Chương 142: Enough is Enough

Joe awoke as a scream tore from his throat.

"Aaaahhhhh!!!" It took a full minute before the panic ebbed, and he realized he was no longer being beaten senseless by three girls he had met earlier that same day. He slumped back and stared at the familiar beige ceiling, the same one that greeted him the last time he woke up like this.

"Back again, sweetie?" Cere teased from nearby.

"I'm starting to think you might have a thing for older women." Joe turned his head and saw her in her usual chair, knitting needles clicking steadily in her hands. This time, she was working on something enormous. Judging by the size, it could only be for her husband. Joe groaned as he twisted slightly.

"It's good to see you, too, Cere. Thanks for the save." His back spasmed sharply, and he belched before he could stop himself. Cere was there in an instant, drawing in the red cloud he expelled. Thankfully, it did not involve a kiss this time, though she did wink before stepping back.

"Still potent," she murmured with satisfaction.

"At this rate, we might be doing this tomorrow as well." Joe didn't react to that. That would be a Bi Luo problem, not his. Bi Luo already owed Joe for the hourly extractions anyway. Technically, he owed two per hour now. That thought made him wonder if Gretel might appear next and demand her share, even here. Cere tossed him a towel, which he caught and used to wipe the remaining blood from his face. The warmth soaked into his skin and eased some of the lingering ache.

When he finished, Dances appeared beside him and sat down quietly. This time, she was alone.

"Hey," Joe said, aiming to be as casual as he could. She did not answer, only watched him. Joe sighed. They had danced together for an hour earlier, yet she still seemed unable to speak to him. For reasons he had no way of explaining.

"Are you two done flirting?" Cere teased lightly.

"I'm starting to get jealous." Dances shot her mother a sharp glare. Cere lifted her hands in mock surrender.

"Just joking, daughter. Don't be so serious," she said, returning her attention to her knitting. Dances stood and walked toward the doorway. Just before leaving, she glanced back and motioned for Joe to follow. He hesitated, then dragged himself to his feet with a quiet groan and trailed after her. She led him down the hall and entered a door Joe assumed was her bedroom. He froze at the threshold, suddenly wishing very deeply that he were anywhere else.

"I'm not going to bite," Dances said softly as she sat at a small desk, waiting. When he still did not follow, she huffed, stood, and pulled out a chair, placing it a short distance from her own before gesturing insistently. Joe swallowed and stepped inside. Dances snorted softly.

"I bet you wouldn't hesitate if this were Twirling's room," she muttered as she turned to her mirror and began adjusting her makeup. Joe almost replied that he would rather jump off a cliff than enter Twirling's room, but he held his tongue and stayed silent instead. Dances clearly took his lack of response as confirmation and huffed in irritation. Joe ignored that too, settling more firmly into the chair.

"I'm guessing you saved me from my second beating?" Joe asked. She nodded while plucking delicately at her eyebrows. Joe squinted, trying to figure out what she was even plucking. Her features looked flawless to him, every hair perfectly in place. Still, she plucked twice more, then added a thin line of eyeliner with careful precision. The makeup looked oddly modern, clashing with everything else in the room, until Joe noticed the tools were all carved from wood.

He quietly accepted that makeup was simply another thing he understood far less than he thought. He waited until she finished.

"Is there anything I can do to thank you for saving my behind twice now?" he asked. Dances brows lifted a fraction. She rose from her chair and paced slowly in front of him, hands clasped behind her back. Joe sensed she was working up the courage to say something, so he stayed quiet and let her find the words. She spun to face him.

"You don't owe me anything," she said.

"I saved you as thanks for teaching me that… footwork. It's really quite good, and I've already thought of a few ways to use it."

"Oh? Well, that's great," Joe replied with a small smile.

"I'm glad you liked it. I kind of created the steps myself after a sudden Epiphany."

"Epiphany?" Dances repeated thoughtfully, then shook her head.

"You really are acting strange today. It's… interesting."

"Glad you like the change," Joe said lightly.

"Though I'm sure I'll be back to normal tomorrow. You know. Because of the head bump." She rolled her eyes, but her gaze flicked to his head anyway, searching for the invisible injury.

"Well, I should probably get going. I have a feeling I should…" Joe belched mid-sentence, and a red cloud slipped from his lips. Shit… Dances froze, eyes fixed on the strange red cloud. She covered her mouth in alarm.

