Chapter 5: Exorcism-5

Andrei didn’t continue teasing it. He lowered his head, continued putting on his shirt, and finally spread his arms wide, putting on his suit jacket.

The alpaca said oddly, “Aren’t you boxing?”

Andrei raised his neck and undid the two buttons on his shirt collar, “I’m not boxing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Andrei picked up a half-smoked cigarette beside the closet door, blew on it, and put it back in his mouth. “Working,” he said. He closed the door, put his hands in his pants pockets, and walked out.

A tall man entered just then. He took off his radio and greeted Andrei. Andrei pressed the clock on the door, grabbed his headphones, inserted them into his ears, took out a short police baton, lifted the hem of his suit, and placed it behind the dent at the waistline between his white shirt and black pants.

The alpaca suddenly understood, “Oh, so you’re the security guard.”

Andrei smiled while holding the cigarette, “Correct, baby.”

He pushed open the door, and loud noise rushed in. The alpaca even swayed back slightly. Andrei walked smoothly toward the southwest corner of the ring, looked around, kicked away the bottle of alcohol at his feet, and stood up straight.

The match inside was nearing its end. The referee lay next to the fallen boxer, shouting loudly as he counted seconds. The fallen boxer’s chest was pressed against the sticky floor, his mouth bubbled with blood, and he tried to open one swollen, balloon-like eye. Another still standing was a Brazilian who was hitting the rope around the ring, waving his arms and receiving cheers from the crowd, then climbing up the rope and roaring. The scene was very lively.

Andrei glanced at the fighter who had fallen to the ground and couldn’t get up, then shook his head. For someone who had agreed to cheat and win, this winner was too harsh with his actions.

The referee counted the seconds, waved a叉, and the whistle and bell sounded simultaneously. Then, a mix of boos filled the air. People poured out their unfinished drinks on the ground, rubbed their shoes in the liquid, spat out saliva to satisfy themselves, then stood up and threw the losing tickets everywhere, cursing without a clear target.

Andrei focused on the people closest to the ring. These agents who always made tourists lose money were whispering to each other. They had won a lot in that match—their smiling faces were worlds apart from those drunk guys behind them.

At this moment, Andrei received a message through his earpiece. Someone said, “An, go to changing room number nine.”

Andrei looked at the Brazilian resting in a corner of the ring: “What’s up?”

“The champion from last season is coming up.”

The host stood in the center of the ring, pulled up the microphone hanging from the ceiling, put it near his mouth, and moved his arms: “Ladies and gentlemen! Drink up your drinks, hold tight to your tickets—he—is about to step up—!”

The spectators and gamblers became excited immediately. They shouted, sputtered saliva, and their sweaty hands made the tickets turn oily yellow. The stench of sweat spread through the arena—this was tonight’s main event, the last match of the night, the ultimate showdown against the champion. It was a sure-win bet for all the gamblers.

“Three-time AE BOX champion, king of brutal fights, holder of the shortest KO record—short stature, strong heart, the fist of death!” The host shouted, his face red with excitement. The women from the cheer squad stepped forward, twisting their bodies wildly. They had taken drugs, their movements irregular yet passionate, causing dizziness amidst the whistles.

Andrei turned toward the locker room, hearing a loud shout behind him: “Kill—human—bees—!”

Andrei whistled: “Good stage name. So, what’s the plan?”

From the headphones, a reply came back: “Don’t let that person fight.”

“What? He doesn’t cooperate and loses to the Brazilian?”

“Stop meddling. I called you here for a solution, not for questions.”

Andrei raised his eyebrows and cut off the call.

He walked along the corridor, turning into the rest area. There were flamboyant women crowding the hallway, wearing low bras, carrying drinks as they knocked on doors of different fighters. Strong arms led them inside, with laughter and perfume lingering outside.

Andrei squeezed through the crowd of women and saw a few heavily made-up men among them. He took a closer look.

Andrei stopped at Gate Nine, knocked on the door, and before speaking, a young voice said, “I don’t need it. I’ve said it already.”

Andrei leaned toward the door: “Your turn to fight.”

The door opened, and Andrei saw a boy around twenty, with a wild hairstyle, thick eyebrows, bronze skin, short height, but bright eyes.

The boy still wore a jacket, and his name “As” was written on the nameplate.

Andrei stepped forward, Asi stepped aside to make space, then stepped back, and Andrei closed the door behind him.

Asi was about to take off his coat: “No need to come in, I’ll go right now.”

“Oh, that one,” Andrei said, leaning against the door, “you don’t need to go.”

Asi was stunned: “What do you mean?”

