It had already been two days since Max crawled out of that hellish experience.
Two days since he’d stood in that basent, hands shaking, watching monsters in doctor coats and a devil in a nurse’s uniform carve into the sa poor bastard over and over again—only for Max to stitch him back together like so cursed repair tool. Twice. Whether the guy survived in the long run or not... Max honestly didn’t want to know anymore.
He was done caring.
All he wanted now was out.
Out of the hospital.
Out of Diaza’s reach.
Out before she decided he’d be useful for one more organ.
The worst part? He’d learned too much. In just those two days, he’d figured out how to regrow more than kidneys—lungs, pancreas, liver. The knowledge sat heavy in his head, like a loaded weapon he never asked for.
’Doesn’t matter,’ Max thought as he shoved his things into a bag. ’I don’t need to know anymore.’
He pulled on the clothes his grandmother had brought from ho the day before—stiff, cheap, but clean—and walked out of the hospital without telling a single soul. No goodbyes. No paperwork. No permission.
He didn’t need it.
He’d already healed himself with the runes he’d learned. The cuts, the aches, even the lingering fatigue—gone. The body rembered how to function. The mind... well, that would take longer.
Stepping outside, Max stopped and took a deep breath.
Fresh air. Real air. Not recycled antiseptic and iron.
"Finally..." he muttered, a crooked smirk creeping onto his face. "Now I can start my new life."
He stretched, shoulders loosening for the first ti in days.
"A life filled with trouble... power... and yeah," he added under his breath, grin widening, "probably pussy."
He was new to this world, sure—but walking through it, Max realized it wasn’t all that different from the one he’d left behind.
From the old Max’s mories, he figured out which bus to take and boarded without much thought, blending in like he’d done this a thousand tis before.
At least that part of life hadn’t changed.
Thanks to Diaza—who he absolutely did not want to have anything to do with ever again—he had money. Real money. She’d handed it to him like a tip, a reward for services rendered, probably assuming she’d see him again sooner or later.
probably assuming this was the start of a long, mutually beneficial relationship.
Cute.
He checked the amount once the bus started moving.
His eyebrow twitched.
...Oh.
That was a lot.
Like a lot a lot.
Enough to cover nearly two months of inco for his entire household. Three working adults. Combined. The kind of money that made you briefly reconsider all your life choices and then imdiately reject most of them.
Five thousand credits.
Max was honestly pretty happy holding that much money—even if it technically ant he’d agreed, on paper and probably spiritually, to cooperate with an organ trafficking ring.
Details.
He rolled the credit chips around in his palm. Shiny, finger-sized tal bars, barely half a centiter thick, catching the light just right. For a kid his age—especially one from his neighborhood—this was serious money. The kind that made adults lie to themselves and kids dream irresponsibly.
And Max?
Max was already planning how to turn it into more.
But first things first—he marched straight into a store and bought himself this world’s version of a smartphone. Priorities mattered. You couldn’t conquer a new life without internet access, illegal magic research, and a private browser tab.
As he walked out with his new purchase, a thought tried to poke holes in his conscience.
’Should I really keep doing this kind of thing?’
Max shrugged internally.
’It’s not like I’m killing anyone,’ he reasoned. ’I’m just... regrowing organs. They take one, I grow a new one. In and out. Fair trade.’
Basically like plucking a fruit and letting the plant grow another.
Sure, the "plant" was human in this case—but hey, when survival and profit were on the line, details had a habit of becoming negotiable.
Setting that ethical debate aside, the phone he’d bought was absurdly impressive. It was leagues ahead of anything from his old world, like technology had taken one look at smartphones and decided they weren’t doing nearly enough.
For just a few hundred credits, he’d gotten a sleek device with a holographic display, a tiny drone cara, and a handful of extra gimmicks he didn’t fully understand yet—but absolutely planned to abuse later. Technology really thrived when mixed with magic and questionable ethics.
Satisfied, Max finally headed ho.
The closer he got, the more his mood dipped.
He stopped at the edge of the street and looked up at the building waiting for him—a worn-out, ten-story concrete block leaning just a little too close to a cliff that dropped several ters straight down. The kind of place that made you wonder whether gravity or neglect would win first.
And of course, he lived at the top.
Right on the terrace.