"Are you sick? Should I get Mother to…" Joe shot to his feet a little too fast.

"No! I mean, I'm fine," he blurted, waving the cloud away before it could linger. His heart thudded as her gaze sharpened.

"Really. I just ate something bad. And all those beatings didn't help. My stomach's just… unsettled." She studied him for a long moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Try not to get beaten again," she said quietly.

"I won't always be near to save you." With that, she turned away and pulled a book from the desk. The cover was soft and floral, unmistakably romantic. Joe briefly wondered how she had been nearby when he was on the opposite side of the village, but he kept the thought to himself. He offered a polite farewell and slipped out, feeling her eyes on his back until the door closed. He almost made it out of the house.

Cere intercepted him at the front door with a knowing smile and claimed one more stolen kiss, leaving Joe flustered and resigned. He missed, entirely, an interesting and pointed conversation that followed between mother and daughter about red clouds and suspicious belches. Joe slipped through the village streets, keeping to the quieter paths, but it was inevitable. Soon, he was found near the outer wall, just shy of the great archways that led beyond the village.

Two broad-shouldered, bearded guards blocked his path and delivered a long lecture about public brawling, disorderly conduct, and causing trouble for most of the day. Joe nodded along, apologized more than once, and promised he was done with fighting. When they eventually let him go, he turned back to the archway and pressed a hand to the shimmering barrier that sealed it. A notification bloomed in his vision, cold and final, informing him that he could not leave the village until the gate was cleared.

So much for running. He scanned around for another hiding place and felt his stomach sink. Four older youths were approaching, their steps echoing from the stone ground. One of them shared enough features with one of the girls who had beaten him unconscious earlier that Joe did not need much imagination to connect the dots.

"Bi Luo?" the largest of them asked, his tone rough. Joe nodded.

"And you are?"

"I'm Grappling," the man said.

"This is Kicks and Bellows. We heard you laid hands on my sister, and we'd like to know why." Joe exhaled slowly. This day just refused to end.

"Let me guess. Throwing?" Joe asked. Grappling nodded once.

"Firstly," Joe began, his voice tinged with heat.

"She accosted me. Second, whatever story you heard was an excuse. And third, if you're here to fight, spare me the speeches, you uncouth barbarian." He slipped into a ready stance and grimaced. Damn it. Bi Luo's usual curses were slipping out again.

"Just… start." He launched himself forward and gave them no more warning than that. The scuffle was short, brutal, and loud. When it ended, Joe stood alone, chest heaving, steam rising from skin flushed with heat and exertion. These men were good. Better than the girls, if he was being honest. Stronger, heavier, more disciplined. Any one of them would have flattened the Bi Luo of yesterday with a flick of their wrist. But not today. Joe was done holding back.

He was no longer fighting boys half his age, so his mind no longer flinched at the violence. These were grown, or close enough, and his hesitation vanished. He let his experience take over, every scrap of hard-earned instinct and violence drilled into him over years of life and death combat. His body had changed, too. He could feel it. There was new weight behind his blows, strength in his arms where there had only been weakness and bone. Actual muscle.

Not much, not compared to his true body wherever it waited, but enough. Enough to matter. He was panting, but he was not spent. Joe grinned and vanished into the alleys nearby before the guards could arrive and remind him that he had sworn, very sincerely, not ten minutes earlier, that he was done fighting. He ducked into the shadows and was gone. An hour slipped by in fragments of motion and impact. More ambushes. More brothers. Smashing's. Grabbing's. The pattern became impossible to ignore.

Every time he thought it was over, another relative appeared, grim-faced and righteous. So it barely surprised him when yet another group of figures found him resting in a park on the western edge of the village. Older. Broader. Calmer.

"Bi Luo?" the man asked. Joe sighed and looked up from where he sat on a low stone wall.

"Yes. That's me, the pleasure's all mine. Let me guess. You're Throwing's older brother, or Smashing's, or… to be honest, I'm blanking on the others."

"It's Grabbing, you oaf," the man snapped.

"You should remember the names of the girls you punched." Joe made a vague gesture with one hand, an impatient little circle in the air. His arms were still warm, breath steady, blood humming in his ears. He was almost starting to enjoy himself… He felt like madness had taken him.

"I've got appointments with all your mothers," he said dryly.

