The sound echoed through the motel room, bouncing off the cracked walls and reverberating in the sudden, shocked silence.
Jenna's head whipped to the side from the force, her cheek instantly blooming red with the perfect outline of a hand. The sting came a second later, burning like fire across her face.
She froze—eyes wide—disbelief flooding her features as her brain struggled to process what had just happened.
He had hit her.
Since childhood, since her earliest memories, she had been adored and spoiled. Her father had never raised his voice, let alone his hand. Teachers had given her special treatment. Boys had competed for her attention. She'd existed in a bubble of privilege where consequences were things that happened to other people.
And now, this man—this stranger who should have been beneath her notice—dared to slap her?
Her voice broke, a mixture of fury and disbelief. "You—you dare hit me?! My father is—"
"Your father's nothing now."
Four words. Simple. Undeniable.
Jenna's defiance faltered like a candle flame in wind. The city outside was a corpse. The government had collapsed weeks ago—there were no more press conferences, no more emergency broadcasts, just static and silence. The police were gone, either dead or hiding. Military units had fragmented or disappeared entirely.
Power didn't come from offices anymore—it came from survival. From those who could kill and defend. From those who had food and water and the strength to keep them.
Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched her burning cheek, sobbing despite herself. The pain was both physical and existential—the shattering of illusions hurt more than the slap itself.
But Elric's face remained unmoved.
He didn't care about her family name. He didn't care about what she used to be. In this world, the old hierarchy meant nothing—less than nothing. It was actively dangerous to cling to those delusions.
Even though he needed her to feed the growing "Devil Fruit Tree" within him, to unlock more rewards and strengthen his abilities—that didn't mean he would grovel or negotiate from a position of weakness.
She needed to understand where she stood. Needed to have that arrogance beaten out of her, one way or another, before she got herself killed through sheer stupidity.
On the bed, Natasha watched in silence, her hands folded in her lap.
The former professor's lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak. Didn't intervene.
A part of her wanted to—the civilized woman she'd been just days ago still had that instinct to stop violence, to mediate, to find peaceful solutions.
But another part, a quieter voice that had grown louder since the world ended, felt satisfaction.
Jenna had looked down on her from the moment she woke up—she sneered at Natasha for "selling herself" as if survival were somehow shameful.
Now she was learning how small she really was. How powerless.
"My terms haven't changed," he said. "I'll give you three days to think it over. After that…"
He paused deliberately, letting the silence hang heavy with implication. "You're on your own."
Without another glance, without waiting for a response, he turned and took Natasha by the wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He led her toward the door, her body following automatically.
The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that made Jenna flinch.
She sat there in the sudden solitude, trembling, one hand over her stinging cheek, the other gripping the bedsheet so tightly her knuckles turned white.
For the first time in her privileged, sheltered life, she realized—her father's name couldn't save her anymore.
Nothing from the old world could.
Elric walked ahead with confident strides, his hand still holding Natasha's wrist. She followed quietly, docilely, her face flushed with color that had nothing to do with exertion.
"Elric," she murmured, glancing at his profile, "you're not really going to…"
"Give her a choice?" He smiled faintly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "Everyone gets one."
The ambiguity in his answer made her uncertain, but she didn't press further.
Natasha looked away, her heart beating faster against her ribs. The rhythm seemed too loud in the quiet hallway.
The New Room
As they entered another room—this one cleaner, more intact than the last—Elric finally stopped and faced her properly.
"It's still early," he said, his voice dropping lower, taking on an edge that made her breath catch. "And we have… rewards left to claim."
Natasha's face turned red, the blush spreading down her neck. "Again? You're serious?"
Her protest was soft, half-hearted, carrying no real conviction.
He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and amused, and stepped closer—then paused mid-stride, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Let's clean up first," he said, his nose wrinkling slightly. "You need it."
The words were blunt but not cruel.
Before she could respond, before she could feel insulted, he raised his hand—and with a flicker of blue light that made the air shimmer, dozens of bottles of water appeared out of thin air.
They materialized with small pops of displaced air, clattering to the floor and rolling across the tiles in all directions.
The Impossible Made Real
Natasha froze, eyes going wide as saucers.
"What… what is this?"
Elric smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. He reached out casually and pulled another bottle out of the void just to show her, the container appearing between his fingers as if he'd plucked it from behind an invisible curtain.
"Water," he said simply, tossing it to her. "From my storage space."
She caught it reflexively, her hands trembling. "You… you just made that appear," she whispered, backing up a step. "How—"
"I told you before," Elric said calmly, meeting her eyes with that unsettling directness. "Being with me means never worrying about food or water again. Don't be surprised by what you don't understand."
He twisted open a bottle for himself, took a casual drink, then gestured toward the adjoining bathroom.
"Go on," he said. "You'll feel better once you've washed the world off."
Natasha took the bottle slowly, her pulse quickening as she stared at the impossible man before her.
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