Chronicles Of The Jobless Hero Novels & Stories

50 years ago, a 29-year-old man worked under total anonymity to construct a shield in the sky for this country. 50 years later, he fell because of a petty farce. But the country he protected swept away the filth with the swiftest justice possible.

The things included my tattered, patched-up old coat, the dusty work pants Dad wore for his act, the ledger of fabricated debts, and the tires of the beat-up bicycle that made sounds louder than the broken bell. Then, they lit everything on fire. Flames leaped up at once, greedily devouring these props all filled with nothing but lies. Mom sobbed as she watched the items burn. "There are no creditors. There's no 5,000,000-dollar debt. We have so much money that we don't even know what to do with it… You don't have to collect bottles or save up on electricity anymore…" Her hands trembled as she pulled out a black card from her bag, a symbol of unlimited wealth. She wanted to throw the card in

“You are going to be the face of the next exotic line.” “I know, right? I never would have imagined it,” I gushed, truly happy at the luck I’d landed myself. It was not every day that people my age landed a lucrative gig out of the blue. If anything, I was grateful to Marcus and Yvette for ruining my Thanksgiving holiday. Else, there wouldn’t have been a reason to leave and come stay with Liora. Julian took the papers, scanned them and set them aside. That was when I took a good look at him, leaning back in his big chair and watching me with calm, blue eyes.

"Mr. Romano, I have some news. Your casino in Vegas… the money dried up. It's officially bankrupt. The creditors are moving in to seize all your assets." "No… that's not possible…" Vincent mumbled, collapsing completely onto the floor. "Without the Marconis, you're nothing," I said, dropping the divorce papers in front of him. "Sign it, Vincent. It's the last shred of dignity you've got." His power, his reputation, his girl, his wife—all gone in an instant. His hand trembling, he picked up the pen and signed his name. He left with nothing. He was heading for the same broke, dead-end life as Carmen.

In an instant I was surrounded by shirtless boys, their eyes fixed on me with intent. “I don't want trouble,” I tried to walk past them but they stood between me and the door. Rage boiled within me, one that I had never felt before. It was like a frustrating itch in my chest. “Let me go,” “You think our names are cursed. Ashamed of your birthright?” Carolyn approached me. “You think dumping your name makes you cool? It makes you nothing here,” “Trash,” Cameron chuckled softly. “Take your clothes off. Since you want to be so independent, you don't need them,”

"Why would you do this?" Dad asked, gritting his teeth. Yannis suddenly yelled hysterically, "Linnus Corporation was supposed to be mine! You took it away from me and killed my mother. I've been lying in wait by your side for many years just for a chance to get my revenge!" I thought that Dad would kill him right then and there, but he just said, "You are just an illegitimate bastard. You have no right to claim Linnus Corporation."

You could even say that my lack of talent was so staggering that it was simply legendary. I was mocked, despised, humiliated, and cast aside like unwanted trash. But despite everything I was subjected to, I held on. I didn't care about how other people saw me. Never cared and never would. When people mocked me, I trained. When they despised me, I trained. When they humiliated me, I still trained. Ultimately, even though I was cast aside, I never ceased to train. But this wasn't nearly enough, so I joined different battlefields as a mercenary. I fought and fought. Day after day. Battlefields after battlefield.

I couldn't help but shiver every time I remembered back to what those voices had said. Hayden was dangerous. In every way. And why wouldn't he be? I wasn't supposed to die that night. This wasn't supposed to happen. That accident happened because he came in the way! Lord of the Dead. That's what the voices called him. So, I tried dwelling in those thicks, old books, trying to find something useful. Except, the only language they were in, wasn't English. And the words written on those rough papers made no sense to me.

I sighed then proceeded to sit on the table, the comfy chairs would lull me to sleep as tired as I was. I found the two doctors staring at me like I was some sort of an overgrown beetle or some sort of a cure to a certain untreatable disease, maybe it was the blood on my shirt surprising them. I was just about to snap at them that it was unprofessional of them but then I remembered, I didn't have my glasses on. My eyes were the magnet that attracted their gazes. My shoulders hunched when I recalled the glasses being broken earlier. " You must be Michael Marcus" one of them faked a smile and said. The other one who had an overgrown mustache like he was from London was still gazing at me with

I only but shake my head at him as the tears start to build in the deepest corners of my eyes, “Don’t say things like that. You need to believe and embrace the present with courage and hope.” “No,” he turns his head away from me. “I have come to accept that I don’t know where I am going. But I know that as long as I spread my wings, the wind will carry me where I need to be.” “You are not going anywhere.” The tears start to roll like a waterfall down my cheeks that are being drenched, “You need to believe in miracles.” “Jenna, there is no such thing. We only get second chances, and I have already had mine the day I walked out of that barn.”