"Ten thousand! Do I hear any higher?"

  The auctioneer waved his hammer excitedly, spittle flying under the spotlight. "Ten thousand going once! This gentleman wants to grind it into powder! This is the bone dust of a champion, folks—snort it, eat it, it cures all ailments!"

  Below the stage, the Gang Boss grinned savagely and pulled out a bulging crocodile-skin wallet.

  The skeleton lay prone on the stage. Although it had fallen apart, its fingers were still unconsciously scratching at the floor, leaving nerve-wracking white scratches on the metal surface. It was struggling. Even if only a pile of bones remained, it didn't want to become dust.

  John’s hand tightened around the wad of bills in his pocket.

  The two vials of "Gold Label" suppressant he’d bought from Blind Man would only keep his mother alive through the most dangerous week. The ten-thousand-plus credits he had left were originally his lifeline—meant for the next course of meds or perhaps to find a better doctor in the black market. If he spent it now, what about next week? What about next month?

  Logic told him this was stupid. He wasn’t a philanthropist, and he certainly wasn’t a savior.

  But when he looked into those hollow eye sockets, he didn't see bones.

  He saw himself trembling in anatomy class.

  He saw himself despairing in the sewer.

  He saw himself—expelled by the Guild, abandoned by the world—still clutching onto the last shred of his dignity.

  If he didn't stand up today, would he be the one lying there tomorrow?

  "Twelve thousand!"

  John's voice was raspy, yet it cut through the noise of the basement with crystal clarity.

  Dead silence. Everyone turned around to look at the young man in the ragged hoodie, holding a glowing cat.

  The Gang Boss turned his head, his eyes full of murderous intent as he stared at John. "Kid, which crew do you run with? You dare jump my claim?"

  "I don't run with any crew." John took a deep breath and raised the cash in his hand. "I just... need a bodyguard."

  "Bodyguard?" The Boss erupted into mocking laughter. "That pile of scrap bones? It can’t even guard itself! Thirteen thousand!"

  "Fourteen thousand," John gritted his teeth.

  "Fifteen thousand."

  "Sixteen thousand."

  The price climbed. The stack of bills in John’s hand felt thinner and thinner.

  When the Boss shouted "Twenty thousand," John hit the bottom of his pocket. Only two thousand left. Adding his previous savings, his entire net worth was just over twenty thousand.

  He lost.

  "Twenty thousand going once..." The auctioneer raised the hammer.

  John’s body trembled. He wasn't resigned. He didn't want to lose. Especially not to a scumbag who treated people like raw materials.

  He suddenly whipped out the tablet from his chest.

  "Singularity! I know you're watching!" John growled at the screen, a frantic edge to his voice. "Lend me money! It's an emergency!"

  The screen flickered, and Singularity’s sunglass-wearing face popped up. The background was a noisy construction site in the Underworld, but he had obviously been monitoring the situation.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Borrow money?" Singularity pushed up his shades, a playful smirk hanging on his lips. "Kid, that service isn't in our contract. Besides, you already owe me a life. How much more do you want to owe?"

  "Five thousand!" John stared at the screen. "Just five thousand! This skeleton... it's different! It can help me! It's the best hitter! I can earn it back! I promise!"

  Singularity looked through the screen at the struggling skeleton on the stage, then at John’s bloodshot eyes.

  He fell silent for two seconds.

  "Double interest," Singularity said flatly. "And if you can't pay it back next month, you come down to Hell and mine coal for me."

  "Deal!" John roared.

  Ding.

  [Transfer Successful: 5,000 New Credits.]

  [Current Debt Level: High Risk.]

  John snapped his head up.

  "Twenty-five thousand!"

  He held the tablet high, the transfer record on the screen shining blindingly bright.

  "I bid twenty-five thousand! Cash! Immediate payment!"

  This time, there was no fear in his voice, only a desperate, all-in resolve. It was the look of a gambler shoving his last chip onto the table.

  The Gang Boss froze. He looked at John’s suicidal stance.

  Risking his life for a pile of broken bones against a maniac? Not worth it.

  "Tch, psycho." The Boss cursed, put away his wallet, turned, and walked away.

  "Twenty-five thousand going once! Twice! Sold!"

