Bab 4: Level 0
As I made my way to the dining room, the rich aroma of spices and simmering stew enveloped me, stirring my hunger. The old man was busy setting the table, a look of concentration etched on his face. The modest dining area was filled with warm light, making the simple meal look inviting.
"Ah, there you are!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Come, sit. I hope you like beef stew. It's a family recipe."
I settled into the chair, my stomach grumbling as he ladled the stew into a bowl. The warmth of the food contrasted sharply with the chill that still lingered in my bones from the street. As I took my first bite, the flavors burst on my tongue—a symphony of spices that felt like a hug from the inside.
"This is amazing," I managed between mouthfuls, grateful for the old man's kindness.
He chuckled softly, the lines on his face deepening with joy. "Glad you like it! You'd be surprised how many of my neighbors refuse to try it. They think it's too rich. But I say, what's life without a bit of indulgence?"
As I chewed, he began to share stories about the neighborhood. "That house over there," he said, pointing out the window, "used to belong to a sweet old lady. She would bake the best cookies every Saturday. Now, it's just a shell, no one lives there anymore. Such a shame."
I nodded, trying to focus on his words, but the mark on my wrist pulsed with a dull ache, pulling my attention away. I rubbed it absently under the table, wincing as another wave of pain shot through me.
"Maxwell, you okay?" the old man asked, concern creeping into his voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, forcing a smile. "Just… a little indigestion, I guess. It's been a while since I had a real meal."
He studied me for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "Well, you're safe here. You don't have to worry about anything." He continued sharing stories of his neighbors, detailing who to avoid—"Mr. Thompson's a bit odd; keep your distance from him, and that family down the street? They're trouble."
I tried to listen, but every five minutes, a sharp pain would flare at my wrist, making it hard to concentrate. I forced my mind back to the stew, but thoughts of that eerie dream—the voice echoing in my head, the image of the two red eyes lurking in the shadows—pulled at me.
As I pushed my bowl away, I realized I had barely touched half of it. "Thanks for dinner, sir. It was really nice, but I think I should get some rest," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
The old man's expression shifted to one of worry. "Are you sure?"
"I'm fine, really. Just need to lie down for a bit," I insisted, standing up a bit too quickly. My chair scraped against the floor, and I could see the concern etched across his face.
"Alright, but don't hesitate to grab something from the kitchen in case you get hungry. I'll be here if you need anything." He watched me with a blend of worry and kindness, and it made my chest tighten.
As I headed toward the door, something tugged at my memory—the papers from my aunt's house, the assets that had been passed down to me. I hesitated, remembering how my aunt had tried to take everything from me, how she'd wanted control over my life. I felt a surge of determination; I needed to do something.
I reached under my shirt, pulling out the thin bundle of papers I had tucked into my pants. The edges were frayed, a reminder of the burdens they carried. With hesitant steps, I trudged back to the old man.
"Um, sir?" I said, holding out the papers. "These are for you."
He furrowed his brow, taking them from me. "What are these, kid?"
"This is my repayment for your kindness. And… my rent," I replied, the words tumbling out. "Good night."
I turned to leave, my heart pounding. I hoped I had done the right thing. The old man stared after me, confusion swirling in his eyes as I headed back to the room he had given me.
"Maxwell!" he called after me, but I didn't stop. I shut the door behind me, a sigh of relief escaping my lips.
The old man glanced down at the papers, and I could almost see his confusion morph into shock as he scanned the words. But I didn't turn back until he couldn't get the chance to return them.
As I lay on the bed, I stared out the window at the night sky. The stars twinkled like distant diamonds, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. I couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of the mark on my wrist or the red eyes from my dream. I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would come and chase away the darkness.
When morning came, I awoke to soft light filtering through the curtains. I stretched and yawned, feeling more refreshed than I had in days. The old man hadn't woken me up, so I assumed he was still asleep. I lifted myself off the bed, my body still feeling a bit heavy with fatigue.
"Man, I'm still so sleepy," I muttered to myself. I headed to the bathroom, hoping a splash of water would wake me up completely. I turned on the tap, but nothing came out.
"Hm? What is this?" I frowned, turning the tap again. Still nothing. Frustration bubbled up inside me. "Argh! No water?"
Just then, an overwhelming surge of strength coursed through me. Without thinking, I twisted the tap harder than I ever had before, and it came apart in my hand. The metal fitting was now detached from the tile, leaving me holding a useless piece of plumbing.
"Eh?" I stared at the tap, bewildered by the sudden turn of events. What was happening with me? I shook my head, confusion swirling in my mind.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone