The rusted ladder groaned under Evelyn’s boots as she began her ascent. Donald stayed a few rungs below, intending to watch for falling debris, but his gaze was immediately hijacked by the view directly above him. Evelyn’s dark, fitted trousers left absolutely nothing to the imagination, perfectly framing the thick, voluptuous curve of her ass mere inches from his face.
With every upward step, her hips swayed in a hypnotic, rhythmic roll, the powerful muscles of her thighs flexing tightly against the fabric. A sudden, intense rush of heat spiked up his neck. Donald violently snapped his eyes down to his own muddy boots, shyly trying to scrub the tantalizing image from his mind as he listened to her push the heavy iron manhole cover aside with effortless ease.
Above them, the gray evening light of Sector 4 spilled into the tunnel, bringing with it the smell of cheap smog and stale rain. Evelyn climbed out smoothly, her movements fluid and silent. Donald followed, pulling his heavy Type-3 Pile Bunker up through the opening.
The alleyway was narrow and boxed in by towering brick walls. Standing in front of the only exit were three men.
In the center was Garek, leaning heavily on a crude, spiked baseball bat. His right ankle was heavily wrapped in dirty bandages from where Donald had twisted it two days ago. Flanking him were two leaner thugs holding crackling, low-grade stun batons.
"I told you the little rat would come out here eventually," Garek spat, glaring at Donald. He didn’t seem to realize that Evelyn was a threat. To him, she was just a woman in a battered leather jacket. "You broke my ankle, Donnie. Do you know how much a healing potion costs? You’re going to pay for it with your teeth."
Donald didn’t flinch. He didn’t shake. He simply stepped to the side, giving Evelyn the floor.
Evelyn cracked her neck, a sharp, satisfying pop echoing in the damp alley. "Three untrained street rats," she murmured, a terrifyingly serene smile touching her lips. "This shouldn’t even take five seconds."
"Get the bitch out of the way," Garek barked.
The thug on the left lunged. He swung the stun baton in a wide, sloppy arc, aiming directly for Evelyn’s temple.
Donald watched closely, his [Valuation Eye] automatically processing the fight, but he didn’t need the System to appreciate the sheer, educated violence of Evelyn’s choreography.
She didn’t retreat. She stepped inside the thug’s guard before the baton could reach maximum velocity. With a precise, almost lazy motion, her left hand shot up, trapping the thug’s wrist in a punishing joint lock. She didn’t rely on raw power; she used his forward momentum against him, pivoting smoothly on her heel.
As the thug stumbled off-balance, Evelyn drove the palm of her right hand directly upward, striking the soft tissue under his chin. The crack of his jaw snapping shut echoed sharply. The man’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and he crumpled to the asphalt like a dropped puppet.
One second.
The second thug hesitated, his eyes widening at how fast his friend had fallen. He thrust his baton forward like a spear, trying to keep his distance.
Evelyn ducked the thrust with millimeter precision. She dropped low, sweeping her leg in a tight, kinetic arc that caught the back of the thug’s knees. As he fell backward, gravity doing the work, Evelyn rose and delivered a devastating, singular downward punch directly into his solar plexus. The air rushed out of his lungs in a violent hiss. He curled into a fetal position, vomiting onto the pavement.
Three seconds.
Garek realized exactly what kind of monster he had just threatened. His face drained of all color. He dropped his spiked bat and turned to run, heavily favoring his injured ankle. He was heading for the busy street at the end of the alley. If he made it to the crowd, he would get away and bring the rest of the gang.
Evelyn frowned, prepared to chase him down.
"I’ve got him," Donald said.
Donald didn’t run. He locked his eyes on Garek’s retreating back and tapped into his newly acquired C-Rank skill.
[Bull Rush].
A terrifying, explosive pressure built up in Donald’s calves. The damp concrete beneath his boots literally cracked as the skill activated.
He launched forward. To Garek, looking back over his shoulder, Donald was a blur. The skill transformed Donald’s body into a human missile, taking the immense weight of the thirty-pound B-Rank Pile Bunker on his right arm and turning it into devastating kinetic energy.
Donald crossed the thirty feet of the alley in a fraction of a second. He didn’t pull the weapon’s trigger. He didn’t need the spike.
He slammed his right shoulder, braced behind the heavy iron tube, directly into Garek’s back.
The impact was like a truck hitting a deer. Garek was lifted completely off his feet, flying forward with a strangled shriek. He crashed headfirst into a metal dumpster at the end of the alley, denting the thick steel before dropping into a heap among the trash bags. He didn’t move.
Donald stood at the end of the alley, the heavy weapon hissing faintly. He felt a fierce, burning heat in his muscles—the adrenaline of a perfectly executed strike. He had completely controlled the momentum, letting the heavy weapon do the work instead of just throwing a blind punch.
Evelyn walked up behind him, stepping over the two groaning men on the ground. She looked at the dented dumpster, then at Donald. Her blue eyes gleamed with raw approval.
"Perfect transfer of kinetic force," Evelyn praised, sounding like a proud instructor. "You anchored your weight and let the mass of the weapon carry the impact. You are a remarkably fast learner, Donald."
Donald turned around, offering a modest smile. "I had a good teacher."
Evelyn bent down and expertly patted the unconscious thugs’ pockets. She pulled out a handful of cred-chips and a few low-grade health potions. She tossed the cred-chips to Donald.
"Spoils of war," she said smoothly. "We needed walking-around money anyway."
Donald caught the chips. The System automatically calculated their worth.
[Assets Acquired: 450 Credits.]
"This will cover rent," Donald said, sliding the chips into his pocket. He looked at Evelyn. Her color was fully back. She looked dangerous, vibrant, and undeniably beautiful under the flickering streetlamps. "So, what’s next? You have your magic back, but you’re still unarmed. Old Man Jin won’t have B-Rank Vanguard gear."
"No, he won’t," Evelyn agreed, her expression turning calculating. "If I want to actually fight at my new level, I need proper enchanted armor and a Vanguard longsword. And to get those without alerting the Guilds, we need to visit the Midnight Market."
She looked Donald up and down, noting his torn, bloody jacket and worn-out boots.
"But first," she said, a playful edge returning to her voice. "We need to get you out of those rags. If you are going to be my investor, you need to look the part. We are going shopping."