Mark Watson was distracted. What he experienced today had harshly reminded him that he was just a bug, small and insignificant, easily crushed by forces beyond his understanding.
His mind was in a pitiful state; if any students were to get injured today, the [mage] wouldn't be able to heal them, as he was tormented by his thoughts.
"(What do I do now? I can't ask anyone for help... Why has all this happened to me!?)"
Mark's life had always been difficult. He was born into a poor family in the slums of the central district of the island. Life was hard, money was scarce, and the man couldn't remember how many times he, along with his parents, went to bed with their stomachs growling, crying for food.
Despite poor prospects for the future, one day Mark's father found a convenient job, albeit an unrespectable one. The [mage]'s father became a loan shark for a local small-time boss, a job that made him feel guilty every evening for what he did to his poor victims. Sometimes he had to get his hands dirty with blood.
However, having a "job" with a "semi-stable" income brought some relief, and the family began to truly live instead of merely surviving.
Things went well for a while. Then Mark turned 11, and his hell began.
It all started with a slight itch on his skin, right where his spine was. Then it became an annoying nuisance, and finally, a stabbing pain.
It was a strange illness that developed in the school nurse's body, one that could afflict only those who possessed [mana], even in the smallest measure, as in his case.
Day after day, the pains grew more excruciating; it felt as if someone had driven molten metal into his spine. Mark's parents consulted every doctor until they received a clear answer.
Fortunately, his illness wasn't fatal, although it caused extreme pain. But, unfortunately, the medication that could cure young Mark was well beyond the family's means. The cost was so high that even if they saved for ten years, they wouldn't have enough money to pay for it.
As an alternative, they opted for regular injections of other medications to manage the pain, allowing the nurse to lead a mostly normal life.
Even this alternative required a substantial amount of money. Mark's mother had to start prostituting herself to help her husband save their son from pain.
The family slowly and inexorably started to rebuild a difficult life, often going hungry for some days due to a lack of money.
Mark made every effort to use his powers to help his parents afford his medications.
It was only a small amount, but he did his best to alleviate his family's suffering. After all, it was all his fault; if he hadn't been born a [mage], things would have been different.
In the end, this grim situation ended in the worst way possible. His father was killed by a [White Corps] during a shootout.
And his mother vanished without a trace. Had she been kidnapped? Killed? Had she grown tired of him and the whole situation? Or was it something else? Even today, the unanswered questions tormented him.
During that time, the nurse was just under 20 years old. With no other options, Mark turned to crime to try to earn enough to avoid dying in tremendous agony.
It was pure chance that the man finally came into contact with the true face of the [Black Corps].
While returning from one of his illegal "jobs," Mark witnessed a woman smashing the head of a boy no older than 15 onto the pavement.
Having lived for years among the dregs of the worst kind, the [mage] thought he had seen many awful things that had made him resilient to violence. But that ferocity and cruelty shocked him to the point of making him run out of fear and vomit for days.
Unfortunately for him, his presence had been noticed by other [Black Corps]. Usually, uncomfortable witnesses like him would have been "disposed of."
Fortunately, some of the leaders decided to use "disposable pawns" as informants, as eyes and ears in certain areas of the central district.
Thus, Mark ended up in the grip of the [Black Corps]. They paid him little, barely enough to buy one injection every three months, even though he needed it every 30 days.
Maybe someone found it amusing to see him beg for money? Or to know that he was desperate enough to dilute his medication in water to make it last longer? Who knows, anything was possible.
"(What should I do... now...)"
As he was lost in his thoughts, the man didn't realize he had arrived home.
To call the shack he lived in a "home" was an exaggeration, but he had no other alternatives. Before he could turn on the light in his living room, he heard a voice that made him jump.
"Hello, Watson-san."
"*WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?"
"No need to shout. I can hear you just fine."
Sitting on Mark's dilapidated couch was Fumio, with an extremely serious expression on his face. Mark paled when he recognized him.
"Y-you..."
"Yes. It's me. Sit down so we can talk."
The man was tempted to run away, but then realized that if Hajime's teacher knew where he lived, it probably wouldn't take long for him to find him.
"I'll get straight to the point; I want you to be a double agent for me."
" I don't have any information I could give you! As you surely already know, I'm not a big shot! They never tell me anything, except who to watch and what to listen to!"
The nurse was really afraid to raise his voice against someone who could kill him in the blink of an eye. But his mind had been pushed to the limits for too long; if his life existed only to be a pawn for others, what was the point of living? Wouldn't it be better to end it all?
"I know, but you can easily relay what I tell you about certain topics... Regarding the whole 'not being a big shot' concern, don't worry; that situation will change."
"I don't care about anything anymore! You can kill me if you want! I don't..."
"Don't you really want to have the money necessary to lead a more dignified life? If you follow what I say, I guarantee that money will no longer be a problem for you."
Mark was slightly stunned by those words. He was desperate and out of options; he genuinely thought death would be better than his current life, but if he could improve his situation a little? Why not take the option?
What could go wrong? Everything, of course, but was the risk worth it? Surely things couldn't get worse than they already were.
"W-what do you mean? People like me aren't paid much for what we do... despite the risks."
"I'll be honest with you, Watson-san; I will ensure your situation improves, but you will have to work for me and do everything I say... as you can imagine, you will risk your life multiple times, but if everything goes according to plan, you will be free from the [Black Corps] and have enough funds to cure your illness."
It was the whisper of a devil. It was all too convenient. There were an infinite number of horrific things that could happen to him, things Fumio hadn't told him. Mark knew this, just as he knew he had no choice.
Accept things as they are until the [Black Corps] eliminate him for knowing too much or being useless?
Or risk everything by trusting a stranger in hopes of something better?
"I'll give you time to decide..."
"I accept."
"What did you say?"
"I said I accept, damn it!"
"We have an agreement then; you can't back out now."
"No matter what I choose, I'll end up dead! I might as well enjoy my miserable life in the short term!"
Hajime's and Kuro's teacher remained silent, his neutral expression perplexing Mark. Several minutes passed in silence before the former spoke.
"So be it. I'll contact you. Look inside your room when I leave... consider it an incentive for doing a good job... and remember not to betray me or try to tell anyone about me. I will find out. And the [Black Corps] certainly won't let you live; they won't take the risk."
After the [mage] left, the nurse waited a few minutes to comprehend what he had done.
It was strange; he felt as if he were in shock.
His choice, if it could even be considered such, was a madness that would most likely kill him very soon, but if what Fumio had said was true, then perhaps he could hope for a bit of happiness before being killed.
Only after a few minutes did Mark decide to check his room; what he found took his breath away. A part of him wondered if he were dreaming.
On his bed were several doses of medicine that would likely last for months, even if he used them more than needed. For the first time in years, the man smiled with happiness.
"(M-maybe... it won't be so bad.)"