"I'd hate to keep them wait..." They didn't allow him to finish his sentence before they came at him all at once. Two hours later, Joe was still fighting. Three more brothers. Then three more. Then the sisters returned, fury written across their faces. Friends piled in after that, drawn by pride, loyalty, or the sheer spectacle of it all. The park was a blur of motion, shouting, and relentless pressure. Joe's body burned, muscles screaming and healed in equal measure as the petal's power churned inside him.

Yet the day refused to end. And Joe, breathing hard, battered and smiling despite himself, began to feel that surviving this gate was going to mean something far worse than winning a single fight. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is getting a little out of hand," Joe shouted, breath ragged, as he twisted away from a blur of strikes he could no longer count.

"There is only one of me!!" There was no time to keep track. No time to think. He lashed out on instinct alone. One kick sent an attacker skidding across the ground, only for two more girls to rush in, teeth bared and eyes sharp. He snapped one head back with a sharp jab to the chin, then drove a brutal kick into the other's ribs, the impact carrying her backwards into one of the eldest brothers with a bone-jarring crash. They did not slow. They never slowed.

Joe ducked and weaved, slid and spun, doing everything he could to stay upright as bodies pressed in from every side. Blows began slipping through. Not clean hits, but enough. Glancing strikes to his arms, his back, his ribs. His breath grew shallow. His legs started to drag. Even the petal within his stomach faltered. The steady surge of power thinned to a sputter, its warmth dimming as though the well itself were running dry. Joe groaned as a savage strike caught his shoulder and sent him stumbling.

His vision blurred for half a heartbeat. Two boys lunged toward him, and he knew he could not block in time. His body tensed, bracing for the third blackout of the day. The blows never landed. Instead, there were two sharp slaps, followed by startled cries and the sound of bodies tumbling across stone. Joe blinked and looked up. Red curls. Twirling stood beside him, hands on her hips, eyes alight with irritation rather than concern.

"Really?" she asked, giving him a sidelong look.

"You lasted longer than I thought. I was ready to step in about twenty minutes ago." Joe dragged in a breath and pushed himself upright, knees protesting the effort.

"You know," he began to complain, "I would have appreciated you stepping in about an hour ago."

"You knew?" she asked, tilting her head with practiced innocence. He nodded. Together, they turned as the remaining boys and girls closed in again, a loose ring of bruised pride and simmering anger.

"Twirling," Kicks said, his voice tight, "this has nothing to do with you. Step aside."

"What if I don't?" She began pointing, one by one, counting them with lay precision.

"Fifteen. It takes fifteen of you to corner one boy." Her lip curled.

"You should be ashamed." A few gazes dropped. Only a few.

"He started it," Smashing said, though she would not meet Twirling's eyes.

"And I'm ending it," Twirling replied. She cracked her knuckles slowly.

"He has an appointment with me. If anyone objects, feel free to step forward." Her smile sharpened.

"We can discuss how poor a decision that would be." No one moved. After a long, uncomfortable pause, someone groaned. Then another. One by one, the crowd began to disperse, bruised egos carrying them away faster than dignity ever could. Joe sagged slightly where he stood, exhaustion finally catching up with him as the street emptied and silence crept back in.

"Wait," Joe blurted, finding his voice.

"Could you have done that all along? Why have I been running my ass off all day if it was that easy?" He shuffled a little closer to Twirling as he spoke and earned a fresh wave of hostile glares from the few stragglers still watching. Twirling unfazed, sprang upward, and by instinct, Joe caught her in his arms before realizing what he had just done. She laughed softly and brushed his dishevelled hair away from his face, her fingers lingering just long enough to make him uncomfortable.

Her gaze locked onto his eyes, far too close, before she leaned back in his arms and draped one arm around his shoulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Take me home, Mr Frog," she commanded, pointing toward the distillery in the distance. Joe gave a resigned sigh and did as instructed, carrying her the entire way back. As expected, the moment they arrived, Dances appeared at their side as though she had been there all along. Given how effortlessly she slipped in and out of his awareness, he was beginning to suspect she really had been.

"Hey, Dances," Twirling greeted cheerfully, still hanging from Joe. He shifted, trying to set her down, only to be poked sharply and told no, earning another groan from him.

"Hey," Dances replied, glancing at Joe once with a look he could not decipher.

"There you are, children," Gretel called from the distillery doorway.

