Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation - Chapter 21: Fighting the Bullies
🕑 Added 2025-03-11 00:36:01 +0000 UTCI never thought that undressing could be this pleasant. This time, there were no awkward moments. Perhaps I was less afraid and steadier on my feet, or maybe the platform in the central hall was more advanced than the one in Alan’s workshop… It was certainly larger.
The moment the manipulators finished removing my armour, the world around me seemed to turn grey and distant. The armour hall, the mechanical arms carefully folding my gear into a standard-issue container—all of it became blurred, like a dream.
And it felt so good. Like someone had finally cut the power to those damned neighbours who loved rearranging their furniture at three in the morning.
I ran a hand over my face, then over my jumpsuit, but… nothing. I knew I was touching fabric, knew my fingers were pressing against warm skin, yet the sensations were muted, dulled—like the ringing in your ears after a loud concert, when voices sound distant and unreal.
Damn…
The absence of hypersensitivity hit me harder than I had expected. The pleasant sensations were gone, replaced by a void. Just a few hours in an armour with hypersensitivity formation—and now the world felt... empty. As if I had lost a part of myself.
I found the nearest bench, sat down, and stared at the floor, trying to pull myself together.
The idea of working an extra shift after lunch now seemed foolish. A crushing emotional exhaustion settled over me—like some energy vampire had drained me of all my feelings, all my strength, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
Should I even go?
But I had already promised. Diego was expecting me. And the work wasn’t difficult—stand there, receive the baskets, shut down the faulty drones. A simple, automatic process. Almost like breathing. Though I doubted I’d be able to distinguish a Fist Qi in the middle of this sensory cacophony...
I stood up. The feelings had returned, but it was still muffled, as if an invisible barrier separated me from reality.
Lunch… I needed to replenish my reserves.
I messaged my roommates, letting them know I was heading to the cafeteria so they wouldn’t wait for me. It was still a bit early, but I didn’t want to waste time.
The cafeteria was nearly empty. A wave of smells greeted me, a chaotic mix. This time, they seemed more synthetic and far less appetising. Remembering how deceiving the aromas had been before, I put my faith in the actual taste instead.
And I was right!
Probably…
The “lottery machine” dispensed a tray with pasta, two patties, and a salad of blue vegetables. The vegetables tasted like a mix of tomatoes and cucumbers, the patties had a faint fishy aroma, but the pasta—it was proper pasta! The only problem was that the flavour felt too weak.
Then again, maybe it was just me.
My mind was still drifting in a vacuum.
Any noise around me—cadets talking, laughing, arguing—seemed distant, muffled. By the time I had finished my meal, the cafeteria had filled up, yet all the sounds felt strangely far away. I knew they should have been louder, but it was as if my mind refused to register them fully.
Someone sat down opposite me. I lifted my head and saw Denis, with Marlon beside him. Denis was saying something, but it took me a moment to process his words.
"Still with us?" he repeated, louder this time.
I blinked.
"More or less..."
"You look like someone drained the soul out of you."
I thought that was a rather accurate description.
"They tried."
"You're oddly quiet today. We're curious—come on, tell us."
"Later. I've got a second shift ahead of me, and I really don't feel like working."
Still, I pulled myself together, finished my tea, and rushed off to get changed in the Armour Hall…
The second time getting dressed was worse than the first. And there was no one around to hand me a bucket! Thank God I didn’t need it for real.
I returned to the Fist Garden. Diego 098 gave me a silent nod and handed over a new assignment. It was just the same as in the morning—drones, baskets, chamomile flower beds. This time, without a qi detonation.
I received the baskets, inspected them, sealed them. Sent the drones back out to the fields. Repeated the cycle over and over.
My hands moved on their own. My mind drifted somewhere deep inside my skull. I simply stood there, did my job, and endured the strain the formation was putting on my nervous system.
Nothing changed—just dull exhaustion and far too many sensations I couldn’t shut off.
The second time undressing that day should have brought relief, but as the manipulators started removing my armour again, all I felt was fatigue. Deep, piercing, clinging fatigue that settled into my muscles and pressed against my consciousness.
I couldn’t even understand why my muscles ached. I had lifted, what, twenty plastic baskets? And that was in reduced gravity!
The hypersensitivity formation switched off—and the world became dull again, blurred, like I was looking at it through dirty glass. I touched my neck—my skin was dry, warm, but my fingers registered it just as distantly as they had the first time the armour came off.
No. Worse.
I knew I was stepping on a metal floor, but I couldn't feel the surface beneath my feet. I moved my hands, but they felt heavy and alien.
Damn it, even my own breathing felt like it belonged to someone else.
The armour hall blurred before my eyes. People moved somewhere at the edges of my vision, manipulators hissed lazily as they packed the armour into storage boxes, and I just stood there, feeling my consciousness sink into a deep void.
I needed rest. Sleep! But first—a shower.
Marlon wasn’t in the room when I returned. Denis was studying something on his tablet, but he looked up, ready to start a conversation. I simply waved him off, grabbed a towel, a change of clothes, and dragged myself to the showers.
The water was hot.
I stood there, watching the droplets glide over my body. I knew they were hot, knew they should bring relief, yet their warmth barely pierced through the exhaustion.
I closed my eyes. I just wanted to collapse and sleep.
A dull sound behind me made me open them again. Something was off. I didn’t realise what at first, but then I caught a reflection in the mirrored tiles ahead.
Tariq stood behind me.
Not alone.
I turned my head and saw him, flanked by two more cadets blocking the way. They were fully dressed, no towels, arms crossed over their chests, unpleasant smirks on their faces.
