Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

There were only a few working lights on the ceiling of the corridor, and the sparse illumination made the environment appear as if shrouded in fog, blurry and indistinct.

Bang—Bang—

Forceful pounding sounds kept coming from a corner, knocking the dust off the steel frames nearby.

But even with such loud noises, the families living along the passageway kept their doors tightly closed. No one came out to peep or ask questions, maintaining an oppressive silence. Only the lit indicators on the doorframes showed that the apartments were not uninhabited.

"Brother Long, that guy just won't open the door."

Finally, the haunting pounding halted, and a fat man about two meters tall stepped out and bent down to talk to a youth beside him.

"Tsk..." The youth leaned against the steel wall beside him, smoking, but did not answer. His black bangs covered his face, obscured from the single light above.

"I'll knock again." Seeing that the black-haired youth ignored him, the fat man went back and muttered something to another companion, then continued to bash the steel door.

Bang—Bang—

Rust flakes fell from the walls, and more dust came down from the ceiling.

Thus, the minutes slowly passed by, and the youth's cigarette finally burned out.

The cigarette butt, glowing with embers, was flung into the air, hit the wall, and fell straight to the ground, kicking up some dark red specks, and then only thin wisps of blue smoke drifted up.

He moved away from the light, walking over with his rudimentary short-sleeved shirt unable to hide the ferocious, scarred muscles on his arms, almost bursting through the sleeves.

"Brother Long, you're here." Seeing the black-haired youth approach, the slim and fat subordinates immediately stepped aside, revealing the steel door that was still locked tight.

"Heh." He walked straight to the steel door and kicked it ferociously. An explosive noise erupted from it, setting off the alarm bells in the nearby corridor.

The specially made steel door, about 25mm thick, was instantly dented inward from his kick.

"Brother Long is awesome." The two subordinates bowed their heads in admiration and then stepped forward to continue violently kicking and hitting the door, completely destroying it.

Half a minute later, the three walked in over the various debris.

"Holmes, where are you hiding? Come out. Brother Long is here for you. If you have any conscience, roll out!"

The slim and fat duo searched through each room in the house, while the black-haired youth stood in the living room, looking at the photos on the wall. One picture featured a woman smiling at the camera while holding a child in her teens. Despite looking somewhat worn, there was still happiness in her eyes. However, the corners of the photo were curled and stained, suggesting it was taken a long time ago.

"Brother Long, we found him. He was hiding under the bed." The previously mentioned fat man hauled a man thin as a skeleton into the living room, like dragging a dead dog, and tossed him onto the floor.

"Don't fucking play dead, lift your head, this is your Brother Long." The lean but muscular subordinate grabbed the man's hair and forced him to lift his head.

The black-haired youth sat on the sofa, one leg casually bent on the cushion.

"Holmes." He looked at the man in front of him, whose eyes were lifeless and half-dead.

Seeing no reaction from Holmes, the fat man next to him slapped him twice, drawing blood from his mouth.

"I'll talk, I'll talk..." Only then did Holmes regain some clarity, but he quickly slipped back into mumbling, his mind foggy.

"Brother Long, I found lots of syringes in his room, must have been tripping on Hallucinogenic Potion," said the lean subordinate holding Holmes's head.

"Get some water for him, pour it down."

"Yes, Brother Long." The fat man fetched a basin of water from the kitchen tap, placed it on the floor, and proceeded to dunk Holmes's head in it repeatedly.

The room fell eerily quiet, the only sounds were the splashing of water and faint heavy breathing.

After more than ten minutes, Holmes began to struggle and make a whimpering noise.

"That's enough, stop." The black-haired youth leaned on the sofa, observing the man in front of him.

"Ah Long... you've come." Holmes looked up at the youth on the sofa, his eyes weary.

"Yeah, I came to see you. Didn't you say your aunt was sick? I've prepared some gifts. After all, she used to cook for me, I still remember."

"I... I..." He seemed to want to say something but couldn't utter a word.

"I let everyone down."

Smack—

A severe slap hit his face, sending him flying against the wall and knocking him unconscious.

"Bring him over, wake him up." The black-haired youth dropped his hand and continued to lean on the sofa.

Once again, the dull splash of water could be heard, and it took a while before Holmes, his head bloody, slowly came to. But now, his eyes were filled with fear as he looked at the black-haired youth.

"I ask, you answer."

"Yes, yes, Brother Long." He finally learned to address him properly.

"Where's your aunt?"

"She's dead, passed away a month ago. The doctor said there was no cure, no money..."

"Didn't you get money from me? Where did it go?"

"I... I gambled it away. Thought I could win it back."

At these words, a hint of scorn and pity flashed in the eyes of the two onlookers.