"Oh, is that you, Bi? Thanks for carrying my daughter. I do hope she isn't too heavy." Twirling's eyes flicked toward Joe, sharp enough to draw blood. He reacted instantly.

"Light as a feather," he declared. The murderous look vanished, replaced by a satisfied smile.

"Good, good," Gretel said.

"Now, daughter, let me borrow Bi for just a quick bit of motherly advice before you take him upstairs." Alarm bells rang at the implications of her words, but events moved too quickly for protest. Twirling slipped from his arms, and Gretel seized him, dragging him into her office. One familiar cloud removal later, he was unceremoniously released back into the hallway. When he returned, Dances was studying him from the side, her expression thoughtful, almost knowing.

"Come," Twirling said, grabbing his hand. Joe tried to retreat, but it was futile. Between Twirling's grip and Dances joining in, he was hauled upstairs despite his best efforts, straight towards his awaiting hell. Hell, it turned out, was immaculately clean and smelled faintly of flowers. It was also enormous and filled wall to wall with teddy bears. Joe immediately claimed a corner, refusing the offered seat on the bed, and did his best to look like a man contemplating his life choices.

"So," Twirling said, settling beside Dances on the bed, "why did we bring Bi here? Did something happen?" Joe stiffened. That was a very good question. And if this had been Dances's idea, he had a sinking feeling the answer was not going to make him any more comfortable. Dances folded her hands in her lap and drew in a slow breath.

"I had a very enlightening chat with my mother," she began. Joe stiffened again. That was not a good opening. Not even a little.

"It seems Bi has been keeping a secret from us." Oh no. Twirling's playful posture vanished. She straightened, eyes narrowing as she studied him.

"A secret?" she asked carefully.

"What kind of secret?"

"One.." Dances said, clearing her throat with deliberate emphasis, "That involves kissing." Oh fuck. Joe's face dropped into his hands. This was it. Execution by redhead. Twirling leaned forward, tension snapping tight through her frame.

"Kissing?" she demanded.

"With who?" She pointed sharply at Dances, then at Joe, eyes wide.

"Did you two…"

"No," Dances said at once, shaking her head.

"It was mother." Joe shot to his feet like a bullet from a gun, but he never made it past a single step. Twirling slammed him back against the wall hard enough that the room rattled, wood groaning in protest.

"Aaah!" Joe gasped as the air was crushed from his lungs. Pain rippled across his back and shoulders as cracks spidered through the panelling behind him.

"Explain. Now," Twirling growled. Joe tried to speak. His chest spasmed, and instead of words, a thick cloud of red mist burst from his mouth.

"That!" Dances cried.

"Twirling, inhale that cloud!" Twirling moved like a tornado, her head snapping forward and inhaling every trace of the mist before it could disperse. The energy flowed into her, and she staggered back a step, eyes blown wide in shock. Joe slid down the wall and hit the floor in an undignified heap. Dances clapped a hand over her mouth. Her gaze locked with Twirling's.

"Yes," she whispered.

"It is." Twirling swallowed, understanding blossoming.

"Don't say it. Not out loud." Dances finished. Joe, meanwhile, coughed, blood splattering onto the carpet as his lungs drew in air again. He winced and looked up at them.

"Sorry about the mess," he rasped.

"I didn't plan any of this. I didn't mean to eat the… petal," he lowered his voice to a whisper by the end.

"But it happened. Can you really blame me for keeping quiet?"

"Yes!" Both girls said together. Their in-sync glare was terrifying. Dances moved first, as she began to pace.

"How did my mother find out?"

"The same way you did," Joe said weakly.

"I belched."

"Oh," Dances mumbled, rubbing her temples as pieces began to slide into place. Joe watched her, dread curling tighter in his chest. The questions were lining up, one after another, and none of the answers was going to make this better. Before they could tear the truth out of him piece by piece, he sighed and lifted his hands in surrender.

"Alright," he said hoarsely.

"I'll tell you everything." He spilt the beans as best he could, while hiding only what was necessary.

"So we came to an agreement," Joe said, voice low as he rounded out his tale.

"She would keep my secret. If I gave her a cloud every hour." Twirling stepped toward him, and for a heartbeat, Joe was certain this was where Bi Luo's life ended. Something in her expression shifted instead, and she stopped short, retreating to Dances's side without a word.