One tiny room. One tiny bathroom. No insulation worth ntioning. A family of five had lived up there just a few months ago—before things started "improving."
Improving, in this case, ant his stepsister Karina awakening magic talent and leaving for the academy, while his older stepsister Selene packed up and moved to another city for work.
Now the apartnt had only three people left living in it—his step-grandmother, his stepmother... and Max.
Not that he had much of a choice. Sure, he technically had more money on him than the rest of the household combined, but being barely an adult didn’t magically unlock life privileges. He still couldn’t rent a place on his own, and—tragically—school was still mandatory. Society was very strict about that part.
Thinking about all that, he stepped inside.
Annalisa was sprawled on the bed, lazily watching sothing on her phone, while Zerena sat hunched over the worktable, surrounded by paperwork and clutter like she was trying to intimidate it into becoming organized. The room was a ss, but at least it was a familiar one.
Both won looked up when they saw him.
"You’re discharged already?" Zerena asked, surprised.
Max nodded and set the few things he’d brought from the hospital down near the wall.
That was it.
Neither of them asked another question. No "you should’ve called," no "we could’ve co." Just silence, like he’d gone out to buy groceries instead of nearly dying. Max noticed, of course—but he let it slide. There’d be plenty of ti to be angry later—plenty of ti for apologies, which he would be receiving in blowjobs if his plan worked alright.
For now, though, he had more practical problems to deal with.Naly: money.
And to get money, he needed ti.
Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.
"So, aunty..."
That alone was enough to make Annalisa pause her video and glance at him, already annoyed.
"Speak," she said. "And if you’re about to ask for money, don’t. I don’t have any."
"Well... it’s not that," Max replied, looking down for a mont.
Then he added, quietly, like he was confessing a minor cri,
"I don’t want to go to school anymore."
"Fine," Zerena said, waving a hand dismissively. "That’ll at least save us the money we spend on your clothes and books..."
Max shot her an annoyed look.
’What money?’ He’d been surviving on his stepsisters’ hand--downs his entire life. Half his wardrobe had already completed two successful careers before being reassigned to him like so underfunded family recycling initiative. Honestly, it was a minor miracle they hadn’t upgraded him to skirts yet.
"But don’t think you’re going to rot here all day," Zerena continued, eyeing him sharply. "The mont you turn nineteen, you’re out."
"Yeah," Max replied quickly, nodding. "That’s why I was thinking of starting to work. You know... pitch in for rent."
He tried to sound calm. Reasonable. Definitely-not-panicking-inside.
Sure, he didn’t know how they’d react—but it should be fine. This was normal stuff. Regular adult problems.
It’s not like they were organ traffickers or anything.
...Right?
And sohow—sohow—he even managed to make both won smile.
That was new. Slightly terrifying, honestly.
"Good," Zerena said with a nod. "Then what are you still doing here? Work isn’t going to co knocking on the door for you."
Annalisa waved a hand dismissively and went right back to her phone, clearly done with the conversation.
Max stared at them for a second.
’At least ask how my leg is, damn it...’
Swallowing that thought, he rummaged through the bag and pulled out a few fruits.
"I was thinking of going tomorrow," he said casually. "I need so rest first. The hospital sent back with these."
He held them out. "Here—have so, aunty... aunty."
That finally got Annalisa’s attention. She imdiately put her phone down—because if there was one thing she loved more than her screen, it was free food. Especially fruit.
Zerena barely glanced up.
"I’ll eat later," she said. "I need to finish these engravings before night."
Max’s eyes drifted to the small tal rods spread across the table. Zerena was carefully engraving runes into them, her movents precise and practiced. They looked like thin straws—too small to be weapons, too deliberate to be decoration.
So kind of mana equipnt, probably. What kind, he wasn’t sure.
But the runes themselves?
Those he recognized.
Cold-aspected. Simple, efficient, ant to suppress or stabilize temperature.
Back then, he’d always been curious about her work—but he’d never asked. Experience had taught him that questions usually ca with yelling attached.
Now, though?
Now he had ideas.
"So," Max said casually, tilting his head toward the table, "those are temperature seals you’re carving, right?"
Zerena’s engraving hand paused—just for a mont.
Max hid his smile.
’Got you.’
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