How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly) Chapter 59: How to NOT get in home after a long night in a m

The tunnel felt smaller now, and it wasn’t just my imagination. Each breath seed to consu the last traces of oxygen, and the remaining air ca in dense, contaminated, saturated with the vapors of decades of rot compacted into stone.

The walls were sweating moisture, but there was sothing more — as if the old concrete was slowly giving back every secret it had absorbed over the years. The space between and the rat was short, but the ti between my heartbeats stretched out with cruelty.

Blood ran from the cut on my arm, hot and throbbing, mixing with the muck on the ground like spilled paint on a ruined canvas.

Behind , Thalia tried to stay still, but her panic vibrated in the air like a muffled drum, pulsing right at the back of my neck. I felt it. All of it.

The creature still stared at , and now there was a slight sway in its body — not nervous, but ready. An animal rhythm, instinctive, that cos right before the leap.

I had seen that before — not in rats, but in fighting dogs, in cornered n, in predators who had learned to love the blood more than the victory. The tunnel was the arena, and we were both at its center.

I needed a way out. But there was no way out. Only forward, and the rat.

The pickaxe, my usual companion, had been left behind — a tactical mistake, justified by the need to move light, to appear civilized in a city that only accepted appearance as currency. Now, the price of that choice was bleeding down my wrist.

"Think, Dante. Think."

[ENVIRONNTAL CONDITIONS]

→ Visibility: Low – light only from magical sparks

→ Air Quality: Contaminated – suffocating, saturated with flammable gas

→ Mobility: Limited – confined space, slippery terrain

→ Hazards: Fire magic may cause explosion - No solid footing - Psychological strain (claustrophobia, blood, panic)

The environnt was against : tight space, no room to swing, ceiling low enough to kill any hope of montum. But I still had fire.

Not enough to set the tunnel ablaze — not safely. But enough to cause pain, shock. Maybe open a window.

The sparks, used so far as a beacon, could be weaponized. If I channeled more magic into my fingers, maybe I could generate a short but intense discharge — like a magical shock at a focal point. Not lethal. But strong enough to stun.

Another option was to use the environnt. I’d seen before a buildup of flammable sludge where the air felt warr. If I could make the rat retreat there...

But that would require risk. A deliberate move. A bet that it would follow . And that I’d be fast enough to ignite the floor without igniting myself.

[CURRENT STATUS – DANTE]

→ Health: Wounded (deep bite, bleeding arm, fatigue)

→ Resources: = Fire magic (usable in short bursts, risky in current environnt) = No weapon (pickaxe abandoned)

→ ntal state: Focused but strained, high pressure, calculating under stress

→ Actions Taken: Used concentrated spark to stun enemy - Engaged in close-quarters combat - Crushed enemy skull manually

My eyes searched for sothing. Anything. A chunk of stone, a broken stick, a bone. Nothing. Only sludge, scraps, and the rhythmic sound of the monster’s breathing ahead.

I took a deep breath. The pain in my arm was constant, but no longer burned — it had beco a warning, a reminder that hesitation ca with a price.

The creature stepped forward.

And I decided.

The whole world beca the tunnel. The city, the mission, the past — all erased. Only this remained: a beast between and the exit.

I raised my hands — not in defense, but attack. The energy was already pulsing in my fingers, hot, insistent. I let it rise, not like an explosion, but like a tide — steady, silent, threatening. The rat stepped back half a centiter, not out of fear, but recognition. It knew sothing was coming.

And then, I moved.

Not with a scream. Not with heroics.

With resolve.

I slid along the tunnel wall, feet slipping in the sludge, shoulder scraping stone, sparks glowing like invisible teeth. I aid for the creature’s flank and discharged the gathered energy directly into its exposed neck, between filthy fur and rough cartilage.

The light exploded like muffled thunder.

The stench of burned fur filled the air like a heavy cloak.

The beast shrieked — a grotesque, high-pitched sound of pure rage and surprise.

And the real fight began.

The creature’s screech echoed through the tunnel like thunder buried under wet earth. The improvised electric shock didn’t kill — only enraged. The rat leapt with a guttural snarl, and this ti ca with everything: outstretched paws, claws wide, teeth bared, aiming to bury its skull into my shoulder.

