Charity dragged the heavy cuts of lynx meat over the threshold of her shelter, her lungs burning. She slammed the iron door shut and locked it.

She hauled the bloody meat into the corner of the room that vaguely resembled a kitchen. The counters were covered in a thick layer of grime.

Charity closed her eyes for a second, actively calling upon the [Top-Tier Beast Butchery and Culinary Arts] resting in her mind.

When her eyes snapped open, her gaze was razor-sharp, entirely focused and professional.

She dug through the rusted drawers and pulled out a dull, heavy meat cleaver. She dragged the blade across the edge of the metal sink, the harsh scraping sound echoing in the small room until the edge caught a faint gleam.

Charity moved with liquid precision. The cleaver sliced down, bypassing the tough outer hide and sliding perfectly between the vertebrae. With a flick of her wrist, she cleanly extracted the dark, pulsing poison sac from the backstrap without spilling a single drop.

She followed the natural grain of the muscle, peeling back the thick, spiked hide to reveal the dense, ruby-red meat underneath.

In less than ten minutes, the terrifying monster parts had been perfectly dismantled. Prime cuts of meat were neatly separated and stacked on the wiped-down counter.

Charity stared at the beautiful ingredients, wiping a line of sweat from her forehead. Her stomach roared in response.

She turned to the stove, only to find the ancient induction burner completely dead. The power light was dark.

She tore through the cabinets, desperately searching for salt, pepper, or any basic seasoning. She found nothing but empty, dust-covered nutrient paste wrappers.

A master chef was nothing without fire and salt. Charity let out a heavy, frustrated sigh.

She had to go to the commercial district. She needed basic cooking gear and spices.

Charity found a relatively clean piece of cloth and tightly wrapped a premium cut of tenderloin. She shoved it into her backpack, planning to use it for barter or cash.

She scrubbed her hands clean, pulled her oversized cloak tightly around her to hide her scabs, and stepped back out into the lower sector.

The acid rain had washed the streets, and the outcast residents were beginning to scurry out of their holes.

Charity navigated the maze of alleys, heading toward the corridor that connected to the commercial sector.

As she passed a corner piled high with rusted metal scrap, a shrill, vicious voice cut through the air.

"You filthy rat! You're dirtying my storefront!"

A heavy-set, middle-aged woman named Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, screaming at a small, trembling figure in the mud.

It was Cletus, a young, emaciated scavenger. He was on his knees, desperately clutching a broken circuit board to his chest.

Brenda raised her heavy boot, aiming a vicious kick right at the boy's ribs.

Charity's eyes narrowed. She lunged forward and caught Brenda's ankle mid-air, her grip like a vice.

Brenda shrieked in surprise, losing her balance and stumbling backward. She glared furiously at the bloated, hooded woman who had dared to touch her.

Charity didn't even look at Brenda. Her face was a mask of cold indifference. She crouched down in the mud in front of Cletus.

The boy flinched, looking up at her with wide, terrified eyes, expecting another blow.

Charity's hand hovered in her bag for a second. Her stomach cramped, reminding her of her own desperate situation. But she knew she couldn't consume all the meat she had harvested before it spoiled in this humidity, and a small act of goodwill cost her little right now. She pulled out a smaller, uneven scrap of the perfectly cleaned, toxin-free lynx meat she had separated earlier.

She gently pressed the wrapped meat into Cletus's filthy hands. "I have extra, and it'll rot anyway," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Take it to the market. Trade it for some nutrient paste."

Cletus froze. He felt the heavy, dense weight of the meat. A look of absolute disbelief washed over his face. In this brutal, rotting district, no one had ever shown him an ounce of kindness.

Brenda scoffed loudly from behind them. "Look at the fat saint, giving away garbage!"

Charity stood up. She brushed the mud from her cloak, completely ignoring Brenda's existence, and walked straight toward the bright lights of the commercial corridor.

