A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 2 “I’ll give you all the best things. Follow me.”

My subordinates sent word that Tang Qi had been rescued, and I, Chu Zu, was on my way here.

Luciano Esposito wore no expression, then suddenly smiled.

Since picking me up, I had never let him down.

Whatever he asked me to do, I did—dirty work, exhausting tasks, without complaint.

Even when I was in the lower district on a mission, one call from him could summon me from the muck.

I never questioned his reasons, only washed the bloodstains off, groomed myself to stand properly behind him, held up a black umbrella, and shielded him from the chaotic rain with my body.

Silent and reserved, I was like a shadow exclusive to Luciano.

“Esposito keeps a wild dog that doesn’t bark”—that was the upper district’s assessment of our relationship.

Luciano knew our bond wasn’t so crude.

It all began in the winter when we were twelve, when Luciano followed his father to handle the train incident.

Since the Tang family heir was on that train, the Esposito family, who controlled the checkpoints between the upper and lower districts, had to clean up the mess quickly.

His father had little interest in the lower district, at most asking: “Burned down most of it, or all of it?”

The reply was the former.

So his father showed a faint, routine regret, the same expression as when he bet on the wrong fighter in a cyborg arena.

Children mimic their parents, so Luciano naturally had little interest in the lower district either.

Due to the disaster, the upper district’s sunlight was, for once, generous, spilling onto the lower district’s steel and concrete.

Airship advertisements cast fleeting shadows.

In the shadows, the burned-out train resembled a black dragon from a book, coiled and sprawling across layered buildings, barely a spectacle.

Among the layered structures, some houses were smashed in half.

Amid ruins mixed with charred corpses, there were plenty of wailing people.

Lower-district folk never knew what was appropriate to do.

Fortunately, their voices were faint, too soft to reach Luciano’s ears.

He was pleased, spared the effort of sending someone to quiet them.

Luciano avoided the upper-district crowd, lingering by the train wreckage, kicking debris like a ball.

Even if he hit someone, it didn’t matter—they’d apologize to him.

Watching people apologize was far more entertaining than waiting for his father, so Luciano practiced his kicking skills.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir! I was in your way!”

This time, the one apologizing was a middle-aged man in his fifties, dressed in tattered formal wear.

His hand, removing his hat, was a prosthetic, and his right eye gleamed unnaturally in the sunlight, likely replaced too.

He stood seven or eight meters away, craning his neck to the limit, shouting his apology.

Luciano kicked a few more times.

Finally, the man, face flushed, stepped back, didn’t watch his footing, and fell from a broken ledge.

His father noticed the commotion and spared a moment to ask: “What’s up, Luci?”

“I kicked someone off,” Luciano said.

His father didn’t turn: “Be careful not to fall yourself.”

Luciano agreed, then turned to see a boy crouching where the man had been.

Luciano’s genes were engineered before birth, giving him excellent vision without eye replacements.

He hadn’t noticed earlier because… the boy’s presence was too faint.

Black hair—whether due to genes or something else—his eyes glinted red in the sunlight.

The boy was skin and bones, a too-large, ragged vest hanging on his shoulders, its hem tucked into his pants.

His exposed skin was covered in scars, old and new.

Luciano casually kicked another piece of debris, this time aiming at the boy.

His practice paid off—the debris hit the boy’s nose precisely.

Luciano watched him stumble, clutch his nose, and lower his head, slowly picking up the debris Luciano had kicked, tucking it into his vest.

Then… the boy started climbing the ruins, layer by layer.

His movements were quick and agile.

By the time Luciano got someone to report the situation, the boy’s fingers had gripped a severed specialty steel plate near Luciano’s feet.

Without thinking, Luciano stomped on it.

Roll down, roll down!

Under Luciano’s pristine, polished boots, those dirty, scar-covered hands still clung tightly.

The boy deliberately avoided Luciano’s boots, finding a gap to pull himself up.

The airship had circled three times and left per schedule.

The winter noon sun shone down gently.

In the sunlight, Luciano truly saw his face.

Palm-sized, gaunt, with no flesh, making his eyes large, round, and empty, staring blankly under slightly long, messy hair—indeed a rare red.

The boy rummaged in his pants pocket.

The crew had already surrounded him, and he was easily caught.

He kept searching, and just before being dragged away, he reached out to Luciano.

“I only have this.”

In his hand were a few crumpled bills, valid only in certain lower-district areas.

Luciano recognized them because of that Tang kid.

Tang Qi, whose prenatal gene tweaks left him famously defective, loved running to the lower district with his sentimental mother, returning to spout nonsense at banquets.

See, this time he got himself wrecked—without organ replacements, he’d be in a healing pod for weeks.

Anyway, the boy was offering “money.”

Luciano realized belatedly that the debris he’d kicked might’ve been bread charred from the train.

Luciano started to find it interesting.

He told the crew to let go, walked to the fallen boy, and said condescendingly: “That’s not enough. Don’t you know sunlight comes with a fee?”

The boy stood, hand still outstretched, shoulders drooping pitifully: “I only have this.”

“You didn’t let go even when I stepped on you, just to climb up and pay? Are you sick?”

“Maybe,” the boy nodded. “That’s what they say.”

“…Not contagious, is it?”

“What’s contagious?”

“A disease that’ll make me sick if I touch you!”

“They all hit me. Does that count as touching?”