Andrei scratched his cheek with his index finger and crossed his arms: “If you don’t plan to lose, you have no choice but to walk away.”

Asi narrowed his eyes slightly: “Are you here to ‘persuade’ me to give up?” He looked at Andrei carefully.

“You could think of it that way too.”

Asi calmed down, gritted his teeth, and asked again: “So you can’t persuade me?”

Andrei looked down at the boxing ring below, where Brazilian fans were about to cheer: “He can’t beat you.”

Asi took a step forward and pulled at the bandage on his hand: “Move aside.”

Andrei watched him: “That won’t work.”

Asi laughed: “You don’t know how many people like you I’ve defeated. Do you think because I’m short, I can’t knock you down?”

Andrei tilted his head: “Don’t go there. Someone will come later to give you money.”

Asi waved his arm impatiently: “What do you know! I don’t want money!”

Andrei leaned back against the doorframe lazily: “You talk to the person who’s going to give you money.”

Asi glanced at him, snorted, took off his clothes, and put on boxing gloves: “Alright, give way. Watch out—I might hit you.”

Asi’s stubborn, defiant attitude reminded Andrei of the hard-to-please Eisen. He tried to understand this child, sighed, and patiently asked: “Why do you really want to go into the ring?”

With his fist wrapped in gloves, Asa’s eyes gleaming, he stared into the distance and said clearly, “I want to prove that I’m a real boxer through this victory.”

Andrei: “……”

The alpaca: “Prove a real boxer at an illegal fight ground? Hey, Anli, what is a real boxer?”

Andrei looked at Asa: “Prove a real boxer at an illegal fight ground? Hey, kid, what is a real boxer?”

The alpaca: “Are all humans just smart people?”

Asa’s eyes still shone: “I want a proper victory, my name to be clearly engraved on my belt, and every cheer to be genuine.”

Andrei: “……”

The alpaca: “Oh, it’s best to trick such people.”

Andrei finally understood why Eisen kept telling the alpaca to shut up. “Shut up, damn it.” He turned to the alpaca: “Stay quiet.”

Asa followed his gaze but saw nothing. He wasn’t bothered to ask or care, then put on his robe: “Alright, no time for talk. Move aside.”

Andrei tried to explain patiently: “Give up, forget about it.”

The young man stood still, blinked twice, then his expression turned fierce: “No.”

He stopped shouting and stepped forward, delivering rapid flurry of punching combinations at Andrei. Andrei reacted faster, blocking and dodging several times. Asa feigned a uppercut, and Andrei quickly shifted sideways with a overhead jab, hitting Asa. A heavy punch from above struck Asa’s face, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground.

All happened in just ten seconds.

Asa was momentarily stunned—he never expected the man in front of him to have such abilities. He leaned on the wall, turned his face away, spat blood onto the ground, wiped his mouth with a glove, removed the glove from his bandage, and stared at Andrei before slowly standing up: “You can’t stop me.”

Andrei pointed at the megaphone above his head. The referee was counting seconds. Andrei told him, “If you don’t come when the time is up, it’s over.”

Asa widened his eyes immediately and rushed forward fiercely. A front kick followed by a step forward, then a straight back punch. Andrei blocked with his right hand but saw the young man dodge easily, pushing forward to hit him with a front kick to the head. Andrei sidestepped to the left, ready for a front kick, showing Asa how he would act, waiting for Asa to turn left and strike back with a back punch, causing Asa to fall again.

Asa lay on the ground, trembling as he tried to get up, while the announcer in the broadcast said it was a pity but the champion had appeared. The bell, fireworks, and noise filled the room and spilled into this desolate space.

Andrei said, “It’s over.”

Asa remained lying on the ground for a long time without moving, and Andrei just watched him.

Someone knocked on the door. Andrei opened a crack, and a muscular man stood outside, looking at Andrei and trying to peek inside the room but seeing nothing. He lifted a corner of his clothes to reveal a Browning: “I heard shouting. What happened?”

Andrei replied, “Nothing.” Then he closed the door immediately.

He turned around, As slowly getting up from the ground, sitting limply on his knees. The blood on his face hadn’t been wiped yet, as he tied off the bandages one by one, lowering his head: “You’re strong. What’s your name?”

Andrei didn’t respond.

“Have you received professional training?”

Andrei still didn’t answer.

“No,” As said aloud, “In the place where I came from, people like me have no way out. My friends don’t live past seventeen—they’re taken to be drugged, or they find something to sell. If it’s boxing, I’m pretty much the same. I thought boxing was the best job a person could have. I fought hard to get out of there.”

