Chapter 48: A Very Bad Saturday

Lindis let out a short, melodic chuckle, the sound light and genuine. She slid onto the bench beside him, the wood creaking slightly under her weight.

"I see," she said, her expression softening. "You're suffering from Stagnant Cold. It's common after a high-intensity burst—especially for those of us who push our limits without the proper stat base. The muscles seize up, the lactic acid builds, and the energy just... freezes. Your circulation is basically at a standstill."

She looked at him, then reached out, bumping her fist playfully against his shoulder. The impact was light, but it sent a jolt through his aching frame.

"Lucky for you, I know exactly how to fix that," she said with a confident grin. "I'll help you force that cold out. A deep-tissue, high-pressure massage. It’ll be brutal, but you'll feel like a new man."

Ethan blinked, a flicker of anxiety crossing his face. "Look, I appreciate the offer, really. But I didn't bring much money today. Just enough for some basic painkillers and maybe a snack."

Lindis stared at him for a second, then burst into a laugh. "Silly. Who said anything about charging you?"

Before he could respond, she shifted her position and flexed her arm, bringing her bicep up in a sharp, disciplined curve.

Ethan’s vision was suddenly occupied. Because of the proximity and the angle, the flex of her arm combined with her chest pushed forward, creating two formidable "balloons" of muscle and curves that dominated his entire field of vision. The sheer physical presence of her—the strength and the softness combined—made him momentarily forget how to breathe.

"I'm doing the massage myself," she said, her voice humming with a playful, competitive edge. "Consider it a favor. Now, turn around. Let's see if we can't knock some of that stiffness out of you."

I watched as Lindis reached into her bag with a cheerful hum, pulling out a small, amber glass bottle.

"I'll get the oil ready," she said, her voice bright and helpful. "I'll start with your shoulders to loosen things up, and then I'll move to your back. Just a heads-up: it feels cool when it first hits your skin, but after a few minutes, it'll start to get hot. It helps the blood flow."

As she popped the cap, a flickering blue window snapped into existence in my peripheral vision.

[Observation: Target is carrying topical massage oil in a public setting. Query: Why is she transporting professional-grade lubricants to a municipal park? This is atypical behavior. Most humans reserve such activities for the privacy of their dwellings.]

Shut the hell up, I whispered under my breath, glancing sideways at the floating text. Shhh!

I didn't have time to explain the nuance of "being a helpful friend" to a sentient calculator. But as the words sank in, a red flag popped up in my mind.

Wait a minute.

"Hold on," I said, leaning back slightly. "What exactly do you mean by 'after my shoulder'? What's the plan for... my back?"

Lindis looked at me, her blue eyes blinking in genuine confusion, as if I’d just asked why the sky was blue. "Exactly what I just said, silly! We'll do your back as well. That's where most of the tension settles. If we leave your lower back alone, you'll still be walking like a penguin by tomorrow."

She beamed at me, then gestured casually toward my shirt. "Anyway, let's get started. Go ahead and take your clothes off so I can get to the skin."

"Heck no!"

I jolted upward, the sudden movement triggering a cascade of protests from my nervous system.

"GAAH—DAMN IT!"

I let out a strangled grunt, a sharp, electric bolt of pain screaming through my spine as my muscles protested the sudden vertical shift. I stumbled back, clutching my side, my face contorted in a mixture of agony and sheer panic.

"Are you insane?!" I hissed, gesturing wildly to the surrounding area. "I am not stripping half-naked in the middle of a public park! Look around, Lindis! There are people walking their dogs, families jogging, and regular citizens just trying to enjoy their Saturday. What the hell would they think of me? 'Hey, look at that weirdo getting a sensual rub-down on a park bench!' No thank you. Absolutely not."

...

In the heart of Gangnam, where the skyscrapers clawed at the sky and the air tasted of exhaust and ambition, the crowds moved in a blurred, frantic tide. Amidst the sea of rushed commuters and flashing digital billboards, a man walked with a poise that felt entirely alien to the environment.

He was dressed in a light blue suit, tailored with a precision that bordered on the obsessive, paired with sharp, mahogany-brown shoes that clicked rhythmically against the pavement. His black hair was swept back, revealing a face of cold, aristocratic symmetry.

