Waking Up As The Bullied Nerd

CHAPTER 1

In today's modern world, being out after midnight can be risky. Particularly for me as a woman. I'm aware that criminals are lurking around corners, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Unfortunately, women are often targeted because we are perceived as the weaker s*x.

However, I have a different belief. I believe that to thrive in a society that undervalues our potential, disregards the feminine perspective, and limits our abilities, women must stand up and be strong.

As someone who never finished high school and whose only useful skill is her physical prowess, I know I have to work harder than anyone if I want to survive. Going home late after several hours of work is one of the challenges I face in my struggle every day for survival.

I don’t have the luxury of considering how dangerous society is, or perhaps I have considered it but brushed it off, as my sole focus is on paying my debts. If I worried about the dangers, how would I earn the money to pay them off? I don't have much of a choice but to live with the situation anyway.

Half an hour has passed since I left work, and paced through the street where I live. Despite the late hour, the entertainment district where I live is still bustling and lively.

I do live in a famous red-light district, it's not unusual for the area to be busy even late at night. In fact, dawn is often the busiest time of the day in this part of town.

It's no surprise that I'm somewhat famous in the area, whether for notorious reasons or not. But what bothers me is the staring. I despise it, to say the least.

As I approach a crowded area, I take off the hood of my jacket and lower my head, trying to avoid drawing too much attention. I pass by several groups of people, from hostesses with their regulars to thugs and wannabes. Unfortunately, the familiar faces are often the ones I find the most unappealing.

I overheard a group of dangerous-looking men talking about the Bloody Firearms group, one of the most notorious organizations in the underworld now. I've heard of them before, mainly from rumors circulating around the area. The syndicate is said to deal in drugs and firearms, making them incredibly dangerous, but the name was too—tacky.

A waste of reputation, that's what I think as I walk past them, acting as if I haven't heard a single word. After all, the group is famous in the area, so hearing rumors about them isn't a big deal. It's not like those rumors are confidential in the first place.

As I'm about to take a shortcut to my place around the corner, I come face to face with two unappealing men in the poorly lit alley. "great," I think to myself. It's a situation I anticipated but still hoped to avoid.

"HEY! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BUMPING INTO, AH?!" The bulky-looking man is the one speaking with an annoying rustic voice that gives me a headache.

My mouth contorts into a frown. I apologized, but kept my head low. The bulky guy lets this encounter pass since he realizes I was a girl, but his pervy-looking companion has other plans. He grabs my arm, placing his body right in front of me, obstructing my path.

"What's the rush, miss?" he asks as I raise my head and give him an annoyed expression. The hood of my jacket falls, revealing my face to the two of them. Upon seeing me, life drains out from his own flesh faster than how he grabbed my hand.

As I looked at the man's hand gripping my arm, a glare formed on my face, and I could tell from their expressions that they realized they had messed with the wrong person.

"We're s-sorry! We didn't know it was you, Miss Lilian! We're very sorry!" stammered the man, hastily forcing his friend's hand to let go of my arm. Before I could say anything, they bolted off into the crowded streets, disappearing from my line of sight.

Being someone associated with my boss, I was not a person to be messed with around these parts. But that wasn't the only reason people were afraid of me. But that’s a story for another time.

As I arrived outside my apartment, my attention was caught by a guy forcibly dragging one of the hostesses from the club next door. Judging by the messy scene, the man seemed intoxicated and filled with anger.

Nearing the apartment, my eyes caught a glimpse of the commotion that’s about to erupt. There was a man pulling one of the hostesses from the club next door by the hair. His face was flushed, and the way he moved was clumsy, his body swaying as he dragged the hostess.

"You b#tch! You're making fun of me 'because I look like a loser, huh?!" The urge to respond with a resounding "yes" was tempting, but I restrained myself, not wanting to escalate the situation further.

"Great, another commotion," I mumbled, rolling my eyes at the scene I was seeing.

In situations like this, I couldn't help but believe that men were the dumbest creatures on the planet. The girl struggled to free herself from the man's grip, but her attempts were futile as he tightened his hold on her on around her arm.

As a crowd began to gather from the nearby establishment, eager to witness the spectacle, I chose to walk away from the scene once the security personnel arrived. It took them far too long to take action, and by then, the hostess's appearance had been marred.

I wished the hostess could tap into my inherent strength and deliver a satisfying punch to the man's face or groin, or maybe both. But I was too tired to be concerned about other people's problems when I had plenty of my own.

When I was about a meter away from the growing crowd, the girl let out a piercing scream. I turned my head to witness the drunken man yanking her hair while brandishing a knife. He pointed the weapon at the security guards, threatening them with dire consequences if they dared to approach him.

The situation dragged on without resolution. It had to happen as I was anticipating a few hours of quality sleep, given that my work had finished earlier than expected.

My gaze emitted a menacing aura as I focused on the source of the disturbance, the man's attention fixated on the security guards attempting to subdue him.

