With four days left before his dimensional travel ability came off cooldown, Daniel didn't see any reason to rush.
For now, he decided to stay and experience this world properly, even if the Mark of Nexus was becoming increasingly irritating.
The thing refused to stay quiet.
Every now and then, his left hand would twitch, subtly pulling in a direction as if it had locked onto something and refused to let go. It wasn't strong enough to drag him outright, but it was persistent enough to be annoying.
"Yeah, yeah… I get it," Daniel muttered at one point, flexing his fingers as if that would shut it up. "Whatever you found, it can wait."
Since he was stuck here anyway, he had made a few adjustments.
This world ran on time, so he adapted.
Using his control over his own state, he modified his body to align with the system of this world. The change was simple for him, but its effect was immediate.
The empty space on his arm now displayed a clock, and instead of something small or cautious, he set it high.
A decade.
More than enough to move freely without worrying about every passing second like the people around him.
And now,
He sat inside a dim, crowded bar in Dayton.
The lighting was dull, the air heavy, and the people… worn out. Conversations were quiet, movements slow, and every glance carried calculation.
Everyone here was living on borrowed time.
Most of them had days left.
Some maybe hours.
So when Daniel sat there casually, drinking like he had nothing to lose, it drew attention.
A lot of it.
"I need another one of this," Daniel said, sliding his empty glass forward.
This was his twentieth.
And he was very clearly enjoying it.
"This stuff is actually good," he added, leaning back slightly, his mood noticeably lighter as the alcohol kicked in.
The bartender hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking toward Daniel's arm before pouring another drink. Around the room, people kept glancing at him, their gazes lingering just a bit too long.
Because in Dayton,
Time wasn't just life.
It was everything.
And someone casually sitting there with years on their clock, drinking like it meant nothing, stood out more than anything else in the room.
Daniel didn't seem to care.
But others did.
At the far end of the bar, a few men exchanged looks.
Goons.
The kind who survived by taking from others rather than earning it.
Their eyes kept returning to Daniel's arm.
Years.
More time than anyone in that room could dream of.
One of them leaned closer to another and muttered something under his breath.
A heavy hand dropped onto Daniel's shoulder, firm enough to demand attention.
Daniel turned his head slowly, his movements loose and slightly delayed, the alcohol clearly settling deep into his system. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the figure behind him, then he gave a lazy half-smile.
"What… do you also want a glass?" he asked, his voice carrying that careless, drunk tone.
The man standing behind him didn't react.
Fortis.
In Dayton, that name carried weight, not the kind built on respect, but the kind forged through fear. He was the type who didn't earn time, he took it, draining others just to extend his own life.
Fortis's gaze dropped to Daniel's arm, lingering on the number displayed there, and something in his expression sharpened.
"You've got too much time on your hand," he said, his voice calm but edged with intent. "You wouldn't mind me borrowing some, would you? Not much… a decade will do."
The atmosphere inside the bar shifted almost instantly. Conversations died down, and the few who were still speaking lowered their voices. No one stepped in, no one even tried to interfere, because this wasn't unusual here. This was how Dayton worked.
Daniel blinked slowly, as if processing the words through a fog.
Then he pushed himself up from his seat, his balance uneven as he stood.
"Steady…" he muttered to himself, swaying slightly as he adjusted his footing.
Fortis watched him without moving, waiting for a response.
Daniel looked straight at him, his expression oddly relaxed.
"You see…" he began, leaning just a little closer.
Then he let out a loud burp, right into Fortis's face.
"…Sorry," he added, with no real apology in his tone.
Fortis didn't move at first, his expression tightening as he wiped his face slowly, the irritation turning into something colder.
That was enough.
"Hold him," Fortis said.
His men moved immediately, stepping in from both sides and grabbing Daniel's arms, locking him in place with practiced ease. Their grip was firm, confident, the kind that came from doing this many times before.
Daniel didn't struggle at first.
Instead, he let out a slow breath, his posture loose, almost relaxed despite being restrained.
"No need to be violent, brothers…" he said, his words slightly slurred but his tone oddly calm. "We came to a pub to drink… why fight?"
Fortis stepped closer, his eyes cold as he reached for Daniel's wrist, clearly intending to take what he wanted.
That was the moment things changed.
Daniel's right hand moved.
It wasn't fast in appearance, but it landed clean.
The slap echoed through the room.
Fortis's body lifted off the ground as if the force behind it ignored normal limits, sending him flying backward into a cluster of tables. Wood cracked, glasses shattered, and he crashed hard before sliding across the floor.
Daniel tilted his head slightly, as if the movement had barely required effort.
"Do you think I'm a pushover just because I'm cooperating?" he said, his voice still carrying that drunken ease.
Before the two men holding him could react, Daniel's elbows drove backward.
Both strikes landed at the same time.
Their faces took the full force, and they collapsed instantly, losing their grip as they dropped to the ground.
Daniel straightened, rolling his shoulders once as if nothing had happened.
"I may be drunk, but I'm…" he paused, frowning slightly as he tried to finish the thought. "What was that again…"
He waved it off.
"…whatever."
Without another glance at Fortis or the others, Daniel turned and started walking toward the exit, stepping over broken wood and fallen bodies like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"I'm out," he muttered as he pushed the door open and walked into the night.
*****
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