As soon as Glenn pushed the door open, he caught sight of a tall, slightly hunched figure standing on the neighboring lawn, calling out while holding something in his hands.

  The old man turned at the sound, his voice faltering when he saw who it was. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to speak—but thought better of it.

  Instead, he offered a sinister smile.

  The old Glenn would have been terrified—he would’ve bolted back inside and locked the door.

  But the man standing there now felt no such fear. Glenn returned the smile, calm and unfazed.

  The old man’s face stiffened, clearly wondering why the timid boy he once knew now stood his ground. With a cold snort, he turned and disappeared into his house, slamming the door behind him.

  He didn’t find the dog’s corpse, then. Glenn’s gaze drifted to the patch of grass where the bulldog had died the night before.

  As expected, there was nothing left. His expression darkened.

  He strode forward and crouched down. Up close, he could still make out faint traces of blood—smudged or perhaps licked away.

  So, something had wandered here last night… but what? He’d have to find out later. Glenn straightened, cast one last glance at the old man’s house, and turned back inside.

  From the storage room, he rummaged out a wooden stick of uncertain purpose. He gave it a few test swings. It felt good in his grip.

  “This will do.”

  Though confident in his skills, Glenn knew better than to underestimate a man with a gun.

  That bearded man’s revolver was still lying in the woods; once this little “robbery” was over, he’d retrieve it—then all he’d need were bullets.

  The town was silent as ever, the horizon veiled in mist—typical weather for this region.

  Sunny days did exist, though rarely; without memories to prove otherwise, one might think this was a ghost town swallowed by fog year-round.

  Stepping out, Glenn scanned his surroundings carefully, running through possible scenarios in his mind.

  With a light leap, he vaulted over the fence and landed silently on the old man’s lawn. Hiding the stick behind his back, he walked up to the door and knocked.

  Knock, knock.

  He waited. No response.

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  Strange. Shouldn’t the old man have stormed out in rage by now? Glenn frowned and knocked again.

  “Hey, old man! I just need a word. Open up! I won’t hurt you—I promise!” he called out, adding silently, I only plan to rob you.

  Still nothing. The house was deathly still.

  Glenn’s knocking grew louder, until his open palms thudded against the wood. No use.

  He muttered, “Don’t tell me you vanished into thin air.”

  Then, more loudly: “Aren’t you curious where your precious pet went?”

  A clatter sounded from inside. Glenn’s eyes sharpened—finally, some movement. He braced himself, ready to strike.

  But the door stayed shut. His patience frayed.

  “Fine,” he hissed, stepping back. “You asked for it.”

  With a sudden kick—Bang!—the flimsy door burst open. Glenn darted sideways just in time.

  Bang!

  A gunshot tore through the air. The old man stood inside, shotgun raised, shock flickering across his face when his target wasn’t where he expected. He fumbled to reload—too slow.

  Glenn charged, swinging his stick in a downward arc. The old man barely managed to block, the impact jolting through his arms. Before he could recover, Glenn’s fist slammed into his gut, forcing the breath from his lungs.

  He flailed the gun wildly, but Glenn—trained, composed—sidestepped with ease.

  Within moments, the weapon was ripped from the old man’s grasp, and a kick sent him sprawling.

  “Stay still, old man,” Glenn warned, leveling the shotgun. “I’d hate to make a mess.”

  The man, towering nearly two meters tall with thick, muscled arms, looked far less intimidating crumpled on the floor.

  “You’ve lost your mind, boy,” the old man rasped. “Our neighbors won’t take kindly to noise.”

  So he had sensed something off, which explained his sudden caution earlier. Glenn didn’t bother to answer.

  “Where’s your food? Tell me, and maybe I’ll let you live.”

  The abrupt shift in topic left the man dumbstruck. “What… what did you say?”

  “I said I’m robbing you,” Glenn replied flatly. “Can’t you tell? I’m starving, so stop wasting my time—or I’ll make you talk.”

  After a long pause, the old man sighed and pointed toward a side room. “Kitchen… over there.”

  Without hesitation, Glenn slung the shotgun over his shoulder and strode inside. Soon came the sound of rummaging—then steady chewing.

  The old man sat on the floor, dazed. What happened to this boy? he wondered. He’s a different person… and that strength—could he be possessed?

  Meanwhile, Glenn ate his fill. The kitchen was well-stocked—far better than his own—and for the first time in days, he felt satisfied.

  From the earlier scuffle, he could tell his body had grown far stronger—beyond that of any ordinary man. Even stronger than before he’d crossed into this world. If he hadn’t held back, the old man would still be lying unconscious.

  Every wound from the previous night had already healed. Something within him was changing—his blood, his muscles… his very nature.

  Clenching his fists, he savored the strength coursing through him.

  Returning to the old man, he said with a calm smile, “Thank you for the meal. Don’t take it too hard—you used to bully me, remember? Call it karma. As for this shotgun… I’ll be taking it with me.”

  Under the old man’s furious gaze, Glenn turned and walked out into the mist.