Chapter 30: Armor-Plated Perversion and Bust-ed Expectations

Hold on... checks notes... THIRTY CHAPTERS?!

Honestly, when I first started writing Ethan’s lazy, sleep-deprived adventures, I half-expected him to just sleep through the entire plot and end the story at Chapter 3. But somehow, through sheer spite, tuition bills, and a few accidental marshmallow landings, here we are!

Whether you’ve been here since Chapter 1 or you just binged all 30 chapters in a single caffeine-fueled night—THANK YOU! Seriously, reading your comments, seeing your poll responses, and watching you all scream at Ethan’s questionable life choices is what keeps this train moving.

---

Suddenly, the vibe shifted. Ethan dropped into a low, sprinting position, his weight centered. Behind the visor, the lazy, wandering gaze vanished. His eyes locked onto the targets with a precision that would make a sniper jealous.

“Okay... enough. No more jokes. No more playing around,” he muttered, his voice turning cold. “I’m done being the punchline of this sketch. I’ll clean you all up, find the boss of this dump, and get my ass home before noon. I’ve got a date with a nap that I refuse to miss.”

Z-S-S-S-S-T!!!

There was a sound like a lightning strike hitting a mirror. In a literal blink, Ethan vanished. The only evidence he had ever been there was the ground beneath his feet, which shattered into a spiderweb of deep cracks from the sheer force of his takeoff.

The two Ogres froze. They looked left. They looked right. They looked at each other, completely bewildered.

Too late.

WHAM!

Before they could even blink, Ethan materialized. He didn't just kick them; he delivered a synchronized double-boot to the face. His boots slammed into their cheeks with the force of a freight train.

The Ogre holding the rope didn't have time to scream. His face literally folded—his nose and cheeks compressing inward as if he’d been hit by an invisible hydraulic press. The force launched him backward instantly, his body spinning through the air like a chaotic, green propeller.

“Get... out... of... my... WAY!” Ethan yelled, as the Ogre continued to rotate at Mach speed before finally halting with a distant, echoing CRASH into a rock wall.

Ethan landed softly, his cape fluttering. He looked at his boots, then at the remaining Ogre.

“Honestly,” Ethan sighed, “that felt like a low-budget Dragon Ball Z filler episode. I expect better choreography from C-Rank monsters. Now, who’s next for the Face-Folding special?”

The remaining Ogre wasn't going down without a fight. It let out a guttural, vibrating "Grrrr!" and clenched its fist so hard the knuckles popped like gunfire. With a sudden, violent surge of power, it unleashed a heavy hammer-fist—a strike designed to flatten everything within a three-foot radius.

Ethan didn't even try to tank it this time. Not again, he thought. I am not becoming a pancake for the second time today.

He leaped backward, his movements a blur of white and black, dancing just outside the Ogre's reach. The Ogre roared in frustration, its primitive brain deciding that if punching didn't work, maybe a massive, green-toed kick would. It lunged forward, swinging its leg like a wrecking ball.

Ethan didn't dodge. He countered.

He stepped into the attack, throwing a pinpoint punch directly into the Ogre's ribs.

K-TCHAK!!!

The collision sounded like two semi-trucks crashing head-on. The shockwave rippled through the air. Ethan felt the impact vibrate through his armor, pushing him back a few inches, his boots sliding in the dirt. But the Ogre? The Ogre was launched backward, sliding across the grass like a piece of oversized soap.

Ethan exhaled, his voice returning to its lazy, sarcastic drone. “Alright, seriously... let's just finish this. I can practically hear my bed calling my name from across the city.”

He braced himself to deliver the final blow, his arm already cocked back for a finishing strike.

"HYAH!"

A sharp, commanding cry pierced the air.

Before Ethan could even register the sound, a blur of gold and brown streaked across his vision. A woman appeared out of nowhere, manifesting behind the Ogre with a grace that made Ethan look like a stumbling toddler. She was tall, strikingly gorgeous, with long, flowing blonde hair and eyes that held the sharpness of a razor.

In one fluid, blindingly fast motion, she drew her blade.

