right at his heart.
Then, he glared at the chair behind him. He swore it wasn’t there when he first came in.
His mission was almost over, but he couldn’t stay away from danger.
Then, without any warning, the Pain Trial came, making him scream in pain.
[Stabbed by glass shards. Unnecessary bleeding noted.]
[Pain Trial initiated. Duration: 3 minutes]
[Countdown: 2:59]
Zeno couldn’t help it. He crouched like a baby. The old man’s eyes widened. “Oh goodness. You’re dying. You’re really dying.”
Just then, his friends came into the laundry shop, looking at Zeno with wide eyes filled with horror.
“Zeno!” Minji exclaimed.
Zeno, however, couldn’t hear their voices properly. It wasn’t the pain of his wound. That was actually very bearable. It was the freaking Pain Trial!
It made him want to curse out loud but he couldn’t even do that.
Before he knew it, his vision blurred.
Doha cried at his feet. “Zeno, don’t leave us!”
“Zeno, please hang in there.”
“Eli, do something. You’re a doctor!”
“I haven’t graduated yet,” he shakily said while looking at his friend.
And just like that, Zeno’s eyes finally closed.