Chapter 12: The New Roommate

After leaving the inn, Owen felt the change within himself. His steps could become as light as the wind at any moment, and the luggage that had once felt heavy now seemed much lighter. Most importantly, as he walked, he distinctly sensed a warm current circulating inside him—this was the legendary inner strength.

Though he wasn’t sure how much of this internal energy had survived in such a declining age, Owen himself had never learned these arts. Yet by his own estimation, what he now possessed was the standard power of ten years' cultivation.

This alone filled Owen with confidence. If he were to encounter yesterday’s situation again, he believed he could overwhelm that black man with sheer force. The feeling was exhilarating.

With these thoughts, Owen found himself almost floating as he walked, his mind wandering freely. Although he wasn’t certain how many avatars a person could have, it seemed reasonable that a new one would be added with each level. If he could have more avatars, couldn’t he let them learn some specialized skills?

For example, if he had an avatar who was a great painter, he could graduate with ease.

The more Owen thought about it, the happier he became. Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind. His expression grew serious, and he closed his eyes slightly to sense Booth’s location.

This was the benefit of the original body toward its avatars: no matter where an avatar wandered, the original could always know its whereabouts.

At that moment, Booth had already left the Stone Creek branch campus and was busy trying to acquire various “legal” documents for himself.

As soon as Owen focused his senses, Booth responded. “What is it, boss?”

“Booth, I don’t currently have a suitable world for you to explore. Since you’re idle anyway, why not do me a favor and return home once, to find out who’s been scheming against me?”

“Do you need me to bring your hand back?” Booth asked.

“No need,” Owen replied firmly. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to reach level five. Just find out the information for me; I’ll handle the rest myself.”

“Suit yourself, but let me say this first—I don’t have any teleportation abilities. You’ll need to give me some money. And once I’m back home, I can’t return to you immediately, so be careful. Don’t die, or I’ll be done for too.”

“Chatterbox,” Owen muttered, cutting off contact with Booth. Of course, before severing the link, he sent Booth the gold bar.

After all, Owen had no means of turning that gold villain into cash, while Booth was so familiar with the black market that it was best to let him handle it.

Sure enough, after Owen finished enrolling, he received a message: someone had transferred a hundred thousand US dollars to his account.

At the same time, Booth’s voice sounded in his ear. “I sold it for two hundred thousand. I’m taking half and sending the rest to you.”

Owen acknowledged the message, signaling he’d received it, and paid no more attention to Booth’s activities.

With no new worlds requiring exploration, Owen found himself with nothing to do. He had only recently begun interacting with the cross-world game system, but he had already grown accustomed to living with it. Now that he was idle, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

After putting his luggage in the dormitory, he simply sat by the bed in a daze.

He remained that way for nearly two hours, only snapping out of it when his roommates returned.

Owen’s roommates were two young men, one black and one white. The black student was Charles, and the white one was Miguel. Both considered themselves artistically gifted: Charles liked to do graffiti on the streets, while Miguel painted in oils.

As soon as he entered, Charles shouted, “Hey, new kid! You’re late—school’s been in session for almost half a year. Ha! We haven’t really cleaned up, so it’s a bit messy here. Hope you don’t mind, hahaha.”

Miguel, looking a little embarrassed, said, “Sorry, most of this stuff is mine. My family insisted I bring it all, and I’m not used to tidying up. I’ll clean it up now.”

“It’s fine, none of it bothers me. If I could sleep in a place like that little inn, this is nothing. At least it’s way better than a rat-infested dump.”

“You’ve stayed in an inn? That’s wild! Are you really a new student? Which girl did you hook up with?” Charles exclaimed. “I heard it’s easy to pick up girls here, but it’s been almost half a year and I haven’t even held a girl’s hand.”

Owen could only shake his head with a wry smile. “I just needed a place to stay for a while. I should’ve moved in last night, but something came up and I didn’t even get a chance to enroll—ended up not sleeping at all.”

“If I stayed at an inn, I wouldn’t sleep either,” Miguel said, winking at Charles, and burst out laughing.

Owen smiled helplessly, but he knew that in college, it was crucial to find common ground with your roommates—otherwise, life would be difficult.

So Owen took the opportunity to chat with them about campus life.

Though both were freshmen, they’d been around for over half a year and knew a bit about the ins and outs of the place.

In truth, the Stone Creek branch campus was basically a community college, and the art department was even more marginal within it. Originally, there hadn’t even been an art department—it was only established because more and more people in the area were taking up art, so the school set one up to make itself sound better.

Most of the teachers in the department were so-called artists hired from outside. Their work might look good, but they couldn’t explain why they painted as they did. There were also a few critics who spouted theories of all kinds, but when it came to actually creating something, they had nothing to show.

Instead, it was some of the students who painted for themselves and gradually achieved some recognition. Charles, for instance, enjoyed doing graffiti on campus, and as long as your work was good, no one usually stopped you.

Speaking of graffiti, Owen naturally thought of that boss he’d encountered. He couldn’t help but ask about the graffiti he’d noticed the day before.

Hearing his question, Charles grew excited. “You saw it, didn’t you? That’s the best piece on campus! There’s a power in it that pierces the soul…”

The more Charles spoke, the more Owen learned. It turned out the double-headed vulture graffiti had been painted by a student at the Stone Creek branch.

This student had originally been an underground racer, known as the Caesar of the underworld. After a gambling dispute, his left hand had been broken. He fell into a slump for a while, then came to study art.

Things were going well, but one day, for some unknown reason, he suddenly seemed to go mad, painting graffiti all over the school. Finally, after finishing the double-headed vulture, he collapsed beneath the mural and died, blood spraying from his mouth—a legendary event in the art department in recent years.