Damian was more than satisfied with his second life.Elian, on the other hand, hated every moment of his.
In another corner of the outer zone, Elian came out of the shared bathroom and started the long walk back to his house. Every step felt like torture.
The corridor was damp, the air heavy with smoke and rot. Puddles clung to the ground, dark and nameless. The night was pitch-black—only thin strips of light leaked from door cracks on either side.
He hunched his shoulders, picking his way forward like a tightrope walker. His pale blue pants had to stay clean. His white shoes—his last bit of dignity—must not be touched. He sidestepped one puddle, then another, holding his breath as foul water glistened at his feet.
Then—peng!
A ball shot out of nowhere and landed in front of him with a sharp splash. Dirty water exploded upward, spraying across his legs. Brown spots dotted his pants. Mud streaked his white shoes, soaking into the fabric.
"Aah!" Elian's scream cracked high, raw with shock. He looked down at the mess, face twisting, and bolted for home like a cat with its tail stepped on.
Twenty meters had never felt longer. Every step squelched, dragging filth with him. By the time he reached his door, he was shaking with fury and humiliation, eyes burning.
He burst inside, still panting, mud dripping from his shoes. Inside was worse than outside—three generations crammed into less than twenty square meters. Clothes hung from ropes across the ceiling. Pots, bowls, and buckets cluttered every corner. There was barely space to walk without brushing against someone.
He tried to shoulder past, desperate to reach his corner.
His mother's face lit up, all fake warmth."Elian, why hasn't Damian come these two days? Invite him over, will you?"
His younger brothers echoed her, voices sharp with impatience."Yeah, tell Damian to come! We don't have pocket money anymore!"
Elian's chest heaved, anger burning hotter with every word. He shoved past them, forced his way into his four-square-meter room, and slammed the door shut with a bang.
Inside, the air was damp, the walls peeling, the smell of mold thick in his nose. The narrow bed nearly filled the entire space. He leaned against the door, still out of breath, rage and humiliation choking him.
He sat down hard, fingers digging into the blanket. His mind drifted back to his last life.
The moment he had accepted Damian's confession, he'd moved into a one-hundred-square-meter apartment. It hadn't been enough for all his things, but compared to this dump, it had been paradise. During their marriage, he'd enjoyed real food, clean clothes, and space to breathe.
Now? This tiny room was stuffed with old rags and broken furniture. His stomach growled more often than it was full.
Bitterness filled his chest. Damian had never truly loved him. One rejection, and Damian cut him off completely. No gifts. No money for his siblings. No struggle to win him back. Just gone.
A man like that—no ability, no feelings—what use was he?
His thoughts turned elsewhere. Cassian D'Armand. Handsome, rich, generous. Cassian had always treated him the way he deserved—attention, care, respect. Compared to that, Damian was nothing.
The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Rejecting Damian had been the right choice.
He would save the best for last.
Elian's lips curved, cold and sharp in the dark.