"Dead end."

  John was backed into a corner of the garden, his spine pressed against a perimeter wall covered in thorny roses.

  Four fully armed bodyguards approached with sneering grins, the zzzt of the high-voltage stun batons in their hands sounding like the whisper of the Reaper. Behind them, several genetically modified hounds crouched low, emitting guttural growls from their throats, ready to kill.

  The security captain stood at the front, his red mechanical eye locking onto John's throat.

  "Kid, next life remember: don't try to reason with rich people."

  He raised the stun baton. A blue electric arc traced a cruel curve in the sunset, smashing viciously toward John's shoulder.

  John instinctively wanted to dodge, but the weakness brought on by his hemophobia turned his legs to jelly.

  Just in that split second of imminent peril.

  A slender hand suddenly reached out from the side, grabbing the captain's heavy, powerful stun baton as if it were nothing.

  That hand looked pale and thin, yet it was as steady as a rock.

  "Is this the so-called upper-class hospitality? How utterly rude."

  Sherlock Holmes.

  He had appeared beside John at some point, still clenching that pipe between his teeth, his other hand even tucked into his coat pocket.

  "You..." The captain froze. He tried to pull the baton back but found it wouldn't budge an inch.

  "Although I prefer to use my brain to solve problems, that does not mean I am unskilled in handling such... manual labor."

  Holmes's gaze turned cold. He flipped his wrist abruptly.

  Bartitsu.

  A Victorian martial art fusing jujitsu, boxing, and cane fighting. It was also Holmes's specialty.

  Crack!

  The captain's wrist was instantly twisted to a grotesque angle. He screamed, and the stun baton dropped from his hand.

  Holmes smoothly caught the baton. He didn't use the shock function; instead, he treated it like a walking stick.

  Thwack! Thwack!

  Two strikes—extremely fast, extremely precise.

  One strike to the lateral ligament of the captain's knee, one to the vagus nerve at his temple.

  The two-meter-tall, armored giant didn't even make a sound before collapsing to the ground like a pile of mud.

  "Human anatomy," Holmes said indifferently, tossing the baton to John. "Understand the structure, and you can cause maximum damage with minimum effort."

  Seeing this, the other bodyguards roared and charged.

  "Release the dogs! Kill them!"

  Three vicious hounds broke their chains, opening their blood-red maws as they lunged.

  Holmes took a step back, yielding the battlefield to John.

  "John, listen to me. Don't panic." His voice rang in John's ear, as calm as if he were teaching an anatomy class.

  "That bald bodyguard's right eye is prosthetic; his field of view is narrow. His blind spot is 30 degrees to the bottom right."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "The hound on the left has over-enhanced auditory nerves; it is extremely sensitive to high-frequency noise."

  "And that little thing in your arms..."

  John looked down at the cat in his arms.

  "It is currently a 'quantum-state' organism. Do not treat it as a cat."

  "Treat it... as a weapon."

  These sentences felt like cheat codes entered directly into John's brain. His mind, previously chaotic with fear, instantly became crystal clear.

  He looked at the charging enemies.

  He stopped hiding.

  He abruptly raised the cat in his arms, aiming it like a gun at the bald bodyguard's face.

  "Luna! Scratch him!"

  "MEOWRRR—!!!"

  The originally docile kitten, sensing John's fighting spirit, suddenly puffed up. The wings of light on its back instantly unfurled, and its ethereal blue body erupted with a blinding glare.

  The bald bodyguard was blinded by the light, his movements lagging by half a beat.

  John closed his eyes.

  "Go!"

  He tossed the cat into the air.

  The next second, the cat vanished.

  Teleportation.

  It materialized out of thin air right on top of the bodyguard's head. Those silver-glowing claws slashed mercilessly at the bodyguard's scanning red prosthetic eye.

  Zzzzt!

  "ARGH!!!"

  The bodyguard clutched his eye and screamed.

  Seizing this opening, John ducked low, remembering Holmes's tip.

  Bottom right, 30 degrees.

