-
-
DATE:26th of August, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
-------------------------------------------------
-
-
Just as I said, I felt surprisingly refreshed. I was so… unburdened. The pain from the injuries didn't appear. Well, not pain, but not even the tingle.
Maybe because I'd taken the last few pills just now? The remaining aspirin combining with what was still in my system?
I had injuries stacked on top of injuries—the old damage, the new wounds from the Inquisitor's beating.
So I say, but I examined myself in the mirror carefully when I was washing my face with the soap Alice had left behind,. My face wasn't swelling. There were barely any bruises. The damage was superficial at best, already fading.
Whatever. I'd figure it out later.
I retrieved my clothes from the dryer, changed out of the janitor outfit, and headed to the lounge.
I helped myself to some bread for breakfast and sat down at the table—which was covered in knives, forks, and various utensils. I'd never understood why the faculty bothered eating here when there was a perfectly functional cafeteria downstairs.
The whole dorm was in chaos. I could hear it—doors opening and closing, raised voices, the sound of people rushing past in the hallways. They'd found the body. They knew something had happened.
I was thankful to be left alone, until the history teacher burst in and grabbed my shirt frantically.
"William! Did you hear? There was an attack last night! A villain was here!"
I didn't even look at him. Just took another bite of bread.
"Who?" I asked flatly.
"That's the thing." His grip tightened on my shirt. "Inquisitor Raul, the one guarding the dorm—he was found dead. But no students were hurt. Why would the villain only target him?" Ahhh. That 'villain'...
Normally I would deny any involvement.
But Anne—that psychic—she had the ability to read a corpse's memories. She could pull images from a dead mind. It was only a matter of time before she scanned Raul's body and saw exactly what happened. Saw me standing there, silent scream, shockwave, death.
Denying it now would just make the lie worse when the truth came out.
So I said it plainly.
"Yeah, I killed him."
The history teacher went rigid.
"You... what?!"
"Big deal," I said, returning to my bread.
"It is a big deal! Why would you do such a thing?!" He tried to pull me toward him, his voice rising. "Answer me! Why would you kill him?!"
"He attacked me. Tried to kill me for walking past curfew or some bullshit. I defended myself. Big deal."
"You… you monster!"
The hairs on my arms lifted. Static. The bastard was charging up.
Before he could shock me, I surged up, snatched a knife from the table, and slid the blade along his throat's edge—close enough to feel the warmth, not close enough to cut.
He flinched and toppled backward, crashing to the floor.
I turned toward him without even bothering to smile. All that came up was scorn.
"Why the fuck do all of you treat me like a pushover? Then the second I defend myself, suddenly I'm a monster? Aggressive? Are you all brain-dead?" The last words came out hotter than intended.
The old man stared up at me, wide-eyed. He thought I was going to hurt him.
The lounge was empty. No witnesses. Convenient.
"On your feet."
He didn't move.
"I said up."
I flicked the knife, just a whisper of light and steel. That did it. He scrambled upright, facing me. I stood a head taller—fifteen centimeters at least. Finally, some leverage.
I slapped him hard with my free hand, then feinted another.
He flinched and turtled behind his hands.
"Look at yourself. This is exactly the point. You went to shock me first—over nothing—and the second I push back, I'm the villain?"
"You think this is equal?" he spat.
"Yes. Look again, you dirt-munching Chou. What did I do—flash a knife, slap you? And you? You tried to fry me because I wasn't paying attention. How does that make sense?"
"I—"
"No. All of you whip out your powers at the first hint of displeasure and pretend collateral isn't your problem. I'm done."
I turned toward the stairs—and felt the hostility rising behind me. A proud old man like that wasn't going to let it go.
His hand came up.
The knife left mine in the same instant. I threw the knife in his direction.
And how right I was! Lightning bloomed from his palm—actual lightning—and leapt for my back. It hit the spinning blade midair, snapped to the metal, and veered off course, missing me clean.
He stared, stunned.
What a loser.
"See? That's my point. We argue and your first instinct is murder—and Raul's death is a 'mystery'? That's how it happened." Good shot, bad gamble. No more steel on me to bait another bolt.
I took the stairs before he could wind up again—two steps at a time, railing under my palm, the air in the stairwell smelling like dust and cold metal. He wasn't family to Raul. Just pride and habit.
Ground floor was taped off. A security guard in a faded vest waved people toward the emergency exit, eyes wide, hand shaking like he wanted to be anywhere else.
I cut outside, looped the building, and came up on the breach. Two Inquisitors posted like statues beside the buckled doorframe, their masks reflecting the morning light. One quick raise of my hand and their posture shifted—helmets angled, weapons low, door pulled open.