  The hammer fell.

  John’s legs gave out, and he almost sat on the floor. He won. But he was a pauper again, and now saddled with even heavier loan shark debt. Mom’s medicine money for next week... was gone.

  ...

  Ten minutes later. The back alley of the black market.

  John looked at the pile of bones on the ground, reeking of mold and blood. The skeleton had completely fallen apart, looking like a pile of abandoned trash.

  "Am I crazy?" John gave a bitter laugh and squatted down. "Twenty-five thousand... I could have bought a brand-new combat golem."

  He reached out, intending to straighten the skull.

  The moment his fingertips touched the bone.

  Voom—!

  A weak, yet incredibly pure soul fire ignited within those dark, hollow sockets.

  The skeleton's jaw clicked twice. It had no vocal cords and couldn't make a sound. But John heard a voice resonate directly in his mind—deep, steadfast, carrying the weathering of life and death.

  "Why?" it asked. "Why save a pile of trash?"

  John looked at it.

  "Because..." John gently stroked a broken rib. "I don't think you've lost yet."

  "As long as you don't want to lose, you aren't trash."

  The soul fire pulsed violently.

  Clack-clack-clack-clack!

  The scattered bones around them suddenly began to vibrate, as if drawn by a magnet, flying up automatically and reassembling.

  Though still broken, though still covered in scars. It stood up.

  It stood before John, towering two heads above him. It looked down at this scrawny young man who had bankrupted himself to save it.

  It placed its remaining good right hand over where its heart should have been.

  Then, it knelt on one knee.

  It was a knight’s etiquette. And a warrior's highest promise.

  "Bone (Ah Gu)."

  The voice echoed in John’s mind.

  "From today on, I am your shield."

  "Whoever wants to touch you, must step over my corpse first."

  [Partner Acquired: Bone]

  [Race: Undead Construct (Evolvable)]

  [Loyalty: Die-hard (Locked)]

  John looked at the behemoth kneeling before him and smiled.

  Sure, he was poor, sure, he was in debt up to his eyeballs, and sure, Mom’s meds were still up in the air.

  But now... he had family. He had a cat. And he had a brother willing to take a bullet for him.

  "Get up, Bone." John reached out and took the cold, skeletal hand. "Let's go home. Mom made soup. You can't drink it, but you can smell it."

  "Also... when we get back, we need to find some superglue to patch you up."

  Meanwhile. The Underworld.

  Singularity (Qi Dian) watched the backs of the two figures supporting each other as they walked away on the screen. He adjusted his sunglasses, a faint smile hanging on the corner of his lips.

  Beside him, Ox-Head leaned in, his massive bovine eyes full of "insider knowledge," handing Singularity a cup of freshly brewed hot tea.

  "Director, brilliant! Truly brilliant!"

  Ox-Head gave a thumbs-up, his tone dripping with the flattery typical of a bureaucratic veteran.

  "This five thousand credit investment looks like high risk, but it's actually a Causality Layout! The kid is poor now, but that spirit of his... that's 'Main Character Energy' (Dragon Qi) capable of great things! This move of sending charcoal in the snow... tsk tsk, the return on investment is going to be hundreds of times over! As expected of the Technical Director, this vision is unmatched!"

  Horse-Face quickly leaned in too, adding with a serious face: "Exactly! Old Ox is right! And I see that skeleton isn't simple either—its bone structure is unique, showing signs of a War God. The Director is spending small money to do big things, locking down a future general in advance! What do you call this? This is called Scope! This is called Strategic Vision!"

  Singularity smiled, took a sip of tea, and didn't expose these two sycophants.

  He toyed with the horsetail whisk in his hand, watching John’s scrawny yet straight spine on the screen.

  ROI? Main Character Energy? Scope?

  Maybe.

  But in that moment, he just saw a foolish kid pushing himself to the brink for a promise.

  "You only know the surface, not the depth."

  Singularity put down the teacup, his voice turning distant.

  "In the West, this might be mocked as 'stupid kindness,' a losing deal."

  "But in our East..."

  He pointed at John’s receding figure.

  "We call this... 'Xia' (Chivalry)."

  [Message from Singularity]

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