Chapter 33: A Very Expensive Near-Death Experience

So I woke up today, looked at the time, and guess what?

I FORGOT IT WAS UPLOAD DAY. 😭

Once again, my brain has successfully defeated the most advanced technology known to mankind: a fucking calendar. 💀

I had one job.

ONE.

Write the chapter.

Remember the upload time.

Post the chapter.

And somehow my brain looked at all three and said:

“Nah, we’ll improvise.” 😭

At this point, I’m starting to think my memory works like Ethan’s survival instincts. It disappears exactly when I need it most. 😂

My alarm? Ignored.

My calendar? Ignored.

My sense of responsibility? Currently missing and presumed dead.

Meanwhile, the readers are probably sitting there like:

“Where’s the chapter?”

And I’m sitting here five minutes later like:

“Wait... wasn’t I supposed to do something today?” 

So yes, after yet another battle against my own forgetfulness, Chapter 33 is finally here!

Thank you for waiting, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. 

And please tell me I’m not the only person who has completely forgotten something important and only remembered at the worst possible moment. 😂

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Germaine stood up, dusting off her armor with a huff of indignation. She sheathed her longsword with a sharp clink, her expression shifting from anger to a sudden, predatory curiosity.

"What about you?" she asked, leaning in.

Ethan froze. His brain, which usually operated at a decent speed, suddenly suffered a catastrophic system failure. "Umm... what about me... what?" he stammered.

The poise and power he had displayed during his Super Hero Landing were gone, replaced by a jittery energy that made him look like he was vibrating. His feet began to move in a series of tiny, frantic shuffles—a silent, high-speed tornado of avoidance. He wasn't just stepping back; he was tactically retreating from the conversation at a millimeter-per-second pace, trying to create a "safety zone" between himself and the truth.

Germaine, oblivious to his internal meltdown, reached up to tie her blonde hair back into a ponytail, the movement causing a distracting sway that almost derailed Ethan’s remaining two brain cells.

"I mean..." she said, glancing at him with a skeptical squint. "What is your rank?"

Ethan’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He couldn't say he was an E-Rank; she’d laugh him out of the forest. He couldn't say he was an S-Rank; he’d be kidnapped by the government for study. There was only one option: the Lie.

"I-I'm like you!" he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm a C-Ranker! Totally. Definitely. 100% certified!"

Germaine paused. She looked him up and down—from the top of his oversized helmet to the clunky boots of the Heavenly armor. The silence stretched. It was the kind of silence that usually precedes a judge delivering a death sentence.

"Somehow," Germaine murmured, her voice dripping with disbelief, "I find that absolutely unbelievable."

Ethan felt a cold sweat break out under his armor. ‘Damn it, is it the fart? Is it the way I’m shaking? Does the armor look too fancy for a C-Rank, or not fancy enough? Is there a universal law that says people who fart upon landing cannot be C-Ranks?’

"If so," Germaine added, her eyes narrowing, "care to show me your ID?"

Oh, fuck, Ethan thought. ‘This is it. This is how I die. Not by an Ogre, but by a piece of laminated plastic.’

"Ohh... uh... I'm actually... I'm gonna go now! Bye! See you at the exit! Great job on the Ogre! Love the hair! Bye!" Ethan turned on his heel, preparing to bolt into the woods like a startled deer.

"HEY!" Germaine shouted, her voice snapping him back in place like a leash. "I said... show me your Hunter's ID!"

Ethan stopped. He slowly turned back, his helmet tilting awkwardly. "Umm... actually... about that..."

Germaine raised a brow, her expression one of pure, unadulterated suspicion. "Yes?"

"I... I... I actually forgot it at home!" Ethan exclaimed, his voice reaching a pitch only dogs could hear. "I was in such a rush to get here that I just... ran past the guards without them noticing! I’m a rebel! A rogue! A man of action who forgets his wallet!"

Germaine’s jaw practically hit the forest floor. "WHAT?! Are you crazy?! You're standing there lecturing me about guild violations and worrying about my rank, and you’re literally an illegal entrant?! You’re a criminal!"

"It's okay! Don't worry about it!" Ethan waved his hands frantically. "It's a victimless crime! The only victim here is my organizational skill—"

Germaine opened her mouth to unleash a torrent of verbal abuse, but the world suddenly shifted.

