Cancelled Plans & A Whim

It was the day before Christmas, and I found myself working tirelessly, trying my best to protect my neck from danger.

Quentin was filled with holiday cheer, donning a Santa hat and a fake beard that swung loosely from his neck. His red, Christmas tree-adorned shirt added to the festive ambiance.

"Doesn't this make you feel the holiday spirits?" he inquired, his halberd charging forward, stabbing a few falling snowflakes in its path.

'Yes, indeed. What a jolly time I'm having,' I thought sarcastically, blocking his strike.

That's right, you didn't hear incorrectly. it was the day before Christmas — motherfucking Christmas.

The world here had its own uniqueness because it was a fantasy world after all, but some holidays were mere ripoffs of those on Earth or direct copies. For example Christmas, April Fools, Lunar New Year, Easter, and Valentine's Day.

The terrible author rarely bothered to invent original festivities for his world, only doing so for expositional purposes or to justify the characters' group gatherings aka his main character having a fun time with his harem of women.

A little better at reading movements and allowing my body to react instinctively to the reads I made, Quentin had gotten faster over time to accommodate my growth. About fifty percent quicker than his original speed.

"Great. Keep going. Keep moving that body," he encouraged, stabbing his halberd forward.

I evaded the strike, but the axe part of his weapon quickly aimed at my shoulder. In a swift move, I raised my sword, pressing my palm against its flat side for added cushioning. The halberd struck my blade, and I slid away from the force.

A few feet away from where I stood, before I could recalibrate myself, Quentin was already on me again, his halberd descending from above.

I rolled out of harm's way and got up on one knee just in time to barely block his next strike.

The force almost knocked me down, leaving my arms feeling like they might detach from my body.

Expecting another blow to press me down to the ground like a squashed pancake, surprisingly, Quentin halted his attack, sporting a satisfied look.

Well, it seemed satisfying to me. The shades that he refuses to take off made it hard to be certain.

He offered his hand, and I grasped it. He pulled me back to my feet.

"Good work today, Bell," he complimented as he stowed the wooden weapons into his giant bag.

"But it's only…" I glanced at the sky to gauge the time based on the location of the Sun, "like two or three."

"You don't want to stop early?" he asked, grabbing a stashed weapon from his bag and beginning to pull it back out.

"No, no, no," I shook my head. "I was just confused about why we were doing so."

Quentin made a face as if my question was too obvious to bother answering.

"It's Christmas," he chuckled. "Do you think I'm so heartless that I wouldn't let my student spend the precious holiday season with his family?"

'Honestly… yes.'

"Head on home, Bell. Tell your brother I said 'Happy holiday,' and make sure to practice your sword and spear even without my presence. Our lessons will resume five days from now and if you haven't improved by then, be prepared," he warned me.

"Five days? Isn't that a bit long?" I asked, surprised that he would take such a break in between our training.

I still recalled vividly that he refused to train me once the second semester begins because we couldn't meet up daily for training.

"Yeah, I don't like it either, but… some issues came up. Don't worry. I'll quickly take care of it, then we can resume our training. Next time, we're going to spend an hour learning how to shoot a bow," he said. "It's time for you to learn how to use every weapon in this bag I have here."

That felt like a red flag. Everything he said right there felt like a red flag.

'Is he going to die or come back handicapped like one of those masters from the novels where they can only train their students with their words and not their body?' I pondered.

"See you then," he smiled, waving at me.

"See…" he vanished in a festive holiday blur before I could finish my sentence, "…you then."

A gust of wind and dust blew against my body.

I exhaled and a large fog formed from the cold began to slowly dissipate.

"He's indeed an enigma," I muttered to myself. "In like the wind and out like the wind. How in the world does my brother even know him?"

I stood for a moment, wondering about Quentin's business and the potential consequences of the red flags he planted on himself.

"Whatever," I shrugged.

'It's none of my business.'

Diana had also told me she didn't need blood for the holiday, as she had drunk extra during our last session.

I was now certain she had been lying about her blood requirements, but it wasn't like I could reverse time and prevent her from drinking my blood over a hundred times, the requirement for the connection.

At this point, I figured it was best to indulge her desires and pretend I'm unaware of her lies because the more blood she drinks, the stronger she'll continue to grow.

I had also been using my mana training technique diligently since the day I arrived in this world so now, my mana reserve was abundant.

I'll eventually need Diana's help to defeat some of the villains from the novel.

Heading home earlier than usual, I decided to stop by a place the original Bell used to frequent before I inhabited his body.

It was a club where trust fund kids aka spoiled second-generation rich bastards such as myself gathered.

Why was I there?

I couldn't say for sure. Perhaps I was drawn by the memories from my head every time I passed the club while driving.

"Hey, show me your—" one bouncer began to say.

"Are you stupid?" another bouncer interjected, smacking his colleague on the back of the neck. "Sorry about him. He's new on the job, and... he's not really up-to-date with the internet."

"That's alright," I said as I walked in.

Behind me, I overheard their whispers with my keen ears.

"What'd you smack me for? I was just asking for his ID like we're paid to do. He's clearly underage."

"Are you stupid? That's Bell Agnus. There's no club in this city where needs to show his ID. If he reports us to the boss for that stupid mishap of yours, we're fired."

"Really? Shit. Thanks."

"No problem bozo," the bouncer clicked his tongue. "Just make sure to remember his face next time and don't give him any trouble. Both of us are too broke to be losing out jobs over some bullshit."

Disappointed by the corruption around me, I shook my head. I understood that I was the one receiving the benefits of said corruption but the fact remained that an underage kid was allowed to enter this club where illegal activities and transactions commonly occurred.

"Oh shit... is that Bell? What are you doing here?" a familiar face greeted me.

