As the bell rang, students filed back into class, the air buzzing with gossip and speculation. Near the window, Sellzen leaned lazily against the frame, slipping the final betting slips into an envelope with theatrical flair. He exhaled dramatically, muttering under his breath.
"Wasn't this supposed to be a comedy? Come on, author—throw me a bone here."
Then, louder for the class to hear:
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen! The bets are in, the game is over—and remember, no refunds!"
Austin entered the room seconds later, visibly disheveled. In his rush, he forgot to cover the faint red marks on his neck. By the time his hand flew up to adjust his collar, it was too late—Sellzen had already locked onto him like a hawk. A few students noticed too, and a ripple of whispers followed.
Sellzen's laugh burst out, loud and triumphant.
"Aaaand it's already over! Didn't even last a full day—what a tragedy! Well, folks, the odds were fair, the money's mine, and you all just paid for my next gaming console!"
Austin dropped into his seat with a sigh—part frustration, part resignation. Sellzen had found a way to turn him into a cash cow for the class, and there was no undoing it now. The stares from the boys were heavy, sharp with envy and disdain. Sellzen, as usual, was unbothered, counting his earnings beside Austin.
"So," he whispered with a mischievous grin, "did you seal the deal? I mean, come on—a mafia milf like that? They don't exactly grow on trees these days. Give me the details—"
Austin glared, and Sellzen backed off with a chuckle. Moments later, Miss Ceasar walked in as if the earlier confrontation had never happened. She carried herself with cool indifference, no trace of impropriety in her expression. Austin didn't dare question it—he just looked away, trying to shrink from the judgmental gazes of his peers.
Time passed in painful slowness. Then, at last, the final bell neared.
Everyone—Sellzen, Austin, even the air itself—seemed to tense in anticipation.
Miss Ceasar moved to speak. "Class dismis—"
But the boys had already begun rising from their seats, eyes locked on Austin with hostile intent.
Reacting on instinct, Austin grabbed his bag and leapt out the window. Without hesitation, he caught the flagpole and slid down with practiced precision. Landing on both feet, he dashed across the courtyard, vaulted over the school gate, and vanished into the distance.
Sellzen, still in the classroom, was filming the entire thing.
"#TagTheRunningWomanizer... and upload," he muttered, smirking at his phone.
---
Later, Austin found himself in front of an abandoned church on the edge of the city. He stepped inside, his shoes echoing against the cracked stone floor. In the center stood a broken statue of a forgotten deity, weathered by time. Austin stared at it, weary and lost.
"God... or whatever's listening up there... why is my life a living hell?"
There was silence at first—until the air behind him shifted.
He turned—and there she stood.
Crimson hair fell in waves down her back, her blue eyes like cut sapphires, sharp and cold. Her presence was overwhelming, like the gravity of another world pressing down on him.
"Oh," she said, unimpressed. "It's the idiot who pissed off Truck-kun."
Austin stumbled back, heart racing. She looked more irritated than celestial.
"Wh-what the hell—are you... my guardian angel?"
She rolled her eyes, cutting him off without a moment's hesitation.
"I'd rather scrub a public toilet with a toothbrush than be anyone's guardian. Especially yours."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping like a guillotine.
"You, Austin Moon, provoked the God of Isekai—Truck-kun. And now you're marked. Hunted. Across this world, the next, and the next after that."