  He slide-tackled into the bodyguard's blind spot, then delivered a vicious kick to the man's ankle.

  "This cat... isn't good enough for your carpet now?"

  John roared.

  "But it's good enough to blind your eye!"

  The remaining two dogs lunged.

  "The one on the left!" Holmes warned. "Use your tablet!"

  John immediately pulled out his tablet, fingers tapping wildly on the screen to pull up an [Exorcism Charm (High-Frequency Version)].

  VMMMM——————!

  A burst of ultrasound—inaudible to humans but brain-melting for dogs—exploded instantly.

  The hound yelped, convulsing in mid-air before crashing to the ground, foaming at the mouth.

  The final dog lunged for John's throat.

  John didn't dodge.

  The vanished cat reappeared. Like a streak of ethereal blue lightning, it carved a cross in the air.

  Slash! Slash!

  Quantum claws sliced through the air and sliced through the dog's nose.

  The hound whined and retreated.

  The fight was over.

  John stood in the center of the chaos, gasping for breath. He looked at the bodyguards and hounds sprawled on the ground, then looked at Holmes, who was leisurely smoking on the sidelines.

  "Not bad," Holmes puffed out a smoke ring. "Movements are still a bit stiff, but at least you've learned to use your brain."

  John glanced at Mr. Van Horn, who was cowering under the table.

  He strode over and kicked over the expensive white dining table.

  Crash!

  Exquisite porcelain shattered all over the floor.

  John bent down and picked up the fallen checkbook and fountain pen.

  Scritch, scratch.

  50,000.

  He tore off the check and threw the pen back in Mr. Van Horn's face.

  "This is my service fee. The extra is for medical expenses."

  With that, John turned around.

  Under the setting sun, he and Holmes walked out of the heavy wrought-iron gates, one after the other.

  ...

  On the MagLev train back.

  John leaned against the window. The physical exhaustion and the aftereffects of his hemophobia finally hit him. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, his hand still tightly clutching the check.

  "Mr. Holmes... thank you..."

  He mumbled, his head tilting to the side as he fell into a deep sleep. The cat in his arms curled into a ball, purring softly.

  Only Holmes remained awake in the carriage.

  His body began to fade, a sign that the summoning time was running out.

  But he was in no rush to disappear. He took out the pipe he hadn't finished smoking and spoke to the empty air:

  "Old man, seen enough of the show?"

  The tablet in John's arms didn't light up; it just vibrated slightly. The indicator light blinked with an eerie blue glow, transmitting Daoist Singularity's voice at a volume so low only Holmes could hear.

  "Heh heh, Brother Sherlock, thanks for the hard work."

  Singularity's voice held a trace of slyness. "How's the kid? Didn't embarrass you, did he?"

  Holmes huffed, glancing at the sleeping John.

  "So-so. Slow reactions, cowardly, and that bloody hemophobia."

  He paused, a faint, barely noticeable smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

  "However... he didn't stop thinking when cornered. And... he dared to risk his life against the rich to save a cat. That bit of backbone is somewhat interesting."

  "That's good," Singularity sounded relieved. "This kid is an uncut gem; he needs polishing. I can't protect him forever, and neither can you. I predicted the defaulting on the payment. This was a lesson for him: in this dog-eat-dog world, having the moral high ground isn't enough. You need a fist."

  "Hmph, sophistry." Holmes flicked his ash. "Though, the kid's 'Quantum Cat' is intriguing. Next time, have him bring the cat to me. I'll teach him how to use it to pick locks."

  "No problem. Next time I'll prep some stronger tobacco for you."

  "Deal."

  Holmes took one last look at John, his body turning into a wisp of blue smoke that dissipated into the carriage air.

  The train pierced through the clouds, speeding toward the Lower Sector, a place filled with the smoke of life and sin.

  John was still dreaming. He had no idea that he had just passed an "entrance exam" set by two heavyweights.

  And in his hand, he tightly gripped that 50,000-credit check.

  That was his mom's life.

  And his first step in growing up.

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