Morning came with a gentle hum. Cars rolled past in steady intervals, vendors set up their stalls, and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted faintly through open windows. Adrian woke earlier than usual, his sleep light, fragmented, and unnecessary. Old habits refused to fade. In his previous life, rest was a luxury granted only when death wasn't lurking in the next shadow.
Here, it wasn't death that stalked him—it was something worse.
Family.
He washed his face, dressed in the plain clothes that helped him blend in, and stepped out into the street. A few neighbors nodded at him in passing. An old woman smiled softly as she swept her front steps. A man in a cheap business suit jogged by, late for work. The city was unaware of the three corpses left behind last night. The rain had washed away the blood before dawn. The police would mark it as gang conflict, shrug, and move on.
The city had grown numb to violence long before he arrived.
At the ramen shop, the owner shoved a crate of vegetables into his hands the moment he walked in.
"You're early," the old man muttered.
"You're grumpy," Adrian replied.
"I'm always grumpy."
"And I'm always early."
The owner paused. Squinted. Snorted. "Smart mouth today."
Adrian simply tied his apron, said nothing more, and slipped into the rhythm of routine. Knife, cutting board, sink, steam, bowls, customers. The mundane repetition settled over him like a mask. A fragile illusion that he belonged here.
Between the rushes of lunch and dinner, he swept the floor as the radio played old pop songs. The atmosphere felt…calm. Almost peaceful.
Almost.
He sensed it the moment the door opened. Someone stepped in and the air turned sharp, like a blade dragging across glass. Adrian didn't turn immediately. He finished stacking bowls, wiped his hands on his apron, and walked out to the dining area.
The newcomer sat near the window, legs crossed, expression unreadable. Blonde hair, too carefully styled. Clothes too expensive for this side of town. Rings on his fingers. Arrogance in every line of his posture.
He didn't belong here.
Adrian's fingers twitched once. Not from fear—from anticipation.
The man looked up and smiled like someone seeing a long-lost friend.
"So this is where you've been hiding, cousin."
Adrian walked closer, his expression calm. "I don't recall inviting you here."
"The shop was easy to find," Valen Nightbane said. He leaned back, tapping a ring against the table. "I heard you're working as a…what was it again? Assistant? Dishwasher? Servant?"
Adrian remained silent.
Valen's grin widened. "Isn't that adorable? The great disappointment of the Nightbane bloodline, scrubbing bowls for coins."
The owner poked his head out from the kitchen. "Boy, friend of yours?"
"No," Adrian answered immediately.
Valen's eyebrow lifted. "Ouch."
"Handle your food," Adrian said coolly.
Valen's gaze sharpened. "Bring me something sweet. The cheapest dish on the menu."
Adrian stared at him for three long seconds, then turned away without a word. He prepared the bowl without emotion, placed it in front of Valen, and walked off again.
Valen ate in silence. Each spoonful seemed like a performance, exaggerated, mocking. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood.
"Caelum," he said, using the body's original name. "You must be thinking about what happened last night."
Adrian didn't respond.
Valen stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Those idiots thought you were still the spineless waste everyone knew you as. I admit—it surprised me to see you survived."
Adrian's jaw tightened slightly.
Valen studied him with sharp amusement. "I should thank you, cousin. You've just proven I need to handle you myself."
He placed a few coins on the table but didn't wait for change.
Before leaving, he leaned in and whispered:
"Next time, you won't walk away."
And he was gone.
The shop felt colder after his departure. Adrian resumed work, but the old man noticed the tension in his shoulders.
"You know him?" the owner asked.
"No."
"You hate him?"
"Yes."
"That I believe." The old man lit a cigarette. "Remember, boy… some fights follow you no matter where you run."
Adrian said nothing. The System stirred faintly.
Host. Enemy recognition confirmed. Danger level rising. Prepare.
But as always, the voice faded into silence.
The rest of the day proceeded in deceptive normalcy. Customers laughed. Children ate noodles messily. A young couple argued quietly at a corner table. Life continued.