I shifted my foot, accidentally kicking a rock roughly the size of my palm.

"This might come in handy," I thought, picking it up and directing my gaze to the man's weapon.

Straightening my back, I took aim at his hand, pulling my arm back, extending it to its limits, and snapping it forward in one swift motion. Without a moment's hesitation, I hurled the rock at him, successfully striking the hand I had targeted. The pain he experienced was evident as he dropped the weapon. Seizing the opportunity, the security guard swiftly restrained him, twisting his left arm behind his back and forcing him to the ground, eliciting a wince from the man.

Everyone in the vicinity directed their attention towards the source of the throw, and I casually shrugged off the hood of my jacket, meeting their stares with a cold glare.

"What?" I deadpanned, telling to look away without saying anything.

As if on cue, those who had locked eyes with me quickly averted their gazes, pretending they hadn't witnessed anything. On any other day, I would have simply walked away as if nothing had happened. However, getting off work past midnight on a Friday was a rarity for me. Fridays were when exhaustion took its toll on my body and mind. Could they really blame me for being irritable? All I wanted was to crawl into bed and drift off to sleep in peace.

The onlookers who caught a glimpse of my expression grew pale and hastened back to their own business. They knew all too well that behind my pretty face lurked a rumored monster capable of toppling three grown men. They also knew I held a favored position as the loyal hound of a powerful figure in the area. Crossing paths with me was not something they wished to tempt.

Fixing my gaze upon the scoundrel who had dared to disturb the peace near my place, I noticed the back of his hand was swollen and oozing blood, accompanied by a nasty bruise. He remained silent as the security guard forced him to the ground. The other officer was offering assistance to the shaken girl.

"Serves you right, you son of a b#tch," I thought to myself, a hint of satisfaction coloring my inner voice.

Disregarding the lingering glances that trailed the back of my head as the commotion subsided, I proceeded to ascend to the third floor of the worn-out building. The room I called home had once served as a storage space until the cheap landlord decided to install electricity and running water, even adding a small bathroom. I had managed to persuade the owner to rent it to me at a reasonably low price, though the details of that persuasion are better left untold for the sake of everyone involved.

Room 309, the number etched onto my door, bore the marks of rust and decay, a testament to the owner's cheapness and laziness to address maintenance issues.

As I pushed open the door, the gloomy ambiance of the apartment greeted me. Well, what more could I expect?

Flicking on the lights, I surveyed the mysterious state of the room, finding the word "bad" too mild to describe this dump. It wasn't the most ideal place for a woman to reside, but could I afford to be picky? It was a stroke of luck that I even had a roof over my head in this city. Once again, the details of the persuasion that secured this place were better off undisclosed.

I slipped off my shoes before stepping inside, changing into an attire similar to what I wore for work. Afterward, I splashed water on my face, cleaning off the day’s dirt stuck on my face.

Making my way to the table, I spotted a lone water bottle resting on its surface. I snatched it up, draining its contents in one go before crushing and tossing it into the trash. There hadn't been much left in the bottle to begin with.

Leaning against the small window, I peered out, greeted by a rather lackluster view. The twinkling city lights below were the only noteworthy sight. My mind wandered, contemplating how different things might have been if circumstances had taken another turn.

The question was posed to an imaginary presence. I, for one, no longer believed in gods. Perhaps I used to, but a certain event in my past shattered any remnants of faith I held in religion and destiny.

It wasn't as if I harbored resentment towards mythical beings for failing to grant the pitiful prayers of my desperate heart. Perhaps there had been anger at some point, but now it only affirmed to me their nonexistence.

If even a slight intervention occurred during my moments of desperation, I wouldn't have spiraled into such disarray. However, dwelling on the "what-ifs" may have served no purpose at this stage. With age, I came to realize that attributing everything that happened to external forces was merely an act of denial. In the end, I was responsible for my own choices, and the blame lay squarely on my shoulders.

After a while, I killed the lights and threw my body to bed, seeking respite in slumber.

This was the routine of my everyday life: working from early morning until late into the night, burdened by the weight of my own troubles and agitated by the chaos of others on my way home. It had been my way of living for the past five years, a journey towards redemption and the repayment of debts accrued when I was a naïve 19-year-old.

All the money I earned went straight towards paying off my debt. I barely left myself a few dollars for basic needs like food and hygiene. The rest, without fail, goes into the pockets of my loan shark.

I never complained about it or voiced how wretched my life had become because deep down, I believe I deserved it. The exhaustion that settles into my bones after long days and nights of work provided a strange comfort. It served as a constant reminder that the weariness I felt was a tangible manifestation of my path to redemption.

The solitary and miserable existence I led was my self-imposed punishment for the sins of my past. I didn't believe in gods or divine justice, but I knew that I needed to endure suffering for all the wrongs I had committed. If no one else would hold me accountable, then I would take it upon myself to bear the burden. This was the life I chose for myself.