Chapter 2

The Alliance's Awakened prison reeked of blood and rot.

A guard kicked me into the cell, and I slammed hard onto the freezing stone floor, my bones thudding on impact.

"Listen up, farmer." Warden Brando stood outside the bars, rapping his baton against them with a deafening clang. "Keep your head down and lie there like a dog, or by tomorrow you'll be feed for the mutant rats."

Slowly, I pushed myself up and wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth.

I knew the rules of this place from my previous life. Anyone who acted up got broken fast.

I met Brando's furious gaze and curled my lips into a mocking smirk. "Brando, right? Go tell that pig-brained prison chief of yours I want a private cell. And a clean steak. Otherwise, you're all going to regret it."

The inmates around us looked at me like I was already dead.

A freshly awakened Farmer with zero combat ability—and he was provoking a guard on purpose?

Brando froze for half a second, then the fat on his face twisted with rage.

"You suicidal little bastard!"

He yanked the cell door open and charged in. His heavy alloy baton cut through the air and slammed into my stomach.

Bang!

Agony ripped through my nerves. The blow sent me crashing into the wall, and then came a rain of kicks.

But I didn't fight back.

The Alliance had one strict rule: if an Awakened prisoner whose value hadn't been fully squeezed out showed signs of dying, they had to be transferred to the infirmary immediately.

"Hit harder, buddy. What, you skip dinner?" I coughed up a mouthful of blood and kept taunting him.

"I'll break every bone in your body!" Brando completely lost it. He pulled out a high-voltage stun rod and jammed it into my chest.

A violent current tore through my body, and the heart monitor let out a sharp alarm.

"That's enough! Are you trying to kill him?!" Another guard rushed in and dragged Brando back. "Move! Get him to the infirmary!"

...

When I opened my eyes again, the stench of rot had been replaced by the sharp smell of disinfectant.

Brando's thick, brutal face came into view.

"Listen, farmer."

He grabbed my collar, gritting his teeth. "Once this worthless body of yours heals up, I'll come get you myself. And when I do, I'll make you suffer ten times worse."

Then he threw me down like a dirty rag and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence returned to the infirmary.

I lay on the bed, breathing hard.

Three broken ribs. But everything was going according to plan.

Crisp footsteps approached.

A woman in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses stopped beside my bed. Her deep blue eyes held both pity and confusion.

She treated my wounds with practiced hands and murmured under her breath, "I don't understand. Your file says you're just a newly awakened Farmer with no combat ability at all. Provoking Brando like that was basically suicide. Why would you do it?"

"Because if I didn't piss him off..." I forced myself to swallow the blood rising in my throat, then lifted my head and locked my eyes onto hers.

"If I didn't, I never would've had the chance to get into this infirmary."

Her hands paused for the briefest moment. Deep in those blue eyes, a flicker of wariness flashed by.

"Pretending to be sick to avoid punishment is idiotic," she said coldly, preparing an injection of painkiller.

I ignored the act and kept my gaze fixed on her.

In this damned wasteland, everyone thought she was just an ordinary doctor.

But I knew exactly who she really was—

Triss.

The Alliance's most deeply hidden expert in Awakened ability development.

And in the future, the Federation's central pillar.

If I wanted my Farmer class to undergo a true transformation, I had to find her.

For this moment, a few broken ribs were more than worth it.