Finally some respect.
Inside, the first year lounge had been turned into a command bubble—portable lamps, field tablets, a folding table with evidence bags, chalk dust on the floor from collapsed masonry. I found the palm guy from the interrogation room together with the thing that woke me up yesterday. Quite early.
The strode in close, jaw tight. "There was a massive fight here and you didn't wake up? Some president of the Legion."
I arched a brow. "Why would I be startled? I'm the one who killed him."
"What?!" His hand lashed out—not touching, but something invisible and hard pressed up under my jaw, pinning my head slightly back, a warning of force without a mark. Air around his fingers shimmered, like heat over asphalt. "Explain."
"Your friend—Raul, from what I hear—attacked me for returning after a walk in the garden. Half an hour, tops. He was relentless. Used his ability from the start. Beat me down, waited for me to stand, then came at me again. At that point, I defended myself with my own power." The scenario was airtight. I wasn't even stretching the truth that much.
"So you admit to breaking curfew. What were you doing in the garden at that hour?"
"I cried." I let the words hang there, flat and emotionless. "What else? I liked Sasha quite a bit."
While I spoke, I slid my hand deliberately along the invisible edge pressing into my jaw—slowly, testing its contours. The tip broke skin at the very peak. Blood welled up, a thin line of red painting the air where the blade existed.
A knife. Invisible to the eye but solid to touch.
Was invisibility his power directly, or was this a psychic construct? Either way, it was clever. Suited to investigation work—holding someone at knifepoint without anyone seeing the weapon. I could critique his pathetic interrogation skills all day, but his ability had practical applications.
"You aren't the type to cry," he said flatly.
I raised an eyebrow, letting disbelief color my expression.
"What do you even know about me? We met yesterday. For the first time." I let the silence stretch for a beat. "At least make your claims believable." What a bozo. At least make your affirmations believeable. I don't even need to try.
His jaw tightened. Score one.
"I may not know you," he said, voice harder now, "but I know Raul. He wouldn't pummel someone badly enough to justify that level of retaliation. And you don't have any injuries. Not a bruise. Not swelling. Nothing."
I arranged my face into my most convincing expression of surprise—eyebrows up, mouth slightly open, like he'd just said the dumbest thing imaginable.
"You already forgot? Hyper-regeneration?" I gestured vaguely at my face. "It's literally what I'm known for. But here's what actually saddens me—he beat me so thoroughly that I was shocked when he went down so easily. Who knew he was actually that weak?"
The palm-strike Inquisitor shifted his weight slightly. Watching. Cataloging.
"What power did you even use on him?" the tanned one pressed.
I smiled—not friendly, just the barest curve of lips.
"Want me to demonstrate on you?" I watched his expression sour, watched the micro-flinch in his shoulders. "Then I suppose I'll keep it to myself."
I pushed the invisible blade away from my throat with two fingers, casual, like brushing away an insect. The resistance was there—real steel, real edge—but he didn't push against my movements.
"This is what I mean when I say that you don't understand abilities. You aren't even close to understanding what they are capable of." I was of course using fast talk with him.
Slow witted folk like this guy always fall on appearances.
The tanned Inquisitor's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. I'd planted enough uncertainty.
For now, I had the upper hand.
"Truly sad he had to go," I said.
The tanned Inquisitor lunged. My blood still streaked the edge of his invisible blade—easy tell. We were close enough that all it took was a wrist turn to redirect his point past my ribs while my right hand clamped his forearm. My left hand shot to his throat, fingers locking around the trachea, forearm braced, biceps tight.
The palm-strike brute started in—but I squeezed.
The tanned one screamed.
A tingle bloomed low in my abdomen. Wet warmth spread under my shirt. Blood was pouring out. I had been stabbed. Another weapon? Probably from his left hand.
Pfhahahahah.
What a loser
I tightened my grip until cartilage popped. The trachea gave like brittle plastic. He crumpled when I released, and I wrenched the buried blade from my gut in the same motion—blood stringing from metal to air as the "nothing" became something in my hand.
The monster moved.
I didn't even track the approach—just the impact. He was on me in a burst, both hands on my shoulders, driving me back until my spine met concrete with a hollow thud.
"William Carter!!!" I think he wanted me to feel scared or something of that nature, but I couldn't help but grin. I must have unleashed a terrible one.
"Yup, that's my name. Will someone ask anything different than 'what?' or 'why?'?"
He slammed me again. The wall rattled. What was this supposed to represent? If anything he was applying pressure to the open wound I had. Wasn't that helping me?