……But outside, it’s different. When I arrived here, it turned out this was just the lowest level of work. I’m still low in the hierarchy. So I thought… if…”

He paused, somewhat moved, then suddenly raised his head, his eyes glowing with light, immersed in his own speech and emotion, naturally trying to find some resonance in Andrei’s expression.

But when he met Andrei’s indifferent face and a yawn indicating nothing was happening, it felt like a blow.

The young man’s face showed brief shock and hurt, but quickly replaced by overwhelming anger. He realized the man across from him didn’t care at all. Although he knew there was no reason for the man to care about his story, ignoring others’ pain is still a form of humiliation.

He suddenly stood up, the broken ribs causing intense pain. Ignoring the pain, he strode toward the man fiercely: “What do people like you know? Do you understand how it feels to walk for a long time until you stand at the same starting point as others? Do you know how many more fights I still have to fight?! How long will I have to endure this life?! Get lost!”

Andrei felt awkward and changed his position against the wall: “Ah, you have to wait until everyone in the arena is gone before you can leave. Otherwise, it’s hard to explain if someone bumps into you.”

With even his only skill controlled by others, he has no power over wins or losses. He can’t compete, earn money, or have a proper name—no one needs him, and there’s nowhere to go. He gets no attention, living in a dark basement beneath a shiny skyscraper in a highly modernized city, begging for scraps. He’s someone left out of all those “happily ever after” statistics, in a great, ugly, cannibalistic city, as cheap as a dog at the edge of a trash can.

Why? How? At this moment, his anger aimed at the indifferent person blocking his path.

His eyes were wide with fury: “Get away, or I’ll kill you.”

Andrei remained still, the situation being serious. He wanted to smoke, but also yawned, trying hard to hold back.

But the person across from him noticed him. That “yawn” that showed he wasn’t actually fighting was like a slap. Ignoring his injuries, he gritted his teeth and prepared to attack again.

Andrei raised his hand: “Alright, alright—you’re scared now, right?” He scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight to the door, then checked his watch, guessing that people were about to leave.

As’s was stunned. Looking at the indifferent expression of the man across from him, he suddenly understood. He realized what “it’s none of my business” meant. Compared to this man, even the son of the ignorant landlord he mocked for his dreams caused him no anger. But his anger didn’t cause any reaction from the other person at all. After all, between people, there’s no need or possibility for mutual understanding, right?

With that thought, As’s suddenly calmed down.

He stood still for a while, then moved stiffly, taking off the blood-stained robe and holding his broken arm, dressing himself. He said nothing, didn’t even cry out in pain, just did what most resigned people would do—normally act, without wasting words or asking strangers for understanding.

He asked Andrei, “Can we go now?”

Andrei checked his watch: “Wait ten more minutes.”

As used one of his usable hands to pack up his backpack, sat back on the sofa, and slowly untied the bandage around his hand, revealing it. Andrei stood by the door to watch him.

The two of them said nothing more.

Until Andrei checked his watch and opened the door for him: “Let’s go.”

As stood up with his head down, bumped into Andrei’s shoulder, and walked out the door.

The alpaca hesitated briefly, flew away with As for a while, then returned. Andrei was lighting a cigarette, holding it near his fire, and looked up at it: “Not going?”

The alpaca brushed its fur and said, “I’m too weak now to take a form.”

Andrei shook off the woodsmoke and asked, “What is the process of taking on a form?”

The alpaca looked down at Andrei, then flew up to his head and said, “During their weak moments.”

“When you’re sick?”

The alpaca scanned his hair from above and replied, “No. Not that.”

Andrei wanted to ask more, but then saw the man who had followed As from the door disappearing outside the gate.

He felt strange, extinguished his cigarette, and followed.

The alpaca also followed. It stayed silent for a long time, then spoke with strong desire: “Do you have a dream?”

Andrei wasn’t focusing on it, but answered: “No.”

“Do you want something?”

“Money.”

The alpaca said nothing, and Andrei turned to him: “Why?”

The alpaca pressed its small face together: “I licked you, you have no desire.”

Andrei stared at it for a moment, then laughed slightly: “So Eisen didn’t want you to lick me back then—you have that ability. Can you use this to know human desires?”

“The stronger the desire, the more intense the smell.”

Andrei shrugged.

The alpaca asked again: “Do you want a dream? I’ll give you one?”

Andrei smiled: “Sure.”

“Kill Erebus.”

“No.” Andrei ignored it.

As slowly walked into the alley, still lowering his head. He looked like he had been hit by frost—far less vibrant than the person who opened the door.