No small-time gambler wins big at the casino. Ridiculous.

"So, you're hiding from me." The black-haired youth planted his foot on Holmes's shoulder, making him look up.

"We've known each other for nearly twenty years now, haven't we? I still remember when we were in elementary school, going to and from school together, often sneaking off to play..."

Holmes remained silent.

"At that time, your mother had just gotten divorced, raising you by herself, wanting to give you a good environment to grow up in. She often worked late and then came home to cook for you, and since I used to hang out at your place after school, she would make a portion for me too. I remember all these things."

"Yes..." he turned his face away, looking to the side.

"We were both students from poor families, always looked down upon and bullied by our classmates. Back then, we fought together, known as the two mad dogs of Class C," the black-haired youth continued.

"Those were the good old days," he said, lowering his legs and then standing up, slowly looking around the room as if trying to find traces of those past memories.

"How the hell did you end up like this!!" Suddenly, the black-haired youth yelled in Holmes' ear.

"It doesn't matter if you've wronged me, but that's your mother! You took the money for saving her life to gamble?" He grabbed the other's collar and lifted him up.

Holmes struggled incessantly, reaching out to grab the wrist, but the other's arm was like a vice, immovable.

Beneath the black hair, brown eyes stared directly at Holmes, the pupils contracting like the angry eyes of a dragon, sending chills down one's spine.

After a short while, Holmes stopped struggling and looked away.

"I, I... Yes! It's me! I'm such a rotten person, you just made a bad call." After saying that, he started to choke up again.

"That's right, we grew up together, but can people stay the same!?" He suddenly roared again.

"You weren't good at school, but you found a master willing to teach you. What about me? I don't have any Talent! I'm not good at studying, no one wants me for work, so I can only mess around behind you like a stray dog!"

"Is this any way out!? My mom worries that I could die out there any day, I'm not like you, with a bunch of skills, able to fight and endure. What can I do!?"

"All I could do is gamble! Gambling with my life! Betting that my life wouldn't be so miserable, that I could win a round or two!"

"Now I've lost the bet, can't I just accept my fate!"

After his hoarse shouting, his throat had gone dry, and the man was let go, curling up on the ground with violent shaking, his body trembling.

"Is that what you think?" The black-haired youth looked down at the man on the ground, curled up like a bug.

"Yes, cough cough... that's what I think. So what, you don't like it, you don't like it then kill me," he lay there in despair.

The black-haired youth didn't answer, just silently watched him.

After a long time, he spoke.

"Where's aunt buried?"

"On Gray Silence Street, in the cemetery, block G23, number 631..." The man on the ground slowly said, with tears flowing from his eyes.

"Let's go."

The black-haired youth left the room, and the two behind him hurried to follow, not forgetting to spit on the man before leaving.

————

An hour later, the three of them stepped out of the hover car and came before a grey stone stele in an underground mausoleum.

"This is the place, Brother Long."

"Buy a bouquet."

"Yes, Brother Long."

"Hold on, buy two." The black-haired youth seemed to remember something and added a sentence.

"Okay."

More than ten minutes later, two men, one fat, one thin, watched from a distance as the black-haired youth stood in front of a gravestone, seemingly saying something, and then laid down a bunch of blue flowers.

Seeing him return with another bouquet in hand, the two were slightly puzzled.

"Brother Long, what's this for?"

"Going to another cemetery, to lay flowers for my master as well."

"Master? Is Brother Long's master also..."

"Shut up." His companion covered his mouth, pulling him to keep walking forward.

...

By dusk, the lights in the cemetery were going out one by one, and the youth standing in front of the gravestone also entered into darkness. He had been standing there for quite a while.

"Master, I'm leaving."

"Even though you weren't my blood relative, over the years, you taught me a lot, whether it was martial arts, fighting, or life lessons... In my heart, you were no different from a father."

"I thought with your poor health you would still last another ten years or so, considering you're a robust man of the Dragon Sequence, but I never expected that at your age you'd still be chasing the dreams of your youth, insisting on trying to advance your Sequence."

"I wouldn't have minded just trying, but not telling me, afraid I would worry, and then failing halfway, going insane and attacking some kids, ending up being killed by a 16-year-old girl..."

"Sigh... I want to take revenge, but I'm too ashamed to act."

"But, this isn't just your problem anymore. Now I have to prepare for my advancement, to clear my mind of distractions and regrets for the advancement, I must meet that girl. Although I won't kill her, I need to settle at least one regret."

"I'll talk to you next time, but by then, you'll be seeing a different me."

"Not as I am now, but as the dragon who has drunk of Dragon Blood, Qiao Long."