He scowled, breath hot, grip iron. I kept my eyes on his, unblinking, smiling like a problem he couldn't solve.
"Do you think that committing violence will bring you anywhere?" This guy… I said that half jokingly, but are they actually retarded?
"I'll ask the same," I said. "Your man on the floor struck first. Was I supposed to eat a stab and thank him? Be serious." I'm asking real questions here, but I don't think he paid attention to my words.
Fury had him by the throat.
He slammed me into the wall a third time. Something in my back clicked—numbness spreading like icewater across a nerve. Just a little.
Haah, this wasn't working.
I let the heat drain out of my face. No grin. No bait. Just the bare expression underneath everything: empty, tired, done. The jokes and the jabs evaporated, and what was left wasn't anger.
It was failure. This whole confrontation was pointless.
Sasha died. I should've swallowed my pride and gone back to Alice. Or robbed someone and found a bed somewhere far from all this. Every step since had been wrong-footed.
It was my failure.
All that remained was scorn—for them, for me, for the pageant we were performing.
Did he see it?
I think he did.
His fingers loosened. He drew a breath like a growl and shouted for a medic. An Inquisitor rushed in, scooped the tanned man with surprising ease, and carried him out. No dogpile. No cuffs. No cheap shot from behind.
Just the brute staying between me and the door—broad, silent, immovable.
A wall with a pulse.
I sat straight, still with that blank expression. Eventually he had the courage to speak.
"I… don't know the way you are thinking, not how you rationalize… all of this. But we didn't need to reach this point. It was avoidable."
"I doubt it. The whole thing was pretty set in stone."
His gaze flicked to the blood drying at my waist—darker now, tacky on my shirt—then back to my eyes. He wanted me to wobble. I didn't give him anything.
"What is your real ability? Your Legion refused to disclose. That's unlawful retention," he said, voice formal again, clinging to procedure like a railing.
"And you won't even know. Not even I do. What can I say? Time is eternal." Why do all of them take themselves so seriously?
He stayed rooted—weight over the balls of his feet, hands low, ready but not threatening. Decision point.
I stood, turned for the exit.
"Do you think you'll get away with this?" he said to my back.
I glanced over my shoulder, same deadpan. "Your man struck first, so yes. And besides—I represent justice." A beat. "Justice always wins. Don't you know?"
His fists tightened until the glove leather creaked. No lunge. Just restraint grinding against pride.
He was thinking about Raul. Thinking about the hole in the wall and the way a skull sounds when it stops moving forever. Thinking about whether he wanted to become a stain, too.
Hesitation is the shadow cast by power. Useful.
—
Outside, the cold air bit at the drying blood. Objective, again: full moon timing. No phone. No problem.
I borrowed one off a first-year loitering by the stairs. His ability let him split his palms cleanly down the middle, like opening a book—tendons parting and reseating with a soft, zipperless sound. He did it absentmindedly while the calendar app loaded. Strange habit. Stranger power.
Two days to the full moon. Fuck me.
"Thanks," I said, handing the phone back. He stared at the blood on my shirt and said nothing.
Fine by me.
I don't want to stay here that long.
But I'm also too injured to infiltrate that lab I offered to…
What a dilemma.
Then I felt someone grab my right hand. I spun and delivered a slug, but the target caught my fist with ease. A teen girl, sixteen maybe. Long pink-dyed hair, dressed in some excessive ribbon-covered outfit.
"William! Can't believe I see you here."
"Who?"
"You already forgot me from that meeting two days ago?"
That meeting. Right. One of those agency leaders? Impossible. She couldn't have been more than sixteen.
"I suppose back then I didn't introduce myself," she continued, her tone shifting to something more measured. "I'm Leonid. From the Craven, you know? I heard about Sasha, and—" She glanced around before her eyes returned to me. "We were both refugees from the same country. I thought of her like my own sister."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that."
"Thank you, your words mean a lot!" I'm sure they don't, but alright.
"You also came for her funeral?" Was there such a thing? Weren't those made after three to five days after passing? It seems a little early.
"No. Coincidence, really. I actually came to talk to her, but..." She trailed off, that distant look returning. Like she was calculating something. Processing.
"Don't you have Miss. Alice?" Isn't Miss. for single women? And besides that, this matter couldn't possibly be what she was thinking about.
"Don't try to create strange scenarios," I said flatly.
"Ahh~ I know big sis was pretty, but even then..." She smiled, but there was something calculated behind it. A test, maybe. Or an observation she was filing away.
"In the end I did choose Alice over her, didn't I?"