When Adrian finally left the shop that night, the streets felt different. More alive. More watchful. The city's neon lights flickered like dying embers.
He walked toward his apartment, passing street vendors and bars with glowing signs. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The scent of spilled beer mixed with fried street food. Groups of students chatted loudly as they wandered home.
Normal.
But Adrian's instincts screamed that normal would not last long.
He took a shortcut through a commercial street that was closed for the night. Metal shutters clanged softly in the wind. The lamps overhead buzzed. He heard faint footsteps behind him—followed, then stopped. Another set echoed from ahead.
He didn't need to turn to know he was boxed in.
They came out one by one. Not assassins this time. Not professionals. Just thugs. Five of them. Not well-trained, not subtle.
But confident.
They carried bats, chains, one even had a cheap stun baton. They eyed him with a mix of greed and stupidity.
"You the kid who works at the ramen shop?" one asked.
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Is this the part where you pretend to rob me?"
They exchanged glances.
"What?"
Adrian sighed. "Who sent you?"
The biggest thug spat. "You don't need to know."
"Valen sent you."
Their expressions shifted.
Adrian exhaled slowly. "He really is desperate."
"Shut up!" another yelled. "You messed with the wrong crowd!"
They charged as a group. Sloppy. Loud. Predictable.
Adrian moved through them like water slipping between rocks. He grabbed the first man by the jacket, spun him, and used him as a shield against the second attacker. The third swung his bat; Adrian ducked and delivered a quick elbow to the man's ribs, cracking something inside.
The stun baton crackled, lunging toward him. Adrian caught the wielder's wrist and twisted until the man screamed. The baton dropped, sparks fizzling out.
Within seconds, four men were writhing on the pavement.
The fifth, trembling, tried to run.
Adrian pulled him back by the collar.
"You're the mouthy one," he murmured.
"P—please—"
Adrian pressed the thug against a wall, tone icy.
"This is the second time someone tried to kill me this week."
"N–not us, we—we were just told to—"
"I know," Adrian said calmly. "So listen carefully."
He leaned closer.
"Tell Valen that if he wants me dead, he must stop using toys."
The thug whimpered.
"Tell him I'm coming for him."
Adrian released him with enough force to send him stumbling to the ground. The thug scrambled away, dragging one of his injured friends before abandoning the rest.
The street fell silent again.
Adrian looked up at the sky—cloudy, moonless, suffocating.
He wasn't breathing heavily. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't afraid.
He felt alive.
In his previous world, he had been forced to fight because survival demanded it.
In this world?
He would fight because he wanted to.
The city was a web of secrets and power. And Valen Nightbane had just drawn the first line of war.
Back in his small apartment, Adrian showered off the blood, changed clothes, and sat on the edge of his bed. The city lights bled through the curtains, painting the room in fractured neon colors.
His heart was calm.
His mind was not.
Every word Valen said replayed in his head. Every threat. Every sneer. Every attempt on his life.
The previous Caelum had been weak. A stain on the family name. A fool clinging to status while everyone else stepped on him.
But Adrian was not him.
He touched his chest lightly, feeling the faint pulse beneath.
He had no divine second chances. No resurrection. No cheat revival. No regression.
This life was finite.
One mistake—one tiny slip—meant absolute death.
Yet the thought didn't scare him.
It fueled him.
The System stirred again, whispering quietly, almost approvingly.
Host. Evolution requires conflict. You walk the correct path.
Adrian tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.
He wasn't the same person he had been when he woke up in this world.
Not the soldier.
Not the villain.
Not Caelum.
Not Adrian.
He was becoming something else.
Someone who would rip out the roots of this city if he had to.
Someone who refused to crawl ever again.
Tomorrow, the ramen shop would open. Customers would laugh. The owner would complain. Life would pretend to be simple.
And Adrian would pretend with it.
Until he no longer needed to.
He closed his eyes, letting the silence settle.
The war with Valen had begun. The city had chosen sides without realizing it. The shadows were watching. The System was waiting.
And Adrian Nightbane…
…was ready to make his first move.