Charity stepped out of the damp, dark tunnel and into the blinding glare of the commercial corridor.

Neon lights flashed in aggressive colors, and massive holographic advertisements floated in the air, selling luxury goods to those who could actually afford them. The air here was thick with the cloying scent of cheap synthetic perfumes and processed street food.

Charity's oversized, bloated silhouette and her low-pulled hood made her stick out like a sore thumb among the relatively well-dressed crowd.

The locals—the gossiping masses of the corridor—immediately noticed her.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Someone pointed a finger. A harsh, undisguised laugh echoed off the metal walls. They recognized the infamous, exiled matriarch, mocking her pathetic fall from grace.

Charity took a slow, deep breath, forcing the humiliation down. She locked her spine straight, kept her eyes fixed forward, and walked right through the center of the crowd.

She followed her memories to a large, brightly lit comprehensive supply station. The automatic glass doors slid open with a soft chime.

Charity bypassed the expensive tech aisles and headed straight for the basic kitchenware. She carefully inspected a durable alloy frying pan and picked out a few jars of cheap, synthetic spices.

She was holding two different jars of black pepper, comparing the prices, when the sharp, rhythmic clicking of expensive heels stopped right behind her.

"Oh my, if it isn't our esteemed High Priestess," a sickly-sweet, venomous voice chimed. "Have you really fallen so low that you have to buy this cheap garbage yourself?"

Charity turned around. Standing there was Alys Schultz, the daughter of a powerful rival matriarch, dressed in an immaculate, high-end silk dress.

Beside Alys stood Walter, a young, nervous-looking employee of the supply station, who was clearly one of Alys's desperate orbiters.

Alys intentionally raised her voice, ensuring every shopper in the vicinity turned to watch the spectacle. Their eyes were filled with eager malice.

Charity looked at Alys with a completely blank expression. She didn't scream. She didn't throw a punch like the old Charity would have.

"Excuse me," Charity said flatly, her voice devoid of any emotion.

The absolute dismissal in Charity's tone hit Alys like a slap to the face. Alys's fake smile shattered, replaced by a flash of pure, ugly spite.

Alys shot a highly subtle, sharp look at Walter. Walter gave a microscopic nod.

Charity turned her back on them, holding her frying pan and spices, and walked toward the checkout counter. Alys and Walter trailed closely behind her.

As Charity passed a brightly lit display case holding high-grade energy cores, Walter suddenly sped up. He slammed his shoulder hard into Charity's side.

Charity stumbled, her heavy body swaying, nearly dropping the frying pan.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Walter gasped, putting on a flawless act of panic. As he reached out as if to steady her, his hand darted out and brushed against the deep pocket of Charity's oversized cloak.

Charity regained her balance. She shot Walter a cold, piercing glare, completely unaware of the heavy object now resting in her pocket. She continued to the checkout.

She placed her items on the counter and handed over her nearly empty identification card.

The cashier eyed her with blatant disgust, swiped the card, and handed back the bag.

Charity grabbed the plastic handles and walked toward the exit gates.

The second her boot crossed the sensor line, a deafening, piercing red alarm blared through the entire supply station.

Heavy metal security shutters slammed down from the ceiling, sealing the exit and trapping Charity inside.

The station's lights flashed a violent warning red. Four massive, heavily armed security guards immediately rushed out from the back, forming a tight circle around her.

Alys stood in the crowd, a vicious, triumphant smirk twisting her lips. She pointed a manicured finger at Charity and screamed, "Oh my god! She's stealing!"

Charity stood perfectly still in the center of the hostile crowd. Her eyes swept over the guards, then locked onto Alys. Her gaze turned to absolute ice.

The blaring alarm continued to pulse, vibrating in Charity's teeth. The captain of the security detail stepped forward, his hand resting aggressively on his stun baton.

"Hand over the stolen merchandise. Now," he barked.