Leonid gave me a cold look. She clearly hadn't slept in days—shadows carved deep under her eyes like scars.
"Anyway, shouldn't you be in the Academy? You said you were a leader?"
"Haah? That's what this was about?" She paused, as if deciding how much to reveal. "I'm twenty-nine, but I made a contract with the devil to stay young forever."
"You did?"
"Obviously not. That would be stupid." She smiled at the absurdity of it. "But that really is my age."
Yeah, it would be.
It indeed would be…
"Right, then I'll see you later, Miss—"
"Miss?" She laughed, sharp and bright. "Try again."
"Ms.?"
She laughed harder, as if the formality itself was the joke.
Whatever. I only blinked, and she was gone.
I'm serious—in that single moment of inattention, she vanished. No footsteps, no blur of movement. Just absence where she'd been standing.
I went to the library to waste time. An Ultraman biography seemed fitting. It was overdue—time I read about his philosophy, understood what made him work.
Between the stacks, I found the English teacher wedged behind some tall folders, as if trying to become part of the architecture.
"Will? You alright? There was that villain attack and..." She studied me. "You don't look surprised at all."
"Yeah, he attacked me. I defended myself. Let's move on."
"Move on?" Her voice sharpened. "From something like that?"
"Ahh…. Leona came here for Sasha's funeral!" Puzzled, she rubbed her temple to figure out who I was talking about. I may have messed up the name a little.
"The leader of the Craven? I don't know…"
"Ahh, Leonid! I loved that boy!" Her correction came with a strange affection.
"Boy? Quite dressed up for one." And his voice is also too high.
"He's always liked the style. Ever since young, he—" She stopped. I must have been rolling my eyes again because her next words came tight. "There's serious trauma involved."
"Sure there is."
She raised her fist at me, half-joking. "What an asshole."
"What's her ability?" I asked, cutting the sentiment short. Super speed? Time manipulation like mine?
She looked at me like I'd asked something completely out of character. The question itself seemed to amuse her.
"His ability?" The correction came pointed. I bet that later she will spread rumours about how much of a villain I was because I misgendered a cross-dresser.
"She… he just disappeared as we were talking. That's quite a power." I kept my tone flat, factual.
"Yes, Leonid's ability messes with perception. You can only perceive him when he allows it."
"So he is invisible?"
"At least to the human eye." Fuck then why didn't he offer to talk to that Karl guy?
It would have been much easier.
Wait, human eye? Ahh, he must only be able to do this with people close to him. You can't alter someone's perception when you aren't aware you are being observed.
So then I am still human… it did work on me.
I took the seat next to her and opened the book.
"I hope you don't mind."
"Ultraman and the Savarn? Since when did you read fantasy?"
"Isn't this a life story?"
"No?" Well that was dumb. The Dean burst into laughter. "Wow, you are much funnier than I thought. Sorry that I called you serious." Was that an insult? Whatever.
I didn't respond to her incessant questions after that. Do your goddamn work teacher! No wonder this Academy was going under.
I should have moved, but I found it a bit rude. It wasn't like I was paying much attention to the book. It was pretty trash if I'm being honest. Something about him battling Gods or whatever. I couldn't pay attention.
Disgruntled, I ate at the cafeteria before returning to the dorm. I felt strangely tired even despite the aspirin. Oh, right. I should go buy another jar.
But I was exhausted. Despite how early it was, I changed into the janitor outfit and laid flat to take a nap.
But I wasn't fully asleep.
My eyes were closed and my body was numb, but I felt a head touching my head.
It was… scratching it? No, I think it was petting it? Like a dog?
Would caressing it be a better term? It was a very soft hand. Alice's? Emily's?
I haven't seen Emily in a while. Was she dead? That would imply she'd ever been alive in the first place.
And Ultraman—who the hell was he, really? A god like the peasants believed? Just a man with a special gene, like Secundo Manus claimed? A born hero the way Alice babbled about?
The timeline made no sense. Even if Ultraman was enhanced by Secundo Manus, the scientist would have already met Alice. She was the perfect subject for his human evolution experiment. Why would he bother with Ultraman? How would some powered-up man's skills even inspire a genetic upgrade?
It was all convoluted. Why would Ultraman be special at all? If the gene gave superpowers, then every superhero had it. Genes don't work that way—stronger or weaker between individuals. You have it or you don't.
I felt someone kissing my lips. I cringed. Even when Alice did it, I cringed. Had I been drugged?
Whatever. Other thoughts were more important.
My life. My death. My existence.
The spirit said I was a ghost controlling a corpse. But what's the difference between a ghost and a soul? Just the absence of flesh? Then how is it possession if it's my own body? My own form?
