Solomon eyed the door after Yuvia explained that the men were coming. The door was banging—banging hard. Solomon believed these men were armed. If they managed to get in, he had no way of counter attacking or rescuing himself.
How would he escape?
The card had already cut through the door and even through the roof. Could it cut a bigger hole—big enough for him and Yuvia to escape?
Solomon gestured frantically to Yuvia. "Stay. Stay very silent. Don't make any noise. We're going to get out of here before the men come."
His eyes focused on the ceiling, thinking—trying to figure out how to make the hole bigger so they could escape. His brow furrowed in concentration. After a long moment, an idea finally clicked.
Solomon grabbed the chairs in the room—the ones from the bar—and began arranging them, stacking one on top of the other. The more he stacked, the higher the makeshift structure grew. Eventually, the chairs reached roof level.
Then Solomon saw a ladder resting awkwardly against the wall—just sitting there, oddly placed. It was luck. He didn't question it, didn't care why the ladder was there.
He placed the ladder on top of the stacked chairs. The structure was strong; it wouldn't fall. With that, Solomon climbed up the ladder until he reached the uppermost chair. His hands reached the roof.
The card was still embedded there.
He grabbed it and started cutting the roof like a knife through paper. He cut and cut. As he did, sharp metallic sounds rang out—the screech of blade against platinum. It seemed impossible. The roof was platinum. But the card—the one given to him by the system,—was no ordinary card.
He kept cutting.
The banging at the door continued, louder than before.
Solomon turned to look at Yuvia. She was shaking—nearly paralyzed with fear.
"God," Solomon sighed with mild frustration. Yuvia should have been calmer. If she couldn't stay calm in a moment like this, then he had a real reason to be worried.
"Solomon, the door just broke—they're inside!" Yuvia reported.
"There are what?!" Solomon exclaimed, turning toward Yuvia. Then he saw them—the men. The red panda casino men were inside the place.
Yuvia was in real danger.
These men were armed. How was he going to get out of this?
One of the men raised his gun and pointed it at Yuvia. "Young man, you better get down now, or your sister gets it."
Solomon stood his ground, staring at the man. His face was calm—extremely calm—as if he wasn't scared of anything. But it was all a facade. He was putting on a show to keep his enemies alert, to make them wary of him. To make them believe he was someone not to be messed with.
It was a tactic he'd learned through years of hardship in the D-class zone. He couldn't let himself be looked down on or taken advantage of—just like his mother had been.
"I'll come down. Do not touch my sister," Solomon said loudly from where he stood.
The men, hearing his words, laughed. "Yes, come down now. We promise we won't do anything to her."
Solomon began to descend the ladder slowly, cautiously, casting hesitant glances at the armed men.
In the process of coming down—click, click, click—the sound echoed from the metal ladder. Solomon turned and saw one of the men pointing a gun at him. Smoke was still rising from the barrel.
Solomon's brow furrowed as he stared at the man with a grim expression. His heart pounded in his chest.
He had almost lost his life.
And if there was one thing Solomon feared—it was death.
He was a coward when it came to dying. Anything that could take his life terrified him. That fear was a weakness the system had used against him more than once.
The only time he hadn't feared death was when he gave his kidney to Cassy.
"What object in the bar could he use as a shield? What object could he use as a distraction?" Two questions popped into Solomon's mind, and his brain immediately started searching for any possible object in the room—something he could use to shield himself, something to distract the men, bring them down, and grab a gun to rescue his sister.
Random drinks. Glass bottles. Wine. Chairs. None of it would stand against a dozen guns pointed at him. None of it was a shield.
What was it? He needed something tall, long—something that could fall and land on them. Then, like a jolt of electricity, the idea hit Solomon. The set of chairs he had earlier arranged—long and stacked—could be used as both a shield and a weapon. With the right push and all of his strength, the structure could fall hard on the men. It might not kill them, but it could cause chaos. All he needed was a quick signal to his sister. It was a gamble, but it was better than doing nothing.
He wasn't afraid of the plan—because right now, he was the only hope. The only solution.
Solomon took a deep breath, finally deciding to move his body from where he had fallen and was still lying. He rose slowly from the floor behind the chair. The men couldn't see him—his body low, his back bent, his steps slow and cautious as he moved.
Luckily, his position gave him a straight path to the set of chairs he had arranged. Continuing to crawl and move carefully, Solomon reached the structure. Even if they saw him now, the chairs would block incoming bullets.
