Staggering one step at a time along the rubble-clad asphalt was an exceedingly handsome emerald-haired man.
His expression was hollow, his eyes—once brilliant with conviction—now waned, leaning towards a storm cloud of unbridled annoyance, hate, disdain, growing boredom, and a mix of other negative emotions.
Minho's neck drooped like a wilting flower.
His walking came to a close.
He stood.
His spear held numbingly iron-clad in his palm.
Minho's gaze fell heavy onto the onyx road below.
He sighed heavy-hearted.
Raising his head, the green-haired man focused his attention back to the accustomed dystopian street view.
Nothing had changed since the place's inception.
The air wafted with annoying dust.
The rubble was in abundance.
And the odd air of vacantness hung ever-present over the city.
Glancing to the left, Minho noticed a clear spot of ground amongst the overabundant rubble-covered surface of the sidewalk.
He stared at the space absent mindedly.
After a few seconds, he reluctantly walked to the area.
Before the curb, Minho's legs gave way and he plopped down, sitting on the curb.
Seated on the lip of the curb, he remained still, staring into space vacant-faced.
Minho adjusted his body a little in the aim of comfort.
Regardless of his adjustment, the uncomfortable feeling of the hard ground pressing against his rear persisted.
He gave a wry smile.
'Remember what grandfather said… keep a cool head and think with cold logic.' he thought, reminding himself for the nth time at this point.
Several minutes passed by agonizingly slow.
The sterile environment seemed to mock him—
SCREECH!
The man gritted his teeth.
His eyes snapped shut.
His body trembled, his breathing now reduced to nothing more than shallow bursts.
He was royally pissed.
'That damn old bastard…' Minho scowled mentally.
Snapping his eyes open, Minho glared at the permanent translucent silver panel diagonally left to his gait.
[Time passed since the Trial's initiation: 26:9:42… : 26:9:43…]
Over a day had passed since the First Trial had started.
And yet, Minho had yet to fight his opponent—much less catch a glimpse of him.
This was a duel, right?
Did duel's normally last this long?
No.
"This… FUCKING COWARDLY BASTARD!!!!" he bellowed, jolting to his fullest, throwing his fists into the sky, damning it for no apparent reason.
"SHOW YOURSELF, YOU FUCKER!!!"
Minho's voice echoed loudly through the sterile city.
As a response to Minho's strenuous usage of his vocal cords, silence replied.
And she was timid.
After venting his frustrations in the form of yelling for several seconds, he fell silent.
It didn't matter.
His rage didn't matter.
His yelling didn't matter.
Minho was better off yelling at a wall.
It was clear—his opponent was playing with him.
The silence spoke for itself.
Rue's message was clear.
He knew he would lose in a fight of blades.
So why would he try in that regard?
He already knew he was going to lose.
But even if this was the inevitable "so"…
Why would he willingly give himself up like a pig for slaughter?
Fuck him.
Minho would have to earn his win—and find him.
Until this happened, Rue would gladly play the waiting game.
Honor?
Pride?
Altruism?
Pffft!
How funny!
How kind!
How innocent!
HOW NAIVE!!
HOW PATHETIC!!
They were meaningless in the face of reality.
Just bold upfront assumptions used to deter bad behavior and promote conformity.
They worked well in fairy tales—or those repetitive clichés where a hero is chosen by the gods to slay a demon king.
However, these were works of fiction—hence that's why they worked so well.
Idealism was a faulty concept.
So, what if a person beats another by coating the edge of their blade with poison?
Nothing would change.
A win was a win, regardless of one's sediment.
Morals?
They were subjective norms.
Just take a look at the Stanford experiment.
It was a famous controversial psychology study where some randomly selected college students were assigned the roles of "guards" or "prisoners" in a mock prison created by a psychologist, in order to determine how powerful situational factors and social roles play an effect in shaping human behavior.
This was just one of the many experiments conducted by psychologists that put on display the terrifying truth that… even the most normal, kind, caring person possessed the potential to do unspeakable things given the right conditions.
All you had to do was push the right buttons.
"What am I even doing wasting my time like this?" Minho said bitterly.
"I should be looking for that bastard."
Minho took a deep breath.
With his emotions sufficiently digressed, he bit his lower lip and looked over his shoulder.
What met his view was a relatively intact ninth-story building.
It was one of the few buildings of its size within the limited vicinity of the city area.
Minho pursed his lips, rolled his shoulders back, and took a step forward.
"I'll check this building first," he sighed.
It wasn't the most desired way he wanted to use his time—but what could he do?