I Siphon the Dead to Become the Strongest

Wednesday.

Snow was still falling outside our single, fogged-up window. It was a quiet, soft, stupidly picturesque winter morning.

I, however, was experiencing a different kind of weather event. It was called Hurricane Mia.

I didn’t even get to experience the “good morning” part. I was ripped from a perfectly good dream about a bacon waterfall directly into a reality where my entire body was being used as a mattress.

“Oppaaaaaaaa…”

I cracked one eye open. There she was. Mia. Sitting cross-legged on my chest, wearing… dear god, shorts again. Tiny, plaid, “I-will-catch-pneumonia-and-you-will-pay-the-medical-bills” shorts. Her hands were clasped together under her chin, her eyes wide with an innocence that was as fake as a three-won coin.

“I know it’s early,” she chirped, “and I know I got money yesterday, but Eun-ji found this amazing vintage jacket stall at the flea market and it’s only today and I promise I’ll wear it forever and I’ll get a part-time job next summer and—”

I raised a single finger, silencing her. My voice was a gravelly rasp. “Lesson number one of this unsolicited Wednesday: No financial negotiations before my brain has access to caffeine. Lesson number two…” I gestured vaguely at her legs. “We have had the talk. The ‘it’s winter and your femurs will turn into icicles’ talk. I know you’re a teen. I know you don’t go out dressed for the Arctic. But for the love of all that is warm, there are other human beings with functional eyes living in this gosiwon. Mr. Park from 304 does not need that kind of excitement with his blood pressure medication.”

She pouted, a magnificent, world-class pout. “You’re no fun. You dress like a… a depressed park ranger.”

“Depressed park rangers are warm and fiscally responsible. Now get off me. The bacon waterfall is receding.”

An hour, a stern lecture on fabric density, and a reluctant transfer of funds later, she was out the door, bundled in a coat I insisted on (over the shorts), bouncing off to meet her friends and presumably buy a jacket that would be discarded in a week.

Peace. Glorious, quiet, bankrupt peace.

I thought that was the peak of my weird morning. I was wrong.

The E-Rank gate access point looked the same as it always did: slightly sad, perpetually damp, and smelling of damp concrete and bureaucratic despair.

What was not the same was the welcoming committee.

Standing there, looking at me with expressions ranging from friendly enthusiasm (Zane) to amused curiosity (Kaela) to guarded appraisal (Lindis), were the three people I’d almost died with yesterday.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my brain buffering. I blinked slowly, as if trying to clear a hallucination.

“So…” I began, my voice flat. “Let me get this straight. You waited. Here. In the cold. For me. So we could all… venture into this particular E-Rank gate? Together? Again?”

Zane beamed, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Of course! It’s good for us! We’re D-Rankers!” He said it like it was a universally accepted truth, like saying ‘the sky is blue.’

I stared at him. “I witnessed the ‘D-Rank’ prowess yesterday. It involved you turning into a post-coma zombie after one swing and your friend…” I glanced at Lindis, who was wearing a full, sensible set of leathers today, thank every god, “…having a very personal encounter with digestive enzymes.”

Lindis flushed slightly but stepped forward. “We’re better than we looked!” Zane insisted. “You may not have seen it because we were clearing, like, a hundred slimes, but I promise you, we’re better than you think!”

Kaela, leaning against the barrier, gave a small, knowing smirk but stayed quiet.

Lindis walked right up to me, stopping a foot away. She looked me dead in the eye, her blue gaze serious. “There will be no problem, right?” It was less a question and more a statement she was willing into existence. She jerked her thumb between us. “It’s simple. You watch my back,” she pointed at me, then at herself, “and I’ll watch yours.”

I looked from her determined face to Zane’s hopeful grin to Kaela’s silent amusement.

A deep, profound sense of foreboding settled in my stomach, right next to my hastily-eaten toast.

I had no idea if this was a sign of a wholesome new friendship founded on mutual near-death experiences, or the absolute worst kind of peer pressure—the kind that ends with you getting dissolved. Knowing my luck? Probably both.

The weight of their collective expectation felt heavier than my old, dissolved jacket. I decided to test the waters of this new, unwanted partnership.

“Before we commit to this ‘you-guard-my-back-I-guard-yours’ pact,” I said, holding up a finger, “can we address the material damages? My favorite jacket—a masterpiece of thrift-store engineering—was chemically erased yesterday in your service. Will it be okay if I, hypothetically, charge you a little… finder’s fee? A hazard reimbursement?”

Zane’s eyes lit up. He interpreted my sarcastic grievance as genuine bonding. He slapped my shoulder—a solid, friendly thump that felt like being hit by a bag of wet sand.

“Say no more!” he boomed. “I’ll buy you a new one! Hell, I’ll buy you two! The cheap, puffy ones from the market! You’ll look like a walking duvet! It’ll be great!”

I winced, my face scrunching up in a mix of pain and offense. “Ouch. And also, no. I have an aesthetic to maintain. ‘Depressed park ranger,’ not ‘sentient marshmallow.’”

From beside Zane, Kaela’s elbow shot out with sniper-like precision, digging into his ribs.

“Ooof—!” Zane grunted, doubling over, wheezing. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot,” Kaela said flatly, not looking at him. “And for assuming he wants your fashion advice.”

Lindis stepped in, a placating smile on her face. “Don’t worry, Ethan, he’s joking about the coats.”

I met her gaze, utterly deadpan. “But I’m not joking about the monetary compensation for my lost jacket. Consider it… logistical support. You assist my wardrobe, I assist in not letting you get dissolved. Seems fair.”

Lindis blinked. “Oh. Okay.” She seemed to actually mull it over. “We can… discuss percentages after the delve.”

And with that bizarrely practical agreement hanging in the air, we passed through the gate’s shimmering barrier, back into the damp, echoing expanse of the maintenance tunnels.

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Author’s Notes

”Whew! We’re back in the tunnels!

Before we dive deeper into the damp and the dangerous, a quick shout-out to all of you for reading! You guys are the real MVPs. If you’re enjoying this journey of reluctantly guarding backs and negotiating wardrobe reimbursements, please don’t forget to add this to your collection and drop a rating! It helps more than a Super Saiyan power-up does in a fight.

Also, a moment of silence for Ethan’s ’thrift-store masterpiece’ jacket. Gone but not forgotten. May it rest in peace (or whatever’s left of it after the enzymes got through).

Thanks for sticking around! See you in the next one! ✌️”