Chapter 609 - 42: A Sword Strike in Return

Chapter 609: Chapter 42: A Sword Strike in Return

This was a ploy to win him over.

He had just demonstrated his worth, and now, Murphy was giving him an opportunity.

An opportunity to pledge his allegiance.

All he had to do was speak, and the supervisor who had been so arrogantly humiliating him just moments ago would be plunged into a state of irredeemable ruin.

And he, Alonso, would be tied to this powerful figure from that moment on.

Alonso’s heart began to beat a little faster, but his face remained respectful.

He looked at Pittman.

Pittman was also looking at him, his ashen face filled with terror and pleading.

His lips trembled violently. He wanted to speak, to beg, to fight back.

But he found he couldn’t open his mouth.

An invisible force was sealing his lips shut.

His eyes were wide with terror.

It was as if he could already see his own end.

Alonso averted his gaze and looked back at Murphy.

Then, he slowly began to speak.

"Sir, Supervisor Pittman... is actually a good person."

Murphy’s gaze shifted slightly.

Alonso continued,

"He’s a diligent worker who never complains, and he is completely loyal to the Silver Tower. He earned his position as supervisor through his own hard work and dedication."

Pittman’s eyes grew even wider.

He didn’t understand what Alonso was saying.

’Is he... praising me?’

’Is he speaking up for me?’

Alonso paused, a hint of regret in his voice.

"It’s just that he’s had some family issues recently. The pressure has been too much, and it’s thrown him off balance. That’s why he acted so irrationally today and said things he shouldn’t have."

"He didn’t mean it."

A glimmer of hope appeared in Pittman’s eyes.

’Could it be... Is Alonso going to let me off the hook?’

Alonso looked at Pittman. His gaze was calm, yet it sent an inexplicable chill down Pittman’s spine.

"So, my suggestion is that we let Supervisor Pittman go home and rest for a few months."

"Once he’s dealt with his family matters and is in a better state of mind, he can come back to work."

"This way, he can maintain his dignity and be given a chance to start fresh."

Pittman was stunned.

’Go home and rest for a few months?’

’That’s all?’

A flash of wild joy lit up his eyes.

But the joy froze on his face almost immediately.

Because he suddenly realized what those words meant.

Go home and rest for a few months.

No salary.

No income.

But his loans—his student loans—wouldn’t wait for him.

The fixed monthly payment date wouldn’t wait for him.

The rent wouldn’t wait for him.

The insurance payments wouldn’t wait for him.

The utility bills wouldn’t wait for him.

The money for food wouldn’t wait for him either.

Pittman’s face went from ashen to deathly pale.

He wanted to struggle, to speak, to argue. He wanted to tell this Mr. Melfield that he couldn’t afford to rest at home. One month without work and he would default on his payments. Two months and the collectors would come. Three months and he’d be bankrupt.

But he couldn’t speak.

That invisible force still held his mouth sealed shut.

He could only use his eyes, desperately trying to signal the local waiters standing off to the side.

’Help me!’

’Say something! Help me!’

The waiters felt Pittman’s gaze on them and trembled in unison.

But they didn’t look up.

They just kept their heads down, staring at the tips of their shoes, their bodies trembling slightly. They didn’t dare to breathe too loudly.

They didn’t dare to speak.

Not a single word.

Who would dare to stand up for Pittman at a time like this?

Wouldn’t that be suicide?

The last glimmer of hope in Pittman’s eyes died out.

Only then did he truly understand the terrifying implication of Alonso’s words.

On the surface, he was just going home to rest for a few months. He wasn’t being fired or laid off.

But what was the reality?

He was a Third-Class Wizard Apprentice.

He had paid for that rank with student loans.

Half of his monthly salary went to paying off those loans.

After paying for rent, insurance, utilities, and food with the other half, there was almost nothing left.

Every month, he was walking a tightrope, just barely breaking even. The slightest breeze could send him plummeting.

Now, that tightrope had snapped.

Resting at home meant no salary.

No salary meant he couldn’t pay his loans.

Not paying his loans meant default.

Default meant interest compounding upon interest, the debt snowballing until it was enormous.

He could take on odd jobs.

But would the pay from odd jobs be as high as a supervisor’s salary?

Would it be as stable?

It wouldn’t be enough.

Not nearly enough.

Besides, he was a supervisor who served the city’s elite.

His lifestyle had to maintain a certain level of respectability.

The neighborhood he lived in, the clothes he wore, the food he ate—it all had to befit his status.

If he couldn’t pay his loans and his landlord kicked him out of his current neighborhood, forcing him to move to some cheap, run-down district,

would he still be qualified to serve the elite?

Could he still hold on to his position as supervisor?

He couldn’t.

The moment he moved, the moment he lost his respectability, the moment the higher-ups at the Silver Tower found out about his fall from grace,

he would be fired immediately.

Fired without any compensation.

And then?

Then he would be completely unable to pay his loans.

Once he was completely unable to pay, the bank would come to seize his assets.

If seizing his assets wasn’t enough, they would sue him and send him to prison.

When he got out, he would be saddled with a prison loan, making his financial situation even worse.

He would gradually become one of those homeless people in the sewers, living day to day on Nightmare Pills.

He would become experimental material in a collection station.

His body would be torn to pieces, not even a complete corpse left behind.

Pittman’s body began to tremble violently.