I rolled to the side, feeling my flank scrape against stone and mud, and struck with my right forearm, hitting the creature’s snout.

It pulled back, but only out of instinct.

I saw it in its eyes — this wasn’t about hunting anymore. It was war.

With my body tensed and muscles burning, I surged forward again. My feet slipped with each step, and the pain from the earlier bite burned like fever in the flesh. The creature snapped at the air near my throat. Close.

I managed to lock its neck with my left forearm, using my body to pin it against the wall. But the beast was strong. Stronger than anything that size should be.

Its thick tail wrapped around my leg and knocked off balance. We both crashed into the mud — a whirlwind of fur, blood, screams, and animal breath.

On the ground, the fight beca a massacre.

Not out of technique.

Out of desperation.

I grabbed the creature’s head with both hands and slamd it. Once, twice, three tis against the soaked floor. Bones began to give, but it still thrashed. Thick blood splashed across my face. Sothing snapped with a wet crack. The rat’s jaw finally loosened.

I didn’t stop.

I only stopped when the skull was split open and the flesh hung like soaked rags. Entrails burst from the side of its abdon, sprawled like grotesque ropes across the tunnel’s sludge. Its paws twitched one last ti—reflexively... and then, nothing.

[CURRENT STATUS – RAT]

→ Health: Dead (skull shattered, internal rupture)

→ Traits Noted During Fight:

→ High resilience (survived shock and multiple blows before death)

→ Adaptive (adjusted tactics, used tail to trip)

→ Rage-driven (ceased strategic behavior after being wounded)

I breathed.

Heavy. Irregular. Gasping.

With the creature dead beneath , the entire tunnel seed to freeze for a mont.

Silence.

Almost silence.

Behind , a different sound: crying.

Thalia was on her knees against the wall, her face buried in her hands, body trembling as if trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. The sobs ca loud, desperate, without rhythm. It was the crying of soone not just afraid... but breaking down.

"Thalia," I murmured, still trying to catch my breath.

She didn’t answer.

With each breath, I could sll the creature on . Blood, entrails, scorched fur, and sothing like burned leather. A sll that clung to the soul.

Thalia finally pulled her hands from her face.

Her eyes were wide. Soaked. She looked at like she had just watched soone turn into a monster.

"You... you killed it..." her voice cracked. "With your hands..."

[THALIA – STATUS]

→ Health: Unhard physically

→ ntal State: Near breakdown – phobia triggered, frozen in panic

→Combat Role: Passive, non-combatant

→ Rescue Status: Carried by Dante during escape

"I had no choice."

She shook her head.

But not in disagreent.

It was pure denial.

Denial of reality.

She no longer saw the rat. Only the blood. The sll. The sound of the skull cracking.

I didn’t bla her.

But there was no ti.

The first sound ca as a whisper.

Then it beca a tide.

The scraping of claws—hundreds of them—echoing inside the tunnel walls.

I turned around.

The shadows at the far end of the corridor began to shift. Not one shadow.

Multiple.

Pulsing.

Advancing.

And then I saw them.

Rats.

[IMDIATE THREAT – SWARM]

→ Incoming: Horde of rats (varied sizes, so as large as prior enemy)

→ Sound Indicators: Echoing claws, low growls, coordinated advance

→ Visibility: Shadow mass approaching

→ Options:

→ Fire magic = suicide

→ Combat = impossible

→ Escape = only viable path

Of all sizes. Small, large, and so nearly as big as the one I had just killed. They ca fast. A furry wave of gleaming eyes and bared teeth.

There was no way to fight.

And even if there was... I couldn’t use fire.

The mory hit like lightning: a magical discharge here, in this enclosed space, with that concentration of gas, in this atmosphere of flammable rot... and we’d both be ash in less than three seconds.

It wasn’t bravery.

It was calculation.

"Thalia!" I shouted.

She didn’t answer. Just looked at with lost eyes.

I grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her without waiting for consent, and slung her over my shoulder like a sack of drenched linen.

She scread, weakly, but didn’t resist.

I ran.

The tunnel sloped slightly ahead, suggesting an exit, maybe a turn, maybe just another kind of hell. It didn’t matter.

I ran with her in my arms, body aching, breath faltering, and the sound of the rats growing louder behind .

The tunnel shook.

Not from structure.

But from life.

And that life...

was coming.