SHLICK!

The sword sang through the air. In an instant, the Ogre’s head was severed from its shoulders, spinning off into the bushes before the body even realized it had been defeated. The woman landed softly, sheathing her sword with a satisfying click, looking every bit the elite hunter.

Ethan froze.

He didn't look at the dead Ogre. He didn't look at the carnage. He stared at the woman, his expression behind the helmet one of absolute, unfiltered horror. He wasn't impressed by her beauty, and he certainly wasn't happy about the help.

He was flabbergasted. He was insulted. He was emotionally devastated.

“My credits...” Ethan whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and rage. “My beautiful, sweet, precious credits... she just stole them. She just straight-up robbed me in broad daylight!”

He slumped his shoulders, looking at the headless corpse of the Ogre as if it were a lost lottery ticket.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to farm C-Rank mobs when you're this tired?!” he wailed, gesturing wildly at the gorgeous woman. “Who does she think she is? The Glory-Hog Goddess? I was two seconds away from that kill! Two seconds! That's basically a legal theft in the hunter world!”

Ethan didn't care that she was gorgeous. He didn't care that she probably had a rank that could make most hunters weep. All he saw was a thief in a very stylish outfit who had just snatched the digital equivalent of his grocery money.

“Umm, excuse me, Miss Blondie!” Ethan shouted, stepping forward and gesturing wildly at the headless Ogre. “How are you feeling right now? Do you feel good? Do you feel great after STEALING my kill?! Because I feel like I just got robbed by a high-fashion bandit!”

The woman stopped. She slowly turned her head, her striking blue eyes narrowing into slits of pure confusion and annoyance. She placed a hand on her chest, her voice dripping with disbelief.

“Excuse me?!”

“EXCUSE YOU?!” Ethan shrieked, his voice hitting a pitch that could shatter glass. “Can’t you see I was in the middle of my big, badass main-protagonist moment?! I was delivering flash-strikes in broad daylight! I had the lighting! I had the momentum! I had the dramatic pause! And for what?! To have some random blonde whirlwind swoop in and steal my target!”

Ethan was mid-rant when a pale, slender hand suddenly entered his field of vision, hovering right in front of his face.

Ethan paused, blinking behind his visor. “Huh? What’s this? Are you compensating me? Is this a bribe? Are you giving me five times the credits for the emotional trauma?”

The woman’s expression shifted from confusion to absolute disgust. “Hell no!” she snapped. “I saw it first, I struck it first, and I slain it. By the laws of the Gate, that kill is mine. Find another hobby, you armored tin can!”

Ethan gasped, clutching his chest. “Are your shiny blonde locks blinding your eyesight?! Did the glare from your hair erase your peripheral vision? I was literally punching those two into a different dimension! I was the one doing all the heavy lifting, and you just come in for the click at the end!”

The woman frowned, her brow furrowing. “The monster was in my way! What did you want me to do? Just stand there and let my body become its personal pincushion?!”

As she spoke, she crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. The movement caused her chest to sway smoothly from side to side—a distraction so potent it nearly crashed Ethan’s brain.

Behind the visor, Ethan’s brain momentarily short-circuited. He stared. He didn't just look; he observed.

‘Wow...’ he thought, his internal monologue suddenly becoming very quiet. ‘Those are... actually...’

He snapped out of it with a violent shake of his head, trying to regain his dignity. “You could have dodged it! You’re a C-Rank for God's sake! Your agility should be higher than my desire to stay in bed on a Monday!”

The woman blinked, a sudden, deep crimson blush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. She looked away, clicking her tongue in annoyance.

Seeing her reaction, Ethan felt a surge of adrenaline. He thought he had the upper hand. He forgot that the most dangerous thing in a Gate isn't a monster—it's a woman who has just been insulted.

“I bet that’s the problem!” Ethan shouted, his filter completely disappearing. “Your boobs are probably bigger than your head! That’s why you couldn't think of a better plan in the moment! Your brain is just fighting for oxygen because of the sheer volume of—”

SHLICK!!!