Above them, the canopy exploded. A second Ogre, larger and angrier than the first, had been stalking them from the shadows. It descended like a falling mountain, screaming a war cry as it brought down a massive, gnarled wooden mace designed to turn humans into pancakes.

WHAM!!!

In a blur of armored motion, Ethan’s instincts took over. He didn't have time to think about his rank or his ID. He lunged forward, grabbed Germaine by the waist in a sudden, desperate embrace, and threw himself backward.

The mace slammed into the earth with the force of a meteorite, sending a plume of dirt and shattered rock twenty feet into the air. The Ogre let out a guttural roar of triumph, convinced it had just squashed a very loud blonde woman and a very shiny toaster.

But as the dust settled, the Ogre's smile vanished. The crater was empty.

"GUH?!" the Ogre grunted, glancing left, then right, then behind itself. It looked genuinely offended that its prey had vanished.

Meanwhile, twenty feet above the monster's head, Ethan and Germaine were sprawled across a thick, fat branch of an ancient tree. They were tangled together in a heap of silver armor and blonde hair, both breathing heavily.

Ethan stared up at the leaves, his mind drifting into a state of philosophical nihilism. ‘Is the ID even real? Is "Rank" just a social construct designed to keep us in boxes? Am I an E-Rank lying about being a C-Rank, or am I a C-Rank who just happens to be registered as an E-Rank? Truly, the only constant in this world is that I am currently holding a very soft, very angry woman and I am almost certainly going to be murdered by her the moment I let go.’

The world seemed to shrink down to the space of a few inches.

Ethan and Germaine were pressed together on the thick branch, their breath mingling in the cool forest air. Because of the suddenness of the dodge, Ethan had instinctively gripped her to keep them both from plummeting. Their faces were so close that Ethan could see the tiny, golden flecks in her eyes and smell that maddeningly fresh scent of spring flowers.

Germaine didn't pull away immediately. Instead, she leaned in, her voice dropping to a dangerous, sultry whisper that sent a shiver straight down Ethan’s spine.

"Listen," she murmured, her gaze flickering down. "I'm grateful you saved my skin, really. But..." She reached down, tapping his armored gauntlet which was currently clamped firmly around a very specific, very soft part of her waist and hip. "Could you maybe... reposition your hand? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're very interested in these kinds of things."

Ethan froze. His brain short-circuited. He felt the heat rise in his neck, probably turning a shade of red that would make a tomato look pale.

"S-Sorry!" he stammered, nearly jumping a foot in the air as he retracted his hand as if she were made of lava. "That was—that was a tactical grab! A niche-of-time maneuver! Purely physics-based! You should even be thanking me for my impeccable reflexes instead of analyzing my grip!"

Germaine let out a soft, dismissive huff, the vulnerability of the moment vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She shifted, crouching on the branch with the grace of a predator—or at least, a predator that had just been saved from a giant wooden club.

"Save the lecture, Tin Man," she snapped, her voice returning to that cold, street-hardened edge. "That Ogre below? He's my payday. I'm claiming the kill."

Ethan sighed, leaning back against the tree trunk. "Fine, fine. Have it your way. Go be a hero for your cup ramen."

"Hmph," she grunted, prepping her muscles to leap.

"Wait," Ethan called out, his voice losing some of its sarcasm and replacing it with genuine concern. "Have you actually thought about, I don't know... not dying? Maybe try some lower-rank gates first? From everything I've seen in the last ten minutes, this place is chewing you up and spitting you out. We only get one life, you know. It's a one-time offer. No respawns."

Germaine paused, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. She didn't look back at him, but her shoulders tense.

"I don't have the luxury of practicing, you idiot," she replied, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "If there's a place where I can make the most money in a single day, this is it. I don't have time for a slow climb. I need the credits now."

Without another word, she launched herself off the branch, a blonde blur diving toward the unsuspecting Ogre. As she fell, her hand tightened on her blade, her eyes locking onto the target with a singular, greedy focus.

Ethan watched her descend, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. He stared at the gap between the tree and the monster, whispering to the empty air.

"Damn it... is the money really more important than your life?"