I Siphon the Dead to Become the Strongest

The walk home was a blur of dodging late-evening traffic and nursing a bruised ego—mostly because I’m pretty sure Germaine actually tried to rip my head off three blocks back. By the time I reached the door to my gosiwon, I was lugging a plastic bag of extra-crispy Korean soy-garlic chicken in my left hand and a heavy bag of groceries in my right.

Calling this place an ”apartment” is a generous use of the English language. It’s a shoe box. A glorified closet with a door. But it’s my closet.

The moment I turned the key and pushed the door open, I didn’t even have time to take a breath. A shadow blurred from the corner of the room and launched itself at me with the force of a heat-seeking missile.

OOF!

I stumbled back, my boots nearly slipping on the linoleum as a small, energetic whirlwind slammed into me. In an instant, Mia had me locked in a death-grip. Her arms were wrapped tightly around my neck, and her legs were coiled around my torso like a very clingy, very hungry python.

”Mia! Stop! I have chicken! We have comestibles!” I wheezed, trying to balance the bags while being used as a human climbing frame.

As I struggled to regain my balance, my eyes drifted down and I felt a familiar surge of brotherly panic. She was wearing those short shorts again—the ones that barely qualify as clothing and are more of a suggestion of fabric.

”Mia, for the love of everything holy, we’ve talked about this!” I groaned, trying to shimmy her off. ”Do you have any idea how biological men operate? Some guys get a momentary glimpse of legs like that and their brains just... pop. They turn into mindless, drooling zombies! It’s a public health hazard!”

Mia just giggled, her face buried in my shoulder for a second before she let go. ”It’s okay, Oppa! We’re indoors, not outdoors. Besides, I’m way more comfortable doing my homework this way. It helps me think!”

”Well, I’m not comfortable with it,” I muttered, though there was no real heat in it. ”I’m the one who has to keep the ’zombies’ away from our front door.”

I managed to shuffle over to the tiny, cramped table that served as our dining room, kitchen, and office, and set the bags down with a tired thud. The second the plastic hit the wood, Mia practically teleported. She was suddenly there, her eyes sparkling with a predatory hunger that would have made those Fulminar Wolves look like house cats.

”Did you get it?!” she chirped, her voice an octave higher than usual. ”The soy-garlic one? The extra crispy one from the place I messaged you about?!”

I looked at her—this tiny, chaotic force of nature who managed to make my life a headache and a joy all at once. I reached out and gave her head a firm, affectionate pat, messing up her hair in the process.

”Of course I did, you little menace,” I said with a quiet, contented chuckle. ”Anything for my precious little sister.”

Mia let out a happy, muffled sound, already clutching a golden-brown chicken leg. She took a massive, crunching bite, closing her eyes in absolute bliss before glancing up at me with a curious tilt of her head.

”So,” she mumbled through a mouthful of chicken, ”why were you so late? Was the gate that hard? You always tell me it’s just sewer slimes, goblins, giant rats, and those big claw-crabs. Did a rat finally decide to fight back?”

I froze. My mind flashed back to the ”Sandnado,” the plasma fire, and the moment I almost lost my genetic legacy to a silver wolf. I couldn’t exactly tell her I’d been used as a human projectile by a blonde woman who could manipulate the earth.

”Uh... oh... well,” I stammered, rubbing the back of my neck. ”It was... different this time. I fought this thing. A slime. But, uh, it had two giant pinchers. Yeah. A... Pincer-Plop.”

Mia stopped chewing. She stared at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and genuine pity. ”A... Pincer-Plop?”

”Yeah. Very dangerous,” I lied through my teeth. ”Extremely menacing. Truly a terror of the deep.”

Mia sighed, shaking her head as she went back to her chicken. I could almost hear her thinking: What kind of pathetic excuse for a Master gives monsters names like ’Pincer-Plop’?

”Whatever,” she muttered. ”Just go clean yourself. You smell like a bog monster’s armpit.”

”Hey! That’s the scent of hard work!” I yelled back, already sprinting toward the bathroom.

As I slammed the door and stripped off my clothes, I leaned against the tiled wall and let out a long, shaky breath. My body ached, my mind was fried, and I was pretty sure I still had grit in places grit should never be. But as I heard Mia happily humming to herself in the other room, I figured the ”Pincer-Plops” were worth it.

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Just woke up. Brain is still loading... ⏳ But the chicken is served! Hope you guys enjoy this little slice of ’normal’ life before everything inevitably goes back to being a disaster. 🍗🔥