The sound of steel leaving a scabbard ripped through the air.

She didn't just draw her sword; she unleashed it.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!” she screamed, her voice transforming into a full-blown, delinquent-style roar that sounded like a Yakuza boss having a meltdown. “I’LL SLICE YOU INTO FISH BAIT! I’LL TURN THAT ARMOR INTO A LUXURY TOASTER! COME HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE, YOU ABSOLUTE WASTE OF OXYGEN!!!”

She lunged forward, her sword flailing in a whirlwind of silver steel, each strike aimed to carve Ethan into a hundred tiny, sarcastic pieces.

SLASH! SWISH! CLANG!

“SAY IT AGAIN! SAY ONE MORE WORD ABOUT MY HEAD-TO-CHEST RATIO AND I’LL SEND YOU BACK TO YOUR MOTHER IN A BOX!”

Ethan’s eyes widened. Oh... shit. I think I pushed the ‘Instant Death’ button.

As the woman lunged at him, her sword whistling through the air like a silver hurricane, a thought clicked in Ethan’s mind.

Wait a minute, he thought, his panic suddenly replaced by a smug sense of superiority. I can tank a full-power, bone-crushing fist from a three-ton Ogre. What’s one angry lady flailing a sword? I’m practically indestructible right now. I am hard. Like, physically, structurally hard. Up, down, inside and out. I’m a walking fortress!

With an arrogant smirk behind his mask, Ethan didn't even dodge. He simply rotated his shoulder, intending to let the blade bounce off his armor like a pebble hitting a mountain.

The woman’s sword came screaming down. But as the blade neared his shoulder, her eyes widened. She realized that if she hit that armor with her current momentum, she might actually snap her own wrist from the recoil. In a desperate, high-speed reflex, she jammed her muscles into a halt, stopping the blade mere millimeters from his plating.

However, physics is a cruel mistress.

The momentum of her charge didn't just disappear; it carried her forward with the force of a runaway train.

“Wait, I didn't think of thi—” Ethan started to say.

MMPH!!!

Ethan’s voice was cut off abruptly. He didn't feel the cold bite of steel. Instead, he felt something incredibly soft, warm, and fragrant slam directly into his face. It was like being hugged by two giant, high-quality marshmallows. His nose and mouth were completely submerged in a soft plush cushion.

THUD!!!

The two of them collapsed. Ethan hit the ground back-first with a heavy clatter, and the woman landed squarely on top of him, her chest pinned firmly against his helmeted face.

For a few seconds, there was total silence. Ethan’s world had shrunk down to the scent of vanilla and the feeling of absolute, heavenly softness. He was practically in paradise.

Then, the woman realized where she was. She slowly lifted her head, glancing down at Ethan with a look of pure, concentrated disgust.

“Are you done, you absolute scumbag?” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “Is this part of your master plan? Irritate me to death so I’ll fall on you? Well, congratulations, you succeeded. And while we're on the subject of your plan...”

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at their positioning.

“...Why the hell are your hands placed exactly on my ass?!”

Ethan tried to explain. He tried to say that it was an accident, that gravity had betrayed him, and that he was just a victim of circumstance. But since his face was still partially buried in her chest, all that came out was a series of muffled, pathetic noises.

“Mmmph! Glluph! Mmm-mmph!”

The woman let out a sharp, disgusted sound—a "Tsk!"—and sprang up from him with the agility of a cat, stepping back and dusting off her clothes as if she’d just touched something contaminated.

“Nevermind. I don’t have time to waste on a perverted tin can like you,” she said, her voice cold and dismissive. Without another word or a backward glance, she turned and began walking away, her long blonde hair swaying behind her.

Ethan didn't move. He stayed lying on the ground, staring up at the blue sky, once again in his natural state of total exhaustion. He let out a long, dreamy sigh, the scent of vanilla still lingering in his nostrils.

“Tsk... total kill-stealer,” he muttered into the wind, his voice returning to its usual lazy drone. “The nerve of that girl... stealing my credits and then leaving me here in the dirt. I hope she trips on a pebble.”