"I don't even know myself to be honest. I just somehow ended up back here," I responded.

"Well, shit. Good to see you, man. Want a drink? On me."

I declined the offer, "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Alright, if you say so. Just let me know if you change your mind. I'mma get back to my people. See you around."

"Yep. See you."

The person who greeted me was a man in his 20s, a CEO of a rapidly growing company. It was evident from our conversation that he viewed himself as beneath me, as he displayed humble body language and spoke with a soft tone despite the age gap.

'Money, power, and status over everything.'

I stopped for a second to observe the dance floor. The people here, partying early in the day, made me wonder if they lacked family to celebrate Christmas with or if they were simply degenerates seeking pleasure during their days off.

It was likely the latter.

The music was loud. The lights were bright. The smell was unbearable but the people looked like they were having a fun time.

I leaned over the fence and continued watching quietly, taking note of a few suspicious movements here and there. Drugs were being sold in that large crowd.

'Why am I here?' I questioned myself.

The original Bell was a good kid. He only came here when his friends invited him, never indulging in alcohol or drugs like the others.

He just spent his time chatting, befriending new people he met, then would head back home sober with his body still pure.

Again, the only wrongdoing in his life was the sexual assault incident which was the doing of the writer.

I couldn't help but wonder if my visit to the club was similar to the time when the giant eyeball appeared at the academy. Back then, I found it amusing to witness the world's bewildered reactions to something beyond the realm of ordinary experiences, something that couldn't be adequately described through simple words in a novel.

Perhaps, on some level, I was drawn to this club to witness another aspect of life that the novel had overlooked — a world too mature for the author's casual slice-of-life focus.

The shitty god wrote mostly about students so he probably never felt it was appropriate to ruin the campy school vibes with clubbing and drugs; by the time they were adults, the war had begun and survival was all that really mattered.

'But you're willing to include sexual assaults on your characters. Twice even,' I thought, casting a judgmental gaze upwards.

'Once by me and the other time by that bastard.'

The novel's tone was inconsistent, swinging between light where it mostly stayed, and sometimes extremely dark, depending on the author's whims.

But it never remained dark for too long, bouncing back to the light which made the dark feel like it was pushed to the side.

Just as I was about to leave, as if the universe was intervening to help me justify my reason for entering the club on a whim, I noticed a familiar face in the crowd.

It was my cousin, Jaren.

I approached him, pulling him away from a dance where a girl was grinding on him, and he looked at me with annoyance.

"What the hell, man? What's your problem?" he asked, clearly intoxicated.

As he stared at my face, he surprised me by reaching out and grabbing it with both hands. In an unusual and almost surreal display, he started using his palms to trace and mold an image of my face in the air.

It was as if he was employing some kind of echolocation technique, but instead of sound waves, he used his hands to feel the contours of my features, recreating my face as if he were sculpting it out of thin air.

Satisfied, he said, "Oh hey. Sup cuzzo. Fuck you doing out here in this shithole?"

Ignoring his brashness as usual, I inquired, "Jaren, forget what I'm doing here. At least this is in my city. The question is why are you here? Shouldn't you be at home with your family for Christmas?"

"Mane... they kicked me out," he slurred.

"What? Why?"

"It's your fault I got kicked out," he accused, burping.

Avoiding the burp by turning my head, I asked, "What are you talking about, my fault?"

"My fault."

"Wait, your fault?" I asked, confused.

"No my fault as in, my fault. That came off wrong. Not my fault as in it's my fault because it isn't my fault. It's your fault. Well, it's not all your fault. It's just your fam in general," he clarified.

"What... the fuck are you talking about? Come on. Speak up and answer the question," I urged, rolling my eyes.

"My fault."

"Jaren."

"Hehe," he chuckled. "My bad. It's that new child your parents decided to adopt."

"...Eloise?"

"Yeah. Whatever her name is. My new cuz."

"...What about her?"

"My parents were inspired by the new member of your family, so for Christmas, they told me not to go home," he explained, shaking his head.

Realization struck me after a few seconds of confusion.

"I see. But why are you here and not in your city?" I asked.

"I was just about to ask you that. Why am I here?" he questioned, burping again. He looked around his surroundings, wondering the same thing I was wondering.

Grabbing his wrist, I began to guide him out of the club.

"Where we going?" he asked. He made sure to gesture to the girl who was dancing with him earlier to call him using a telephone gesture.

Pulling him out of the club, ignoring the two bouncers who were on their best behavior around me, I handed Jaren a healing potion, which sobered him up quickly.

"Do you remember why you're here now?" I inquired.

"Oh yeah," he said, smacking his hands together in a moment of realization. "I heard from one of my homies who live here that your city has this new drug being passed around. Some really strong shit you snort," he responded.

"Drug? Wait... you're still doing drugs?" I asked, feeling disappointed.

"Nah fam. Hell no. I ain't tryna get my bank account locked again. No sir, no," he shook his head, refusing to be broke ever again.

"Then why are you even here in this city for the drug if not to use the new drug?" I asked.

"Cause I was trying to find out who's making it," he replied.

"Why do you care?"

"My homie, the one that told me, his sister overdosed on that shit. Yeah. She dead cuh. I'm tryna catch the motherfucker making these drugs, and I'mma finna throw a kunai at they head," he declared.

"Any clues on who's doing it?" I asked.

"Yeah. My homie said that they live at the southside," he answered. "They go by the name of Rascal Blue or some shit like dat."

"...Southside. Rascal Blue," I muttered, realizing who the person making the drug was. It was the same person who brewed the concoction that cured Gon's rusty form which I copied when I first bought the sword.

The novel did mention that she made money selling potions and concoctions in order to afford the academy's tuition, but I didn't know she was also producing and selling drugs.

'The more you know.'