Being broke was terrible. Being in debt was even worse. Paying bits and pieces on each of the many different loans Henry had, drove him to crippling bouts of depression. Henry put his head in his hands, staring down at his last five gold coins. Henry was a hard worker, but that doesn't count for much in a world of literal demigods.

  Henry did not graduate from a prestigious sect nor have access to some groundbreaking talent. He could punch hard(not supernaturally so) and take a punch(not invincible). He had been roped into a team of dungeon delvers fresh out of the People's Academy.

  Attending a state-sponsored sect made Henry know just enough to earn a living.

  They don't tell you in school that dungeon delving is expensive. Potions, torches, provisions, none of that stuff is free. Everything cost gold, and Henry had none. That was when the sharks started circling, smelling blood in the water.

  Henry was twenty when the Delving Credit Union approached him. The smarmy salesman had assured Henry that as long as he paid promptly every month, the equipment he needed to make money could be fronted to him. Every delver did this, the salesman had assured him. Before his blood print was even dry on the paper, the salesman had disappeared, and a box of goods was at his feet.

  His mother raised Henry. His father died in a dungeon overflow when he was ten. His mother, bless her heart, was a simple woman. She raised Henry to be loyal and caring and to trust people. She should have raised Henry to know about compound interest.

  Henry went on a handful of delves, some successful and some unsuccessful. Each time, the same salesman offered more goods and another contract Henry had yet to consider. Henry was earning a lot and thought he could pay it off in time, so why care? He was leveling, and he was earning.

  It went like this for months until the salesman popped up again one day, but this time, he had two big, burly boys with him. The two bruisers wore ill-fitting black suits and sunglasses that seemed very out of place on their big heads. These were enforcer golems. Henry knew that this was not a friendly business call.

  The group that he had signed on with also knew when shit got real and chose that moment to disappear into the dungeon portal.

  The salesman informed Henry that he had maxed out his line of credit with the Credit Union and that it was time for him to make his payment. The salesman read out the contract, the interest rate, and a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo that went in one ear and out the other for Henry.

  Henry understood that his minimum payment was fifty gold. At the beginning of the month, he had seventy-five gold in his bank account.

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  Henry gulped, looked at the two emotionless golems, and then back to the smiling, emotionless salesman and forked over his debit crystal. There was a slight ping, and the salesman smiled even wider as he told Henry he would be seeing him in two months.

  Henry paid ten gold monthly for his little studio apartment in the seedier part of Avalon City. He sent another fifteen gold back home to his mom, leaving him five gold to his name. He needed funds even to qualify for a delve.

  He needed money to earn money.

  At this point, Henry could have buckled down, stopped raiding, worked some desk jobs, and paid off the loan. It would have been monotonous, and some would even call it a waste of all the training and danger that he had gone through in school.

  Henry knew that was the reasonable thing to do.

  Henry was not reasonable. He went to another credit union called Friendly Helpers Loans and got another loan for potions and gear. He asked for a lot to go to a higher-tier raid. Higher-tier raids were much more profitable but also much more cost-prohibitive. The mobs were tougher and hit like a truck.

  Henry couldn't qualify based on his cultivation or talent; all he could do was sell himself as always being prepared. He could keep himself buffed and going so the healers wouldn't be overtaxed and pull the aggro off the tank if they were not pumping hard enough. Henry was always prepared, but that took money.

  Two months passed, and Henry had another payment due with the Delving Credit Union. This time, the guy from Friendly Helpers Loans was also there, and Henry swore that the bastards winked at each other. Four emotionless golems were now staring at Henry, urging him not to miss his payment date.

  Henry had earned one hundred and fifty gold on the delve and some stuff he could sell for twenty gold. The DCU and FHL representatives stuck out their hands with the same matching smiles on their faces—beep, beep. Henry gave fifty gold to the DCU and fifty to the FHL. Henry was going to say something sassy, but they were gone the moment he opened his mouth—damn sharks.

  This vicious cycle of debt continued for eight years as Henry climbed up the delver's ranks while accumulating a horde of creditors. People start to call him Hardluck Henry. He was powerful but never seemed to be able to have more than a handful of gold to his name.

  The power of compound interest was nefarious.

  Henry left the dungeon covered in blood when he saw his fan club with their hands stretched out in front of him. Eighty-six emotionless golems with forty-three equally emotionless salesmen greeted him. All smiling, that dead fish smile that doesn't seem to reach their eyes.

  He earned so much now after every delve, more than most people could even fathom. It still was not enough; he fucked up royally over the years. The promise of free potions and regents had rocketed him through the ranks. The salesman knew that he would never be able to pay off his debt. Henry was sure they all talked to each other about him.

  He left with five gold coins to his name, just like he did those eight fateful years ago. The world wasn't fair. Henry could punch a hole through a dragon, yet he had to eat ramen every night. His mom had gotten sick over the years from the ki deficit that non-gifted people went through. He tried to pay the hospital bills as best he could but had to take out even more loans to cover the cost.

  There was no escaping the mounting interest in his principal balance. Henry paused momentarily, thinking maybe there was one way to get out of it—one final and cowardly way. Henry would miss his mom, but at least he knew that they couldn't make her pay.

  He channeled his ki into his fist as he flipped the world off. One strike was all it took; the punch vaporized his head on impact.

  In his final thoughts, Henry knew that even with all his misfortunes and bad choices, he could be confident that he excelled at one thing.

  Henry could punch hard as shit.