Chapter 316: Starvation III

Chapter 316: Starvation III



How did that man live? How did he feed his children? What lows did he fall into to put food on their nonexistent table?

What would I have done in a situation like his, with a mind like his?

I know how.

Even when I would experience the lowest of the lows, even when I would starve to the point where I'd be thankful if hell took me away...

I would still work, and I would still do what I should, as it was my responsibility as a father of three.

Regret for having three children might follow every moment of my life, but how was I to know that I'd be sent to the slums?

The Gateway Alliance smuggled us in from a lower-ranked sector, promising a life of luxury, a life of kings even without money, and we...

We believed them; of course we did.

Did it sound too good to be true? Perhaps, maybe, probably, most definitely.

It was too good to be true.

But it also made sense.

They, the Elite, wouldn't want a dirty home, right?

No, they wouldn't; in fact, they would do a lot to make their home clean, to keep up their image, so I was sure that even poor, we would have better lives here than we did back home. I mean, my life before coming wasn't much to brag about, but I still lived a life worth living. Illegal manual labor, a tough, incredibly demanding job that only the dregs of society have. They worked us like slaves, but honestly... it wasn't that bad.

It brought in some money, and that was good enough. I'm almost thankful, or rather, I was, since without them I couldn't have come here; the price was too high.

Our destination was an A-ranking sector after all. A place where the Elite resided, and it wasn't just any A-ranking sector; it was A-11; not many knew of it, and those that did begged to come with us.

I denied them, smug, proud of how I made it and they didn't.

Now though?... Not so much.

I regret the day I left my home.

I regret everything.

Yet even with all that weighing me down, I continued to work here, in my new home.

Well, work wouldn't be the correct term.

Lack of UC and ID was a combination that destined me and my family to homelessness in the slums.

It brought me so much shame, so much so that I wouldn't wish this upon my greatest enemy. With words that left me broken, I begged all the passersby for credits, yet I gained none. The competition in the area was much too fierce, with too many beggars and too few kind people.

I decided to change locations, switch up my strategy, and ask them to hire me, saying that I could provide any services they wished for.

It worked.

I asked-

No, I couldn't ask; they kicked my head in, almost breaking my jaw.

Slowly, I began to pass out, and during my last moment of consciousness, I heard laughter-

loud, uncontrollable laughter.

Ah...

I almost died for their entertainment.

What a cruel world this was.

...

A rumbling stomach awoke me.

My body jolted up, my back leaving the cold ground as I sat and looked around the bright

streets.

People came and went, ignoring me, a broken man once lying in his own blood.

It was usual.

Dragging myself till I neared a building, I got off the ground, leaning on it as I stood up.

Many hours passed as I trekked to my family with wobbled steps through grimy alleyways till

I reached them.

My wife met me with extreme worry; I inwardly thanked her for that, yet, a child of mine, a

young boy, asked for food.

I told him I couldn't bring any, that I would do-

"You're useless! You can't do anything right!"

He, my own blood, cut me off and labeled me as that.

He labeled me as useless.

I... I couldn't handle it, without a thought going through my mind, my feet stepped forward as

I neared the child and...

Slap!

I smacked my own son across the face.