He looked at Yuvia. Then he shouted, "Hey! Guys! I'm over here!"
The men immediately turned toward the sound. In that split second, Solomon whispered, "Yuvia, run."
She moved fast—sliding under a table. The men couldn't react in time before they saw it: A long shadow, collapsing like a tall building.
The chair tower fell on them—crashing, collapsing with force.
Yuvia crawled out from under the table while Solomon also moved, his eyes locked on a gun that had fallen to the ground. He wasn't curious what Yuvia planned to do with a gun. Right now, he had only one goal.
He picked up the weapon and scanned the men—some still groaning, still alive. The chair hadn't killed them all.
Solomon raised the gun. His finger trembled. He stared at the man who had threatened to make his sister a slave.
"You were going to turn my sister into a whore," Solomon said. "Sell her as a sex slave to the rich men of the S-Class."
The man shook his head. "No, no, no…"
Solomon's jaw clenched. "I don't care what you say."
His hand trembled, but his decision was already made. Solomon pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed across the room.
"Brother... he shot a man," Yuvia said, eyes wide open in shock at the scene before her. She clearly couldn't believe Solomon had just pulled the trigger.
"Hey, should I have let him shoot you instead?" Solomon asked.
Yuvia stared at him, then smiled faintly. "This isn't new for you. You're violent and all… but you're my brother—my little brother. I know you very well. It's okay. I don't blame you," she said.
Solomon looked at her, stunned. Then he clenched his jaw. "Let's get out of here," he muttered. "There's no time to stack the chairs again. Our best option is to get out through the door."
Yuvia nodded in agreement. Solomon opened the door, and they slipped out, sneaking through the corridor until they finally exited the Red Panda Casino.
Outside, Solomon took a deep breath. There was a buzz in his pocket, and disturbing images flashed through his mind—the moment he shot the man, the expression on Yuvia's face. He felt sick. He had always thought he was in control, always believed he could manage his emotions. He didn't want to look insane. He didn't want to end up in treatment again.
"Solomon, are you okay?" yuvia's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"I'm okay," Solomon murmured.
A system notification chimed in his ear:
> $5,000 has been credited to the host's account for successfully rescuing himself and his sister from the Red Panda Casino.
Default user: This is your reward. You deserve it.
System loading…
The system is now fully operational. Leveling up is complete.
The SSS-RANK Cashback Billionaire System has now reached Tier 2.
Host, you have less time remaining to complete your mission. Failure will result in permanent physical damage. Complete the mission.
"I'm so tired of this," Solomon muttered. "Everything. All of it."
His calm was cracking. He was overwhelmed. Mental trauma from shooting someone still weighed on him.
He said it out loud. The system didn't respond—silent, almost in disbelief.
> Host, you will be crippled if you don't complete this mission.
He wasn't a robot. He couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine, that the threats from the system didn't affect him. He wasn't made of steel—he couldn't just forget the emotional damage, the psychological bacteria that had infected him.
He wasn't a machine that could overlook the massive mistakes he'd made in his life. He wasn't a robot.
"I never cared about cashback. I never thought I deserved anything—not even life."
He didn't deserve to live. He should have died during that kidney operation. That would've been justice—for being the reason his mother died.
He was tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of putting on a kind face, acting like he wasn't broken inside. He had a dark side buried deep within him, and he was done hiding it.
But the system didn't stop. Even after he poured out everything, even after he rejected it—Solomon thought the system would finally back off, maybe leave and find someone else. But instead, it returned with heavier threats:
> "Oh, so you say you don't care now?
Don't you really care?
Do you want to see your sister become a sex slave for an S-Class buyer?
Do you want to watch your little niece die from kidney failure?
Do you want to see your grandmother beaten to death by loan sharks?
Do you want your family name and reputation dragged through the mud across the elite zones?"
Those words hit hard. Solomon clenched his jaw, clenched his fists. He realized something—giving up on the system wasn't just about him. It was selfish.
He already hated his own life. He hated himself enough. But quitting now would only doom everyone he loved. Giving up would mean destroying his family.
He didn't value himself. Nothing ever worked out, no matter how much he planned. Every step forward turned into chaos.
So why not become a puppet—just to keep his family safe? If that's what his life was worth, then maybe… just maybe… it was worth something after all.