And me… stark naked.
Shit. There it was—the classic xianxia-style confrontation with a throwaway villain.
"Come to admire my arse?" I asked, turning off the water and facing them. "Or is it my dick you're interested in? Sorry, boys, but I prefer women."
That threw them off a little, stole the moment from them. Their smirks wavered slightly. But Tariq took a step forward—slow, deliberate.
"You're a nobody, Sullivan," he drawled.
I stayed silent, tilting my head slightly.
"I did some digging," he continued. "You have no past. No family, no connections, no achievements. You're nothing. Just some random loser washed up here by chance."
I smiled.
Was there truth in his words? Absolutely. Twice over. He had no idea just how accurate his description was. But I had bigger concerns—I was defenceless, and they had chosen the perfect moment to strike, when I was at my most vulnerable.
I needed to buy time.
I reached for my towel and carefully activated the interface, started drying myself off while pulling up my contacts.
I really needed to learn how to do this hands-free. That function had to exist. After all, all these holographic buttons were just projections in my mind.
I found Denis’s name and initiated a call. The dial tone rang.
Come on, pick up…
"You misbehaved yesterday, Sullivan."
I didn’t argue, letting him enjoy the sound of his own voice. Tariq stopped right in front of me, leaning in so I could get a good look at his smug face.
"You want to be part of this school? Want to make it to the elimination round? Then show you know your place." He slowly raised his foot, extending a black trainer towards me. "Kiss it."
For a few seconds, the showers fell completely silent.
The dial tone cut off.
"I'm listening," Denis's voice came through, making me smile. Not all was lost!
I looked at the trainer. Then at Tariq. Then at his lackeys. One of them cracked his knuckles impatiently.
"Tariq, I don’t recall hitting you on the head. Did you piss off the wrong guy already, or were you just born this way?"
Denis stayed quiet on the line, clearly grasping the situation immediately.
"Seriously?" I gestured at his foot. "This is your grand plan? I was expecting something more original."
Tariq’s eyes narrowed.
"You still don’t get where you are, do you?"
"In a shower with three perverts? I already told you, I prefer women, but you lot are welcome to entertain each other once I’m gone."
He leaned in closer.
"You’re not going anywhere, you little shit!"
I tried to move back.
The punch came out of nowhere.
Déjà vu didn’t save me—looks like I’d never experienced something like this in my previous life.
Tariq was fast. His fist slammed into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. I doubled over, coughing, struggling to inhale, but the next hit—this time from the side—sent me sprawling onto the tiles.
Naked, wet, on a slippery floor, I didn’t even have time to brace myself.
Shit…
I barely managed to lift my head before someone’s foot crashed into my shoulder, sending me rolling onto my side again.
"You think you're special?" Tariq’s voice dripped with scorn. "Think you got lucky once, and now you’re hot shit? You’re nothing but worthless trash! And no one’s coming to save you!"
His friend—a skinny guy with short red hair—lined up a kick and drove it into my kidney. I grimaced, clenching my teeth, but didn’t make a sound.
Hold on. Just hold on…
I couldn’t win. That was obvious.
But if I could stall for just a little longer…
"What, cat got your tongue, great cultivator?" The third guy, dark-skinned with a square jaw, let out a laugh. "Still got some fight in you?"
I didn’t have time to answer.
The shower room doors slammed open with a deafening crash. Another cadet—one I hadn’t even noticed before—flew past Tariq’s back and smashed into the wall.
"Have you lost your fucking minds?!" A familiar voice cut through the air.
I didn’t even see how it happened—one moment Tariq was standing over me, the next he was flying sideways, slamming into the wall and knocking into the redhead. I grabbed the dark-skinned guy’s leg and yanked, just as Marlon’s fist connected with his square jaw, dropping him onto the wet tiles.
"You alright?!" Denis shouted.
I coughed.
"God knows," I answered honestly. I wasn’t in any state to properly assess my injuries. There was definitely some disorientation, but whether it was from trauma or a lingering aftereffect of the formation, I had no clue.
Now, only Denis and Marlon were left standing, while my attackers lay sprawled on the floor.
"Well? Come on then, you bastards!" Denis kicked Tariq. "What, lost your nerve?"
Tariq got up. He looked surprised. Surprised and furious.
I stood up as well.
"You're lucky—"
But he never got to finish.
"What the hell is going on here?!"
The voice was young but authoritative, cutting through the room like a thunderclap.
Everyone froze.
A figure stood in the doorway—one of the block supervisor’s assistants. Tall, lean, Asian… What was his name again? I remembered when he was assigned during assembly, but the name had completely slipped my mind. I was terrible at remembering Asian names in general.
His gaze swept over the room, pausing briefly on my naked self before moving to Denis and Marlon—tense, still ready to fight. Then to Tariq and his gang.
"A penalty point for each of you," the cadet announced.
"What?!" Marlon barked.
"The fuck?!" Denis snapped. "They were beating our friend to a pulp! We’re the good guys here!"
The assistant didn’t even blink. "A fight is a fight. You know the rules."
Tariq smirked.
"Guess someone’s not so special after all."
I wanted to say something, but I could already tell it was pointless. That idiot got a penalty himself.
Shit. I’d have to ask Kate how to handle situations like this.
The assistant gave us one last glance, as if checking whether anyone wanted to argue further. Then he nodded.
"Disperse. And I don’t want to see anything like this again."
He turned on his heel and left.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
Then Denis let out a loud snort.
"Fucking hell!" he declared and gave Tariq a kick. "Piss off, you wankers!"
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