He stopped for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the neon chaos of Seoul with a look of profound distaste.

"Utterly repulsive," he murmured, his voice a smooth, elegant drawl that carried the weight of centuries of nobility. "The sheer lack of discipline in this architecture... the noise... it is enough to make one’s stomach churn. I can practically feel the nausea rising in my throat."

He sighed, a sound of genuine suffering, as he adjusted his cufflinks.

"I truly cannot fathom why my sister finds this place captivating. To prefer this cacophony over the serenity of our own home is not just a whim; it is a tragedy of taste."

Lost in his monologue of contempt, he didn't notice the man barreling toward him. A middle-aged businessman, eyes glued to his smartphone and shoulders hunched under the weight of a heavy briefcase, collided squarely with the man in blue.

The impact was jarring. The businessman stumbled back, nearly dropping his phone.

The man in the blue suit didn't budge an inch. He simply exhaled a long, weary breath. "My apologies," he said, his tone polite but dripping with a condescension so thick it was almost tangible.

He stepped around the man, intending to continue his promenade of disgust. However, the businessman was having a day from hell. He had been awake since four in the morning, his bonus was on the line, and his patience had evaporated hours ago.

As the suited man passed, the businessman reached out, planting a firm palm on the man's chest to halt him.

"Wait up," the businessman snapped, his voice strained and ragged with stress.

The man in the blue suit paused, glancing down at his wrist-watch with a look of mild boredom.

"Do you not look where you are going?" the businessman demanded, his voice rising. "Can't you see I'm on a call with the executive board? I'm trying to make ends meet here, and you're just drifting through the street like you own the damn sidewalk!"

In a surge of frustration, the businessman grabbed the man by his lapels, his knuckles whitening. He rotated his torso, intending to slam the stranger against a nearby storefront to teach him a lesson in awareness.

But as he exerted the force, he felt something terrifying.

The man in the blue suit didn't move. He didn't tilt, didn't stagger, didn't even bulge. It was like trying to shove a mountain.

The businessman froze, glancing at the man's shoulder, only to find the stranger looking back at him with a thin, sarcastic smile. It was the smile of a predator watching an insect try to fight back.

"This little punk..." the businessman hissed.

Driven by a sudden, violent instinct, he loosened his tie with one hand and curled the other into a fist. As he did, a strange, translucent shimmer enveloped his skin. His flesh hardened, his cells compressing and crystallizing until his hand became a solid, glittering mass of diamond.

With a guttural roar, he launched a devastating punch aimed squarely at the man's jaw.

He never hit the target.

In a movement so fast it bypassed the human eye's ability to process, the man in the blue suit struck. His hand wasn't a fist, but a spear—fingers locked tight, palm driving forward.

Thuck.

The spear-hand slammed into the businessman's stomach, the impact stopping him dead in his tracks. Before the man could even gasp, the strike slid upward in a blurring vertical arc, stopping just inches from the businessman's terrified eyes.

The air didn't just move; it broke.

A jagged, spatial rift shattered open in the air infront the businessman, an obsidian crack in reality that screamed with a vacuum-like hunger.

SHRRRIIIIIP.

The sound was sickening—the sound of fabric tearing, followed immediately by the wet, visceral sound of biological matter being forcibly displaced.

In a single, violent heartbeat, the rift engulfed him. His expensive suit, his skin, his blood, and the very marrow of his bones were sucked into the void. There was no scream, no time for a plea. One moment he was a man of flesh and diamond; the next, he was nothing more than a memory being digested by the abyss.

The crack slammed shut with a sharp, metallic snap, leaving the sidewalk empty.

The man in the blue suit calmly straightened his collar, brushed a stray speck of dust from his shoulder, and continued walking, his expression as bored as when he had arrived.

---

Okay, be honest... who was still thinking about the massage oil when the space-time continuum suddenly decided to eat a businessman? 😂

I honestly can't decide what's more stressful: Ethan being asked to strip in a public park or the sheer AUDACITY of our new friend in the blue suit. Like, sir, you can't just delete people because you don't like the architecture! That is very rude! 🚩

So, first impressions! What do we think of the 'Blue Suit' menace? Is he a 'Love to Hate' kind of villain, or are you guys already terrified? Let me know in the comments!