The man following As quickly glanced around before entering the alley, then followed after him. Eisen saw him lift his suit jacket to grab something.

So Eisen quickened his pace.

He reached the end of the alley, where As was half in light and half in darkness. As soon as the noise of traffic rushed into his ears, a man three steps behind him was holding a gun at his back.

Eisen whistled a loud tune.

As was already低头, and the street noise covered the whistling, so he didn’t hear it. But the man heard it. He quickly turned, aiming the gun at Eisen, and cursed loudly. Then he turned to go after As, but As had already gone toward the other side of the street.

The man cursed again: “What the hell? Don’t waste my time.” Then he continued walking after Eisen.

Eisen had already walked over and called out, “Forget it.”

“Forget it? What the hell are you?” The man found this impossible. He put the gun back into his waist, ignored him, and tried to leave the alley. But as soon as one foot stepped into the light, he was pulled back.

Eisen waited until the stumbling man stood still: “Forget it. He’s already given up.”

The man clearly got angry. He pulled out his gun, stepped closer, and pressed it against Eisen’s chin: “Get away.”

Eisen turned to the alpaca: “Why do I always hear that kind of thing today?”

The alpaca replied seriously: “Because you’re a dirty pig, a lower creature, living on land that belongs to us.”

Eisen: “……”

He raised his hand to show no hostility: “Is it really not worth considering?”

“Are you mad?” The man’s patience ran out. Just a moment ago, he was talking to the air as if speaking to Andrei, “I told Fabio long ago not to trust you—a dishonest mad dog…”

The man clenched his hand around the gun, his index finger moving slightly on the trigger.

Andrei lowered his head, watching the swinging barrel, then raised his eyes: “I advise you not to point the gun at me—you’ll die.”

The man met his gaze, barely visible tremble passing through him, then became even more fierce, frowning and gritting his teeth: “Do you dare threaten me?”

In that instant, Andrei turned his head, a bullet passing close to his hair. Andrei grabbed his wrist, twisting to take back the gun, while his other arm blocked his throat.

The situation reversed.

Andrei held his neck tightly, the man couldn’t breathe, rolling his eyes and trying to punch Andrei—but the punches hit nothing. Andrei held the gun against his temple: “Guess what? I never miss.”

The man’s consciousness began to blur, continuing to roll his eyes. Andrei released him, stepping back with the gun aimed at his head.

The man, barely able to breathe, turned purple and let out long, dry gasps, trying to regain air.

Andrei took the coin from his necklace, crouched in front of the man, and flipped it over: “These are game coins from Atlanta’s game city—my favorite. Now you have a chance: if it’s the Empress, you live; if it’s a rose, you die. Okay?”

The man coughed due to lack of air.

Eisen said as he agreed: “Okay, let’s begin.”

He flicked his thumb, reached out to catch it, gripped the palm, and looked up at the man.

“Are you nervous?”

The man swallowed hard: “……a gambler.”

Eisen smiled and tried to open his palm, but the man shouted repeatedly: “Wait! Wait!……”

Eisen stopped.

The man stared at Eisen’s palm, sweat forming on his forehead: “Why are you involved in his matters?”

Eisen retorted: “Why do you want to kill him?”

“He can fight and doesn’t listen,” the man said simply, looking up.

“So what?”

“When he becomes successful, this matter could get out,” the man said, staring at him, “and it would cause a lot of trouble.”

Eisen laughed vaguely and said, “Oh, really insightful.” He probably understood that the young guy wanted to prove himself and help out, acting independently.

“But you ruined it. There’s no such clean opportunity again.” The man glanced at him, “So why are you involved? Did he pay you? Anyway, since he pays, you do whatever you want. You’re the one who killed kids before—I heard you sold them too. So obviously, dogs found on the street are easy…”

“The reason is,” Eisen stood up, “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Bullshit! You should follow our rules!”

Eisen casually raised his eyebrows: “At least now you and I must follow my rules.”

He opened his palm, and the man suddenly closed his eyes.

Silence.

The man slowly opened his trembling eyelids and saw Andrei staring at the Empress at his palm. He smiled carelessly at him and said, “Today is your lucky day.”

Andrei turned and walked toward the alley entrance, throwing his gun on the ground.

The alpaca continued to watch the man sitting slumped on the ground for a while before following Andrei: “Did you sell anything? Does Erebus know?”

Andrei grinned and said, “What a bunch of nonsense.”

“Hey, seriously, do you have any evidence against Erebus?”

“Why ask?” Andrei’s phone rang, and his supervisor ordered him to rush back to the guard post.