“…”

“…”

“You climbed up so fast. Don’t you fight back when they hit you?”

“Fight back…?” The boy blinked, saying simply, “After they hit me, they give me food and money.”

Luciano’s interest was genuinely piqued.

He stepped forward, pointing at the boy’s wounds: “Don’t you feel pain?”

The boy looked puzzled: “Pain… what’s that?”

Luciano froze, then laughed.

He no longer recalled his thoughts back then—maybe the winter sunlight was too warm, maybe it was the thrill of a new toy, or maybe his instincts told him this boy would be useful.

He only remembered walking to the ragged boy, spreading his arms.

They stood across precious sunlight, with floating dust sparkling like diamonds.

“I’ll give you food, sunlight, all the best things.’’

Follow me, Luciano said, mimicking his father’s grand speeches, voice raised.

“But your worth doesn’t deserve these, so you’ll give me more until I think it’s fair.”

The boy hesitated, his eyes turning a brighter red when he thought, enough to make even Luciano grant a moment’s patience.

Agree, and he’d get a hug; refuse, and he’d be pushed off.

A simple choice.

In the end, the boy got a solid hug, laced with artificial fragrance.

Luciano, a head taller at the same age, enveloped him effortlessly.

The blond boy found his black shadow.

“I’m Luciano Esposito,” he said in the boy’s ear.

The boy replied: “I’m Chu Zu.”

Luciano never owed me anything.

Quite the opposite—he gave me the best of everything, and I had to keep proving my worth.

Doing his errands was repayment.

After his father died, killing everyone else in the Esposito family was repayment.

Haunting the lower district like a ghost, snuffing out sparks, was repayment.

Prying the backdoor codes for all prosthetic organs from Tang Qi, making Luciano the true master of both districts, was also repayment.

The right person should be in the right place, doing the right thing.

With my innate physical prowess and lack of pain sensation, wasn’t I meant to do these things for him?

He gave me everything—the best of everything!

But I messed up.

“Your heart rate exceeds normal thresholds. I suggest you calm down. Would you like me to provide sedative drugs?”

Luciano looked at the glowing orb floating beside him, tennis-ball-sized, with an aged voice.

It was Jeeves, once the Esposito butler.

I had killed everyone blocking Luciano’s inheritance, including this loyal, foolish butler, per his orders.

But the butler was too useful, so Luciano uploaded his data to a carrier to keep serving.

“Why calm down?”

Luciano’s lips stayed curved, his expression almost amiable.

He said softly.

“I gave him time. Before handing him Tang Qi, I gave him an extra half-hour to prepare. And what did he bring me?”

“Chu Zu is one of the few you can fully trust. I don’t suggest directing your anger at him now.”

Luciano narrowed his eyes, his deep blue pupils sinking further: “Anger?”

“No matter who you sent to interrogate Tang Qi, data analysis shows the same result—he won’t reveal the codes to anyone. I calculated earlier that eliminating Tang Qi is the optimal solution.”

The butler ignored his master’s mood, dutifully offering advice.

“And when you assigned Chu Zu this task, he was in the lower district. It took him five minutes to return—pardon my reminder, the fastest safe travel time from the lower district is twenty-three minutes.”

“Then he spent ten minutes in a healing pod before executing your next task.”

“Physiological monitoring shows he’s had only ten minutes of sleep in the past two weeks, in the healing pod. For the remaining fifteen minutes, he compiled and uploaded reports on prior tasks.”

With that, over thirty detailed receipt reports popped up before Luciano, layered neatly.

So many?

The glow reflected in Luciano’s deep blue pupils, his smile briefly faltering.

Of course, many.

As Jeeves said, I was one of the few Luciano could trust.

In this critical time, big or small, he entrusted tasks to me for peace of mind.

How much time did it take? That wasn’t Luciano’s concern.

He only needed to hear my calm, steady: “Done.”

It had been like this since we were twelve.

“That’s what he’s supposed to do…”

Luciano murmured, then regained confidence, lifting his chin.

“If my schedule has timing issues, he should’ve said so. He chose to make himself miserable—I’ve kept my promise, giving him the best of everything. This is his problem.”

“I understand. You plan to settle accounts with Chu Zu.”

Jeeves’ kindly tone was programmed with rich humanity, almost mirroring Luciano’s veiled menace.

“Chu Zu must keep giving you more until you think it’s fair—do you think it’s fair?”

No one answered.

Luciano never felt guilt, but the fact of a breached “contract” stood before him.

He couldn’t accept it, nor did he want to judge whether the tangled irritation spoiling his expression could be called “guilt.”

He only felt stifled.

A faint sound of physiological verification broke the room’s dead silence.

Only I could enter with direct verification, no announcement needed.

Sure enough, the door slid open on both sides, and I, a dark figure, stepped into the office, carrying the familiar scent of body wash.

As an adult, I was a head taller than Luciano.

I didn’t lower my head to look at others, only my eyes, except before Luciano, where I slightly hunched, chin tucked.

Luciano looked at me.

My eyelashes still held water mist, veiling most of my eyes, which shone brighter red in the dark.

In stark contrast to the red was my face, pale even in the dim room.

Luciano didn’t speak. After a moment, he heard me say in a blank tone.

“My problem.”

—Of course it’s your problem.

Then Luciano saw his shadow collapse before him, bit by bit, silently, as if shattering into pieces on the ground.