Alys clutched her chest, putting on a masterful display of shock and pity. "Charity, I know you were exiled, but how could you sink so low? Stealing an A-class energy core worth a hundred thousand star coins!"

The crowd gasped collectively. A hundred thousand star coins was a lifetime of wages for a lower-sector worker. The whispers instantly turned into vicious, hateful curses directed at Charity.

Charity ignored the noise. She calmly reached her hand into the deep pocket of her cloak. Her fingers brushed against a cold, multi-faceted metal object.

She pulled it out and opened her palm. The A-class energy core gleamed under the red emergency lights.

The security guards instantly tensed, stepping closer.

Walter, standing safely behind Alys, pointed a shaking finger. "Captain, she's caught red-handed! Arrest her and throw her in the security bureau!"

Alys's eyes gleamed with malicious joy. She was already picturing Charity rotting in a dark, damp cell.

But Charity didn't panic. She didn't cry or beg for mercy. She simply raised the energy core high into the air, letting the light catch its surface.

"You're accusing me of stealing this A-class core?" Charity's voice was crisp, cutting through the chaos of the crowd with chilling clarity.

She locked eyes with the security captain. "Tell me, Captain. I am a publicly known, F-class spiritual waste. I have zero neural energy. This core requires an A-class energy signature just to activate. What exactly am I going to do with it? Use it as a very expensive night light?"

The crowd went dead silent. A few people exchanged uncertain glances. The logic was flawless. It made absolutely no sense for a powerless exile to steal an item she physically couldn't use.

Alys's face tightened. "Who knows!" she shot back quickly. "Maybe you were going to sell it on the black market for cash!"

Charity let out a short, cold laugh. Her eyes pinned Alys to the spot. "The black market? This core has the Schultz family corporate manufacturing stamp laser-etched right into the casing. What black market dealer is suicidal enough to fence a registered, traceable core from a major matriarch's conglomerate?"

Alys opened her mouth, but no words came out. Panic flickered in her eyes.

Charity didn't give her a second to recover. She pivoted smoothly, her gaze snapping to Walter, who had suddenly gone very pale.

"When I walked past the display case, you were the only person who bumped into me," Charity stated, her voice dropping to a dangerous, predatory calm.

"Y-you're lying!" Walter stammered, taking a step back. "You stole it yourself!"

Charity held the core out toward the captain. "I read on the commercial display that this specific model of A-class core has top-tier anti-theft measures."

She took a step toward Walter. "Captain, doesn't your military-grade portable scanner have the ability to detect the outermost fingerprint on an object? Let's see whose print is covering the casing of this core. Mine... or this employee's."

Walter's knees buckled. He was a low-level worker; he had no idea the high-end merchandise had military-grade anti-theft coatings.

The security captain immediately unclipped a small, black scanner from his belt. Seeing the device, Walter let out a whimper and scrambled backward.

Charity turned her head slowly back to Alys. Her voice was quiet, but every word was a lethal strike. "Alys. You went through all this trouble to frame me. Is it because you're terrified that Captain Braden is starting to look at me differently? Are you that desperate to secure your place beside him?"

Alys's face drained of all color. The perfect, aristocratic mask shattered into a million pieces as her deepest, most pathetic insecurity was dragged into the light.

"You ugly, fat bitch! You're talking nonsense!" Alys shrieked, losing all composure. "Braden would never look at a monster like you!"

But her hysterical, unhinged reaction told the crowd everything they needed to know. The public opinion violently flipped. People began muttering, glaring at Alys, disgusted by the rich girl's vicious setup.

The scanner in the captain's hand let out a sharp beep. He looked at the screen, his jaw hardening.

He looked up and glared at Walter. "Outermost print match confirmed. It belongs to employee Walter."

Walter collapsed onto the floor, sobbing in pure terror.

Charity stood tall amidst the chaos. She looked down at Alys, whose face was a mask of pure horror, and offered her a smile of absolute, chilling contempt.