The alpaca lay at his head: “Can you kill Erebus with a single punch?”

“Go down,” Andrei put on his headphones, “You can’t.”

***

At 4 a.m., Andrei finished his work. By then, the alpaca had become restless and ran away.

The boxing ring closes at night and doesn’t open in the morning. By now, the large lights on the boxing ring were off, and after the crowd left, cigarette butts and cans were scattered across the ground. The person coming to clean up yawned and put on a cleaning cap.

Andrei greeted the people who came to clean up, said goodbye to Gurel who was counting money at the edge of the arena, and was about to leave with his headphones off, but Gurel called out to him.

“An, go to the restaurant.”

“Ah… is there a problem?”

Gurel kept looking down and continuing to count money, without answering: “Go ahead.”

Andrei snorted and walked toward the restaurant.

The restaurant is on Tenth Street—a restaurant owned by Italians, mostly serving people of the same ethnicity. There’s proper dining business ahead, and behind it lies their workshop and hideout. Last time, Andrei lost three years’ worth of labor force at the “restaurant.” Tonight, he works until 4 a.m., but he doesn’t really earn any money.

Eisen pushed open the restaurant door. Inside, there were just a few people—except for Fabio, who had a large table full of guests. Only a few people who worked at night came here for some food. He headed straight toward Fabio’s table.

Fabio was eating black bread, frowning as he applied strawberry jam made by his wife. He didn’t like it, but dared not say so. He looked upset, taking a bite while drinking half a glass of milk.

Eisen sat across from him. Fabio put down his bread: “I heard about it.”

Eisen glanced at the man standing behind Fabio, who had picked up the gun Eisen had dropped. Now he was looking at Eisen angrily, waiting for Fabio to make a decision.

“I don’t want to know why you let him go, but you shouldn’t interfere with our business.”

Fabio’s eyebrows were gray, his face broad, and people often mistook him for a kind old man. One eye had yellow hair, his forehead was high and prominent, and his hair was sparse and standing up. Those eyebrows stood out especially—the tips were very high, and the middle of the eyebrows stuck into his nose. When he was angry, his eyebrows looked like two knives symmetrically inserted into his eyes, making his expression extremely fierce.

Eisen nodded: “Okay, I understand.”

Fabio stared at him and suddenly asked, “Do you know him? That boy?”

“I don’t know.” Andrei replied honestly. He couldn’t understand why everyone thought he must have some kind of relationship or deal with that boy—couldn’t he just do nothing?

Fabio narrowed his eyes. “Well, if you say so, is it just a momentary impulse?”

“I guess so. If you want to send someone after him now, I definitely won’t interfere.” Andrei reached for a cigarette on the table.

Fabio took a sip of milk. “None of this matters anymore. Now let’s talk about what to do with you.”

Andrei guessed they would come here eventually. He lit his cigarette. “Go ahead.”

Fabio pointed at the man behind him. “You messed up our plans and almost killed someone I trusted. Since you’re still under my control, it’s fine for you to lose a little blood.”

Andrei stretched his arm and brought the glass close to his face, putting the ash in it. “No problem.”

“You do what you want. Then we’ll do what we want.”

Andrei nodded. “Understood.”

Fabio nodded at the person next to him and continued chewing the hard black bread. He said to Andrei, “Put your hand out.”

Andrei placed his right hand on the table. The person pressed his hand down and took a black toothpick. Andrei looked at Fabio, who kindly explained, “Just your little finger and ring finger.”

Andrei nodded. “Okay, but can you switch hands?”

Fabio didn’t move. He watched him. Andrei realized, “Your rules. Almost forgotten.”

Andrei held a cigarette in his left hand, staring at his nearly broken right hand. His only thought was, “If I had put my left hand on the table earlier, that would’ve been better.”

A man handed him a towel: “Press it on the wound now—if the table gets dirty, the boss will scold you again.”

Andrei took it: “…Thank you.”

The tooth knife was placed on his little finger; after a few strokes, it became very sharp. It hit a bone, so some force was needed.

Just as the knife was about to strike, a pale hand covered Andrei’s bleeding, trembling hand. The blood turned the lines on this new hand red. There were tattoos on his back and middle finger—in Hebrew, reading “No Love or Grief.”

Andrei looked up and saw a cold-faced young priest looking down at him. His voice was calm and steady.

“Are you still owing money?”

Fabio kept his mouth open, not biting into his bread. Everyone at the table stared at the cold, distant priest. He exuded an undeniable aura. For a priest, he lacked trustworthiness and empathy; instead, he seemed distant, with a faint menacing aura.