From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra-Chapter 19: If I’m Gonna Die…

Charles sat on a cold stretcher, his tunic open to reveal his chest and stomach.

"Ugh...!"

The pain in his shoulder still throbbed, though it had dulled to a nagging ache rather than a constant scream.

Bruises painted his torso and arms in a patchwork of colors: purple, blue, and red where the skin was raw.

The frostbite marks from Kain's ice, now thawed, left reddish patches that stung with every twitch.

'What a mess...' Charles thought, catching his reflection in a nearby metal tray. 'Did I really end up like this?'

The doctor, an older man with gray hair and an annoyed scowl, eyed Charles like he was a pesky bug.

"Tch!" He clicked his tongue while slathering cold ointment on the burns. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered, more to himself than to Charles.

Then he glanced at Lira, who sat on a stool across the medical room, flipping through a cooking magazine with a distracted air.

"Miss Cole," the doctor said, ignoring Charles entirely, "the bruises will heal in a few days, but the frostbite needs care. And the shoulder..."

He paused, frowning.

"It's not broken, but it's badly strained. It needs rest."

Lira nodded without looking up, turning a page with a calm expression.

"Do whatever it takes to get him ready," she said, her voice firm but casual. "We can't have him missing tonight's fight."

Charles gritted his teeth, staring at the floor.

'Get ready?' he thought, anger flaring. 'I'm not ready for jack.'

The fight with Kain had wrecked him—not just physically.

It was humiliating.

His electricity trick, the only ace he'd had so far, flopped.

'That bastard turned the water into ice,' Charles thought, replaying how it had backfired.

Worse, he hadn't landed a single hit.

'Why?' he asked himself for the hundredth time.

Rian's reflexes were solid, his body fit.

Charles had never been this jacked in his old life, but every time he tried to strike... nothing.

It was like the body refused to fight—but why?

Frustration gnawed at him.

'Do I even have a shot tonight?'

The doctor approached with a bandage and started working on his right arm.

Pop!

The sound of his bone being reset made Charles clench his jaw hard.

'Don't scream, don't scream,' he told himself, stealing a glance at Lira.

No way was he giving her the satisfaction of seeing him complain—not after everything.

'Damn, this hurts...!'

The pain was like a hot spike, but Charles breathed deep and toughed it out, gripping the stretcher until the doctor finished.

"Phew!"

He exhaled slowly, relief washing over him as the bandage locked his shoulder in place.

The doctor turned back to Lira, wiping his hands on a cloth.

"Miss Cole," he said, "I'd advise caution with that arm. If he pushes it today, he could end up with permanent damage. This isn't a game."

Lira lowered the magazine just enough to peek at him over the pages.

Flip!

She turned another page, like she barely cared.

"Actually, Rian's got two fights tonight," she said, her voice so calm it could've been about the weather.

Charles snapped his head up, and the doctor's eyes went wide.

"Two?" the man blurted, spinning toward Charles. "That's insane! In his condition, he shouldn't even move that arm, let alone fight twice."

He shook his head, visibly irritated.

"If something goes wrong, I'm not taking the blame."

Lira shrugged, eyes back on her magazine.

"Whether he fights or not... that's up to him," she said, and kept reading like it was nothing.

Charles clenched his fists, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder.

'Up to me?' he thought, recalling Lira's deal.

'I'd rather be dead than her slave!'

'What the hell am I supposed to do now...?'

Kain's mocking laughter and words echoed in his head.

Useless.

Charles glanced around to distract himself. The medical room was oddly modern—a stark contrast to the wooden tables of the dining hall or his bare-bones servant quarters.

Computers sat on a desk, monitors blinked with numbers, and machines hummed softly.

One was beeping, though Charles had no clue what it was tracking.

'What century is this?' he thought, frowning.

The clan was a bizarre mix: power-based fights, old-school tunics, but then tech straight out of a 21st-century hospital.

'I'll figure that out later,' he decided, wincing as he shifted his arm by mistake. 'Right now, I've gotta focus on not dying tonight.'

The doctor finished his report and bowed to Lira.

"A pleasure serving the clan, Miss Cole," he said, his tone more groveling than genuine.

Lira nodded, closing the magazine and standing.

"Thank you, doctor," she replied, then looked at Charles. "Come on, Rian. Follow me."

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Charles grunted, sliding off the stretcher carefully.

Crack!

The ice was gone, but the burns still stung, and the bandage made his arm feel clumsy.

He adjusted his tunic as best he could, covering the bruises and his still-toned torso.

'I need new tricks,' he thought bitterly.

Charles trailed Lira reluctantly, his steps heavy.

As they walked down the hall, she handed him the magazine she'd been reading.

"Look," she said, pointing at the glossy pages. "Which of these dishes do you like?"

Charles blinked, thrown off.

'Food?' he thought, his stomach growling instantly.

When was the last time he'd eaten anything decent?

The idea of real food hit him like a bolt.

He took the magazine carefully, flipping through it fast.

'Whoa!'

There were photos of dishes straight out of a dream: roasted meats, creamy pastas, desserts gleaming under perfect lighting.

'Cakes!'

His eyes locked on a chocolate cake, layered with frosting and a glaze he could practically taste.

"This one," he said instantly, pointing. Then he kept looking, excitement creeping in despite himself. "And... these cheesy stuffed rolls. Oh, and vanilla ice cream with caramel chunks!"

Charles licked his lips without realizing it.

'This is too good,' he thought, mouth watering. 'If I'm gonna die, at least let it be with a full stomach.'

Lira nodded, walking beside him.

"Fine," she said, her tone unclear—amused or just going through the motions?

Charles barely noticed they'd kept moving until they stopped at a familiar door.

"Wait!"

He stepped back, heart racing.

'This is her room,' he thought, eyeing the door like it might bite. 'Why're we back here? Is she gonna fight me again?'

Lira glanced at him, frowning.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, opening the door. "Get in."

Charles hesitated, clutching the magazine to his chest.

"Why are we here?" he asked, his voice sharper than he meant.

Lira sighed, stepping inside first.

"I'm cooking what you picked," she said, like it was the most obvious thing.

She turned, waiting.

"You coming or not?"

Charles blinked, processing her words.

'Cooking?' he thought, still wary. 'Her?'

The image of Lira—grumpy, cold, and intense—whipping up a chocolate cake didn't compute in his brain.