Absolute Loser Becomes The Pleasure King Using Satan System

Chapter 35: 35.Characters that matter later-1

"Why haven’t you given me a daily quest yet? It’s already 8:00 AM."

Mylo complained to the empty air as he walked.

"Weirdo," a passing jogger scoffed, casting him a bewildered look as he ran past.

Mylo ignored the runner, his mind entirely focused on his goal.

He was determined to get stronger, but the System was taking its sweet time giving him his daily assignments.

"Good morning, Mylo, dear!"

He was greeted by an old man the moment he stepped through the entrance of his apartment building.

"You working this early?" Mylo asked.

"Haha, what ’early,’ son? An empty stomach doesn’t care about the time," the old man chuckled warmly, giving him a gentle smile as he continued sweeping the hallway.

That’s true, but still, make sure to take care of yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, I will," the old man replied, resting his hands on the broom handle.

"What about you, son? Where are you coming from? I was talking with the guards earlier, and they said you left late last night. It’s not good for young people to stay out all night, you know."

"Well, I had a few things to take care of. I might be out even more often from now on, anyway. Take care, Uncle," Mylo replied with a nod before bidding him farewell and stepping into the elevator bound for the terrace.

Uncle Zane paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on the closed elevator doors.

"You don’t have to repeat it, son. You should be saying that to yourself..." he muttered softly with a sigh, before going right back to sweeping the floor.

The rest of Mylo’s day was entirely uneventful, spent cleaning himself up, grabbing some much-needed rest, thinking stuffs through, planning his next steps and growing increasingly annoyed at the System for failing to assign his daily quests.

That same morning, in an old, abandoned factory...

​A bearded man sat on a rusted crate, a thin folding knife spinning lazily through his fingers with mesmerizing precision.

On the dirt floor beneath him lay a bound captive,beaten, bloodied, and trembling.

The man feebly shook his head, his swollen eyes begging for mercy.

​Without a word, or even a shift in his posture, the bearded man flicked his wrist.

​Thwack.

​The blade sank cleanly into the captive’s neck. Crimson splattered across the bearded man’s jawline.

Slowly, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood away.

He stood up, his posture immaculate, and turned a steady gaze toward the brown-haired man standing nearby.

​"I gave you one job, Branzey," Marsh said, his voice quiet.

"And you walk back in here with empty hands. Proper embarrassing, that."

​"Look, if it weren’t for that bleeding bastard, it would’ve been a walk in the park!" Branzey spat defensively, his words fast, aggressive, and rough around the edges. "Kid came outta nowhere and crashed right into us, didn’t he?"

​Marsh closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a quiet, rhythmic breath. "Branzey... do not make excuses. It does not suit you. Do you have any idea what we are building here? Marsh & Branzey.

’’We are meant to be taking over every small-time crew from here to the docks. And yet... you fall flat on your face over a simple request from Cobra?"

​He stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. The sheer authority in his stillness made Branzey stiffen.

​"Do you want him pulling his backing before we’ve even secured the crown? Is that what you want, brother?"

​"Come off it, Marsh," Branzey muttered, looking away. "You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, innit? It was just a little personal thing for him. He wanted a girl. We can just snatch ’er up tomorrow, no harm done."

​"You really do not see the whole board, do you?" Marsh replied softly, his cadence smooth and absolute.

"A man like Cobra does not move pieces for ’personal things.’ If he wanted a girl to mess around with, he could have picked up any stray off the street. But he asked for her. Specific. There is a motive behind it, Branzey. Something far bigger."

​Marsh let go of his brother and flicked the blood off his blade before closing it with a soft click.

​"The boy who interfered. Have you identified him?"

​"Yeah, Marsh," Branzey sneered, eager to regain ground. "I’ve already sent Mike and Bob to track the little slag down. The second they drag him back, I’m gonna break his fingers one by one, then bury him six feet under in the woods."

​Marsh gave a single, slow nod. "Efficient. Good."

​He turned his head toward a goon standing nervously in the shadows. "And our shipment? Speak clearly."

​"B-Boss... production’s hit a bottleneck," the goon stammered. "They’re asking for more time-"

​"No," Marsh cut him off.

"We do not do ’more time.’ Tell them they have until next week. If the product is not in my hands by then, as they were supposed to, we eliminate them from the supply line... and from the mortal coil. Have I made myself clear?"

​"C-Crystal, Boss."

​Marsh pulled a cigarette from his silver case, lighting it with a slow, steady flick of his lighter. He drew a deep drag, letting the thick gray smoke drift up toward the rafters.

​"Still..." Marsh murmured into the silence, his eyes narrowing as he pondered the board. "Why on earth would a man like Cobra want that specific girl?"

​The question hung heavy in the stale air, unanswered, as no one in the room dared to break his silence.

Mylo checked his smartphone as a string of messages began flooding in from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey, Mr. Angry.

Unknown: This me. Got your number from Amantha.

Unknown: Don’t worry about your friend. She doesn’t remember a thing.

Unknown: She probably never even fully woke up.

Unknown: Honestly didn’t expect her to be such a good girl, though.

Unknown: She’s actually really excited to meet you today.

Setting his phone down on the dresser, Mylo looked at himself in the mirror to make a few final adjustments to his clothes.

Satisfied, he grabbed his bag and headed out of his apartment, making his way downstairs toward the entrance.

Outside the building, Uncle Joe was now sweeping up the scattered dead leaves beneath the large tree by the pathway.

Catching sight of Mylo, the old man shook his head with a light chuckle.

"I swear, I’ll never understand the schedules you college kids keep nowadays," Uncle Joe commented, leaning lightly on his broom.

Mylo chuckled softly. "It’s not usually like this, Uncle Joe. It’s just the induction program right now, you know, orientation, introductions, campus tours, the basics. That’s why my timing’s been so erratic today. To be honest, though, I don’t think we’re going to follow any strict schedule in the future, either."

Mylo gave a polite nod, intending to turn and head toward campus, but Uncle Joe raised a hand, waving him over.

"Hey, hey, hold on a moment, son," Uncle Joe called out. "You must have a few minutes to spare, right?"

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!