Bruh, How Do You Manage?...

Blinking my eyes open, I saw the girl's face hanging over me. She was slouched, half-asleep, and kind of cute in a way, but still—not my type.

Sitting up and sliding off her lap—thanks for letting me crash there, by the way—I yawned and glanced at the table. There were a few sandwiches left. She'd brought eight, and half were gone. She said I could have hers, but nah, I can't.

Don't get me wrong, I could devour those four right now, but it'd be unethical to munch down when she needs something to chew on when she wakes up. Besides, they taste like garbage. Seriously, how do you mess up a sandwich this badly?

Grabbing one despite the odds and the awful taste, I choked it down, barely managing to keep from bursting into tears over the sour dryness of it. My fridge is practically empty, so I had to suck it up. That was enough fuel to keep me going, or at least I hoped so.

. . . . .

A few hours later, she was still knocked out on the couch. I'd cleaned up everything except the rooms and even managed to get a workout in after a "claim."

Claimed a room on the right side of the hallway. Realistically, it was probably mine anyway, but since they were all empty except for one, I figured they were all mine now. Plundering what I could from the other rooms and my "roommates" (which I'd dealt with before chopping them up and tossing them in bags), I found gold coins.

So, they had currency, which is a solid confirmation that I'm in some sort of fantasy place. Makes sense given the magic dude in the courtyard and the odd land.

Not that I'm questioning it. Considering my sister shot me in the head and I killed a few kids yesterday, I doubt I'm in any position to complain. Though by some miracle, I got a second chance.

No, scratch that. This is more like a sick joke by the devil. I don't see God being on my side; I've... done more bad than good in my 25 years.

Still, I don't see myself as a bad guy.

This is probably hell for me, or something like it.

Either way, I'm not complaining. I'm alive, I guess?

But on that topic...

I have no clue where I am. The woman's asleep, so I can't ask her. And I'm not about to wake her up. She looked tired when she got here. Though I was worse off, I'm just doing what feels...

Nah, I'm just doing this because I don't like her.

Here are my three reasons:

She's probably 16. I don't like kids.She's a jittering mess.The thought of having her as my partner is stomach-churning.

So until she becomes useful, I'll keep her close, especially since I'm clueless about this school and the people around Marcus. Also, if she ends up betraying me, no promises I won't end her life. I treat everyone equally.

. . . . .

Snapping out of my thoughts, I locked the door to the room holding the bodies, key in hand. Then I headed to my room, opened the door, and came back to the living room. I carefully lifted the girl and carried her to my room, tucking her into bed for a good rest.

With that done, I left the dorm room. I needed information, so I was off to find some.

. . . . .

Leaving the dorm room—might as well call it an apartment since I'm living here—I walked down the hallway. As I reached the stairway, I heard a door open below. It was another student, so I slowed and listened in.

"Pricks, I'll make them pay one day."

The voice was squeaky and sounded like every nerd from every show ever. It brought a smile to my face.

Two options:

Threaten him into giving me the info I want.Or just chat with him?

The second option seemed unlikely. He didn't sound like he was in the mood, and knowing high schoolers (been there, done that), he'd probably be a pain in the ass.

Lost in thought, I tripped over my own feet. "Eh?…" I paused before tumbling down a flight of stairs, crashing and stumbling all the way down.

Did I seriously just trip over myself?

Reap what I sow, I guess?

I landed in a flat area, and it didn't take long before I heard hurried steps. The same guy from before came rushing over. I didn't move. It hurt, but I saw an opportunity.

"HEY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT, MAN?!"

He was helping me sit up—well, more like grabbing onto me and being overly touchy, but it worked.

"I-I'm f-fine," I groaned, struggling for breath.

"Hey, wait! Stop squirming! Bro, you don't look alright!!"

I paused... Wait, what does he mean I don't look alright?

"Huh?!"

"Bruh, look at your arm! It's purple!"

"Huh…"

"And your leg—what happened to your leg?"

"Huh?…"

"How far did you fucking fall, bro?!"

"HUH!?!?"

"Did you fall or get beat up?"

"THE FUCK YOU MEAN!!!"