"It's not what it sounds like," Joe added quickly.

"I just release excess energy, and she draws it in. Like you just did." It was a lie. A thin one. But it was the version he was sticking to. Both girls rolled their eyes, clearly unconvinced. Twirling sat down on the bed, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes. The playful sharpness drained from her as she focused inward, working through the energy she had taken in. Dances moved closer to Joe and leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My mother told me about the… contact," she said, before settling down to watch Twirling meditate. Joe closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall.

"I'm so dead." When Twirling finished meditating, Joe was not destroyed on the spot. Instead, the two girls began whispering to one another, casting frequent glances his way. The quiet plotting made his hair stand on end far more than shouting ever had. Dances rose and motioned for him to stand. He obeyed. She prodded his stomach lightly, once. Joe frowned, unsure what she was testing. Then she struck. The blow was sharp and controlled. Joe doubled over with a grunt as a cloud of red spilt from his mouth.

Before he could fully stagger, Dances steadied him by planting her lips against his. She drew in the escaping energy, with a quick, efficient inhaling while their lips were locked, before she pulled away with a tiny smile tracing her lips. Joe straightened slowly, jaw tight. Wonderful, he thought. Now all four had claimed a taste of him. Dances returned to the bed and murmured something to Twirling. Twirling's eyes darted to Joe as she snorted.

Joe caught the words "Sweet" and "Sweaty" gliding through the air and chose to pretend he hadn't. Dances settled in and closed her eyes, beginning her own meditation. The room grew quiet again. Joe remained standing, rubbing his stomach and wondering how, exactly, his life had spiralled into this. He held very still, hoping that, for a moment at least, the ordeal was over. After Dances finished meditating, Joe hauled himself upright.

His body felt whole again, solid and warm, and his stomach gave one last uncomfortable churn before settling completely. The petal fell quiet. No pressure, no heat, no rising clouds. It was finally over. He tilted his head back and laughed, relief pouring through him.

"Yes! No more kisses!" Both girls looked at him.

"The… thing I ate," Joe clarified, grinning.

"It's done. No more clouds."

"Bi…" Twirling said. Joe stiffened.

"Yes?"

"When did you get?" she paused, eyes flicking over his arms, his shoulders, the way his shirt now pulled tight, "So muscular?" Joe stared down at himself, then back at her.

"Uh. Today?" He swallowed.

"Why?" Twirling smiled in a way Joe did not like at all.

"I was thinking we should spar. You don't have any clouds left, and you kept secrets from us." She suggestively tilted her head.

"Don't you agree, Dances?" Dances nodded. Joe decided not to wait for their smiles to sharpen. He burst into motion, flying down the stairs toward the main doorway, two tornadoes in hot pursuit. The door was shut, and with no other options for escape, Joe lowered his shoulder and tensed. The door exploded outward in a spray of splintered wood.

At the same moment, Twirling latched onto him from behind, arms locking around his chest, while Dances wrapped his legs, dragging all three down into a dust-filled tumble as they spilt out into the street.

"Now, now," Twirling whispered against his ear as she pinned him, face-first on the dusty ground.

"Running isn't polite." Joe groaned.

"I hate this gate."

"I think our little frog needs a lesson," Twirling continued, ignoring his grumbles.

"About leaving girls without asking." What followed could not honestly be called sparring. It was an hour of relentless violence. Twirling and Dances took turns dismantling him, striking weak points with precision, coordination, and absolutely no mercy. When Joe could no longer move, they poured a bitter healing concoction down his throat and started again. By the end of his ordeal, Joe had lost count of how many times he had hit the floor.

After an indecipherable amount of time, a bruised and barely upright Joe staggered out of the distillery or house; he couldn't quite remember where he even was anymore. To his dismay, Punching helped him repair the shattered door he'd broken, grumbling complaints the entire time. Joe didn't question the help. He thanked him and soon left once the door was back in working order. Only two hours remained on the timer when Joe reached Bi Luo's home. The house was quiet. Blessedly empty.

Joe scavenged the kitchen for food, collapsed into a chair with a cup of water, and stared at the wall. His body ached while his head throbbed like a pulsing worm. Even his very soul felt drained and wrung out like a wet cloth.

"Please," he muttered to no one.

"Just let the last two hours pass by in peace…" A knock at the door came a heartbeat later. Joe closed his eyes and sighed.