Is that just semantics? Or did she mean something deeper? Is it just not how souls work?
A corpse degrades because it's dead. But if my soul inhabits this body and my heart beats—if I move, I think, I exist—then how am I dead? Why does it still count as a corpse?
I felt hands on me. Undressing me. Cold. Deliberate.
That snapped me awake. No one was there.
But the door was open. Someone had definitely been inside. A student, maybe. Or something else.
I felt filthy. I needed a bath. Wished they had showers—would've been faster.
.
All well and good, but I felt something sitting on my lap. The skin was soft, but Fuck me.
I grabbed the figure with both arms, and the twink from earlier materialized. Leonid was it? I had him by the neck, raising him slightly out of the water.
"Ahh~, sorry. I'm so sorry~ Willie!"
"Why would you do that? Coming into another man's bath is—"
"Sorry, I just found you so handsome I couldn't help it!"
"This is sexual assault."
"Ahh~, but it's your hands around my neck." I slammed his head against the tub's edge. Thick porcelain. He should have felt that.
Instead he smiled.
"You hit like a girl."
Water pooled across the floor as I dragged him out by his neck, my grip tight enough to choke a normal person, but he instead laughed.
"I'd expected Ultraman's cousin to be stronger," he said, stretching his hands to catch my shoulders and pulling himself into an embrace.
"I'm not into men. Get the fuck off me."
"Why don't you forget about Alice?" His lips found my neck. "Men love my body. I'll play with you too."
Why the hell were so many heroes rapists? Was this some kind of trend?
"Why am I even a target?"
"Alice gets so many nice things..." He bit softly at my neck. "Isn't she so lucky? I want them too~!"
He attacked me because he saw me with her two days ago? Mental difficulties didn't begin to cover it.
I couldn't force this bitch off me. Dammit. At this point does that make me the bitch?
I pressed with both sets of knuckles as hard as I could on his temples and he let go.
I went towards the window, but remembered that it was the third floor. Fuck me.
He closed the distance in a single jump.
"Before we continue, I'm curious about yesterday. You killed an inquisitor. You shouldn't have that kind of power."
"What makes you so sure?" He eyed me coldly, like I was supposed to understand something obvious. Did he think I was a fool? Surprisingly prideful for someone mid-assault.
A small grin formed on his face.
"Use on me what you used on that guy. I can take it!"
"I'm not putting the academy in danger. I can't afford the repair bill."
He held his jaw, thinking. Then something clicked. He grabbed me and threw me through the window.
I thought I was finished. He caught me mid-air and set me on the ground.
"What about here?"
"I can't just do it at will." What excuse did I even have? Admitting I need drugs wouldn't convince him.
"Oh, alright then! Since we're already here, we'll do it on the grass. I've always wondered how that would feel!" What in the actual fuck? How can he be so casual about raping me?
At least Sarah had shame about it. Yeah, like that made it any better…
Now that I remember, wasn't the first time Alice and I had sex also almost rape? What even is my life anymore?
I was… fuming. Yes that was it! Last time I resisted it, but now I'll let go as soon as I can. I have no reason not to.
As he pushed me down, I focused inward. On the sensation. On hate.
I hate him. All of them. How dare they treat me like meat. Who the fuck do they think they are?
I was a bomb arming itself. I let go.
Another scream tore out of me.
I don't think he realized what was happening. Being so close, I didn't see him get thrown. I think I evaporated him. The grass beneath us compressed to nothing.
I killed him.
For once, I defended myself.
What a hollow victory.
I was naked and wet, standing on scorched earth outside.
The worst part was the bathroom door had been locked from the inside. I didn't feel like climbing the wall to get past the students.
Whatever.
I ran for the door, my wet skin burning in the cold night air. The grass still smoking where Leonid had been. I couldn't afford for anyone to see that.
I made it inside before the first curious head poked into the hallway.
Changed into the janitor overalls, fingers clumsy with adrenaline, just as the English teacher burst through the door in wrinkled pajamas. Her hair was matted on one side—she'd been sleeping.
"William! Did you do that outside?"
"Yeah, sorry."
"Why? At this hour?!" Her voice cracked with genuine alarm. She was trying to process what she'd felt. The blast, probably. The vibrations through the building.
What excuse even existed? "I was grieving."
There's no way she believed that. But she covered her face with both hands anyway, and for a moment I thought she might be crying for me. Pathetic.
"I'm sorry. I'll forgive it then. Please try not to wake everyone next time." She left without looking back.
I had no sleep. I spent the whole night propped against the wall, thinking about everything that happened.