Chapter 1 Miserable Shameful Dying

• The night hung heavy over the deserted streets of Salita Cacciottoli, where only the wind whispered through the narrow alleys.
• A lone figure staggered forward, his hand pressed tightly against his stomach as warm blood seeped through his fingers, staining his shirt.
• His face, pale and contorted with pain, revealed the battle between survival and impending collapse.
• This man, James Belgenza, should have been heading home after what was supposed to be a routine meeting.
• But fate twisted cruelly—betrayed by a trusted colleague, shot in the abdomen, and now pursued by twenty relentless men. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of curses and regret.
• If only he hadn’t dismissed his bodyguards so early, he wouldn’t be stumbling through the streets alone, fighting for his life.
• “Damn it…” James hissed through gritted teeth, his voice barely more than a raspy breath.
• He paused for a brief moment, leaning against a cold stone wall, his hand trembling as he checked his gun.
• Three bullets left. It wasn’t enough, not against the sheer number of men hunting him down.
• Desperation clawed at him, but surrender wasn’t an option. He had to keep moving, had to stay alive.
• In the distance, the echo of footsteps grew louder, closer. James pushed himself off the wall and forced his legs to move, every step a sharp agony that shot through his body.
• He turned down an alley, fired off the last of his bullets blindly, and kept running. His vision blurred as he rounded a corner, and there, in a moment of sheer desperation, he spotted a sewer grate.
• Without a second thought, he dove in, the foul stench barely registering over the coppery smell of his own blood.
• He collapsed in the darkness below, his breath ragged, his strength nearly gone. The world seemed to spin around him as he tried to steady himself.
• A faint squeal echoed in the tunnel, and James grimaced as he crushed a rat underfoot, his expensive shoe now ruined with filth and blood.
• Minutes, or maybe hours, passed. Time had lost all meaning.
• Weak from blood loss, James tried to pull himself up, his fingers slipping on the wet, grimy stones.
• “Help… me…” he whispered, though he knew no one would hear. His voice was swallowed by the empty street above. His hand slipped, and he fell back into the sewer, the impact jarring, forcing a groan from his lips. The dim light from above caught the glint of his watch—a small beacon in the overwhelming darkness.
• Just as he began to lose hope, the sound of footsteps above echoed through the drain. James’s heart skipped a beat.
• Someone was there. He mustered the last of his strength and reached up, fingers trembling. And then, a hand—a slender, soft hand—grasped his.
• “Sir, you need to help yourself up! You’re too heavy!” a girl’s voice complained, strained but determined.
• James, barely conscious, used the last remnants of his strength to push himself up, gripping the girl’s hand tightly. She nearly toppled into the sewer with him but managed to pull him up just enough to drag him out. With a final grunt of pain, James collapsed onto the pavement.
• “Sir! What happened to you?” the girl asked, her oversized glasses slipping down her nose as she tried to shake him awake. Her light blonde ponytail swayed as she looked around, clearly panicking.
• She touched the blood on his abdomen, her hand trembling as she realized the severity of his injury.
• “This is blood… Oh no… What should I do?” she muttered to herself, her voice rising in alarm. The street was empty, and no one else was around to help.
• Determined, she began dragging James’s limp body toward the main road, her small frame struggling under his weight.
• “You’re so heavy!” she huffed, stumbling a few times but refusing to give up. The man needed help, and she wasn’t about to leave him to die.
• As they neared the crossroads, James stirred slightly. His vision was hazy, but he could feel himself being dragged.
• “Who… are you?” he mumbled before slipping back into unconsciousness.
• The girl, now with a clearer view of his face, paused for a moment. Despite his bloodied state, she couldn’t help but notice his sharp, almost godlike features. But there was no time for admiration—he needed medical attention immediately.
• After propping him up against a water tank, she darted into the street, waving her arms desperately to flag down a taxi.
• “Please, stop! Help me!” she cried out, her voice strained with urgency.
• Finally, a taxi screeched to a halt, narrowly avoiding her.
• “Thank you, sir!” she gasped, rushing back to drag James into the cab. The driver, an older man, frowned at her but didn’t offer any assistance.
• “Take us to the hospital, please!” she ordered, her voice firm despite her youthful appearance. The driver glanced back, skeptical, but nodded after seeing the cash she handed him—her entire earnings from the day.
• As the taxi sped through the night, the girl glanced down at James, worry etched across her face. She silently prayed that he would survive.
• “God will surely give more money to me later. I shouldn’t hesitate,” she whispered, echoing her grandmother’s teachings. Yet her eyes kept drifting back to James, her concern deepening with each passing second.
• When they finally arrived at the hospital, the nurses quickly rushed out to assist, placing James on a stretcher and whisking him away.
• The girl, breathless and frazzled, was asked to follow. She had to provide some information about the man she had just saved.
• “What’s his name?” a nurse asked as they hurried down the hallway.
• “I… I don’t know,” she stammered. “I found him on the street and brought him here.”
• The nurse quickly searched through James’s pockets and found his identification.
• “His name is James Belgenza,” she announced, her tone more serious now. The doctors nodded and prepared for surgery.
• “Miss, we need someone to sign the consent forms. Are you his relative?” a nurse asked, pen and paper ready.
• “No! I’m not… I just found him,” the girl, now identified as Vreya Delilah Starley, replied quickly, her panic rising again.
• “Then we’ll need to list you as someone responsible. How about his girlfriend?” the nurse suggested with a raised eyebrow.
• “What? No!”