Strongest Side-Character System: Please don't steal the spotlight

Before all of this had unraveled into madness—before Vonjo floated in mid-air like some mythical aberration of war, before fists and blades clashed against the impossible—there was a quiet moment shared by Eugene and his father George. 

A fragile sliver of time, suspended in the shadowed edge of a reality that no longer felt like their own.

George sat slouched against a twisted stone, his breath ragged, a crimson sheen spreading across his torn garments. 

His chest rose and fell with effort, one hand clutching his side where a deep gash bled freely, soaking into the cursed dirt beneath them. 

His face, once stern and unyielding, had gone pale—eyes half-lidded with the haze of blood loss.

"I'm… losing too much blood," George muttered hoarsely, the corners of his mouth twitching in pain. "Might lose consciousness soon…"

Eugene crouched beside him, eyes wide and trembling, dirt smeared across his cheeks and fingers shaking as they pressed against his father's wound in vain. "Don't say that," he whispered. "You're going to be fine. You've handled worse, right? Just—just hang on…"

But George didn't answer immediately. 

He leaned his head back against the stone and let out a long, slow exhale. And then, as if something inside him had shifted, his gaze sharpened. It was subtle. 

Barely perceptible through the pain—but it was there.

"My son, you must leave this place… it's not right," George said suddenly, his voice quieter but clearer, more focused. "We're at the border. Not just geographically… but spiritually. Between humanity and hell. A threshold realm."

Eugene looked at him, confused. 

"A threshold…?" He remembered the two guys that Vonjo had been fighting since earlier, mentioning that they would be leaving the human realm. 

At first, he didn't understand that, but now that his father mentioned it and seeing the surroundings, he felt that this place was indeed not part of the human world.

George nodded, his pupils dilated slightly. "Only fallen curse sorcerers can perceive this place. Ordinary people would pass through and never notice. It's like a crack in reality—a scar left from when the worlds collided. And now that I've lost my fallen curse energy, we should be careful and leave this place."

Eugene's voice dropped. "Then we're in danger?"

"Yes, there are lot of things lurking here," George muttered. "Beasts that drift in the fog… drawn to fallen energy, to weakness, to fear. We're sitting ducks. And the only one strong enough to pull us out is…" He hesitated, jaw clenched.

"him?" Eugene said while pointing at Vonjo's back. 

George's silence was answer enough.

"But we don't know him," Eugene said, desperation rising. "And you said he has some beef with his family. We're just bystanders in this. So why should he care for us? What if he just leaves us to die?"

George's eyes darkened. "Then we die. But if he chooses to act… it won't be for us. It'll be for something else. We are not sure if that man doesn't save out of compassion or not. He could be worse than his family or the opposite of them. So if he helps, it's because he sees an angle."

At that moment, a shift occurred nearby—Vonjo, standing a good distance away, had begun conversing with the two Sutterfouse enforcers. 

They weren't shouting, weren't posturing—just calmly exchanging words too low for Eugene and George to hear. And then, without fanfare, the two Sutterfouse agents turned and mounted a pair of strange, hellborne creatures—a blazing, sulfur-eyed hellhound and a sleek, obsidian-feathered roc that screeched once before lifting into the dark skies.

George's gaze followed them. "They're leaving," he rasped. "This place will collapse into full demonic bloom soon. I can feel it. We don't have much time. If Vonjo doesn't help us…No, you must leave my son, you must leave!"

His head slumped. Eugene panicked.

"Dad! Dad—!"

But George's eyes fluttered shut.

"Dad—damn it!" Eugene snapped, frantically gripping his father's shoulders. "Don't you dare—! Don't you dare die on me! Leave!"

His breath came in short bursts, panic sinking its claws deep into his chest. In a desperate move, Eugene gathered the remnants of his fallen curse energy and shoved it into the air around them, into the wind, into his father's wound—anywhere it might take hold. 

He didn't care if it burned him out, didn't care if the beasts lurking in the fog came closer. He had to keep George alive.

And then…

"Hey, kid," a voice said behind him. Calm. Almost lazy.

"Lend me your bow for a moment."

Eugene froze.

He turned to see Vonjo standing there, arms crossed loosely, eyes half-lidded but unnervingly alert. His presence, as always, felt like standing in the eye of a storm.

For a moment, Eugene didn't speak. Didn't even breathe.

Vonjo watched him impassively. His mind flicked toward the system screen only he could see—where thousands of bullet comments streamed in with absurd usernames and chaotic demands:

Vonjo didn't even blink. Save him? he thought. For what reason?

He didn't owe George anything. He didn't care about Eugene, the main character. But the kid had something he needed.

If the boy lends me that bow… then maybe.

But outwardly, Vonjo remained stone-faced. He didn't want them knowing he could see the comments. That he knew he was being watched.

"Kid," Vonjo said again, more firmly. "Lend me the bow."

Eugene stared, unblinking.

"Hey!" Vonjo barked, voice sharp. "Kid!"

Eugene snapped out of it. He scrambled to his feet, fingers fumbling at the leather straps tied around his chest and back where the archer's bow had been secured. 

The process took longer than expected—his hands slick with sweat, his heart pounding, and every motion a fight against adrenaline. 

Finally, with a rough yank, he freed it.

He handed the bow to Vonjo.

Vonjo accepted it with one hand and turned it over slowly. His fingers moved with deliberate precision, checking the limbs, the string, the nocking point. 

Despite having never once held this specific weapon, his movements were fluid—expert. A system notification flickered at the edge of his sight:

[System Notice: Weapon Mastery — Archery Unlocked | Complete Mastery]

Vonjo didn't need to learn how to shoot. The knowledge was in him now, as if he'd practiced for decades in a life he never lived.

"This isn't well maintained," he said flatly. "The string's too tight, and the grip's dried out. You've been neglecting it."

Eugene blinked, taken aback.

Vonjo clicked his tongue. "A weapon's like a limb. You don't treat it like cargo. You respect it."

Then he held out his hand. "Now hand me two arrows. That's all I'll need."

Eugene fumbled at his quiver, retrieving two arrows and handing them over with a mix of awe and confusion.

Vonjo examined the first arrow meticulously. He ran his fingers along the shaft.

"Southern White Ironwood," he murmured. "Grown in the Saltgrove Valleys. Lightweight, but durable. A good choice for speed and precision. Most would go with common ash or cedar—but this… this holds balance. It sings when it cuts through wind."

He rotated the arrow.

"The head—tempered steel, flat broadhead design. Forged, not cast. I'd say from a third-tier blacksmith, maybe in the Upper Eastern Quadrant. It's sharpened well… but could use a finer edge. See this bevel?"

He flicked his thumb along the edge, then glanced at Eugene.

"You're not honing them regularly. That's laziness."

He repeated the process with the second arrow, nodding slowly. "This one's better. Slightly warped tail feather, though. Might drift at long range if the wind catches it. You'll want to pluck and re-fletch."

After a pause, Vonjo stepped back, turning the bow in his hands with silent confidence.

He looked at Eugene, his voice calm, playful, with a glint of arrogance lurking beneath the surface.

"So," Vonjo asked, lips curling into the ghost of a smirk, "what do you think, kid?"

He raised the bow, notching an arrow with practiced ease, drawing it back with perfect form.

"Think I can hit the two of them from here?"

His eyes locked onto Eugene's.

"Well?"

The air held its breath.