POV: Adonai
"Like a tightrope walker in a windstorm, I had to keep my focus."
"Huh?" Bobby said, eloquent as ever.
"Just ignore him for your own sanity," Jean sighed. She was sitting beside Alison, who was very obviously crying. The others were gathered around, trying to calm her down, though Scott and Bobby were doing a terrible job at hiding their laughter.
"Why is she crying?" Adonai asked curiously. "Is it that time of the month?"
"Excuse me?" said all the girls at once, voices united in outrage.
"Choose your next words carefully, Adonai," Scott said, half-amused.
"What?" Adonai said, thoughtful as ever. "I just forgot that girls get emotional software updates once a month."
If looks could kill, he'd have been reduced to molecular dust.
"I will kill you," Kitty said, though she was already chuckling despite herself.
"Seriously, though," Adonai continued, softening his tone slightly. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing serious," Bobby said, before bursting out laughing.
"It is serious!" Alison sniffled. "We went shopping earlier, and when we were at the mall…" sniff "..someone waved at another person behind me, and I waved back like an idiot, thinking he was waving at me! It was so embarrassing! Everyone saw it! They probably think I'm some kind of loser."
"No, they don't, Ali," Kitty said gently. "They probably didn't even notice. Everyone's too busy with their own lives."
"I agree," Scott added, amused. "You're being needlessly dramatic."
"They totally saw me," Alison muttered miserably. "God, I wanna die."
"As you should," Adonai said evenly. "I remember once, some loser thought I was waving at him instead of the guy behind him. It was so embarrassing. Everyone saw it. We all laughed, called him names, and then, yeah, we beat the shit out of him. I can't imagine anything more humiliating."
Alison burst into louder sobs, while Jean shot Adonai a murderous glare. The guys, of course, laughed even harder.
"Calm down, Ali," Angel said, trying and failing to hold back a grin. "He's just messing with you. Nobody laughed at you."
"Even if they didn't laugh immediately," Adonai continued helpfully, "they'll tell their friends or families when they get home. Probably make fun of you at dinner. Honestly, they're probably laughing at you right now as we speak."
"I knew it!" Alison wailed, burying her face into the pillow on her lap.
Adonai simply stood up and left the room, heading for the Danger Room.
Once inside, he stood silently for a moment, letting the door seal behind him. His expression hardened, his mind already shifting. Enough distractions. Time to grind.
Normally, creating a unique ability, a Hatsu, through Nen is an extremely detail-oriented process. One must plan precisely what the Hatsu will do and establish conditions and limitations to meet the goals of the ability. A specialist, however, is a unique case. Aura carries within it the desires and emotions of the user, which means it is influenced by conscious and unconscious impulses alike. This is especially true for a specialist. Most specialist abilities shown in the original series seem to develop subconsciously.
In Neon's case, for instance, she developed her fortune-telling ability without ever learning Nen, simply by wishing for it. Similarly, the fourth prince developed his ability shortly after learning Nen, also subconsciously, much like Adonai. These examples are considered the work of Nen geniuses, able to develop abilities on instinct. One conclusion becomes clear.
I am a genius.
His personality, always indulging his desires without limit, rejecting any rules or restrictions, and freely expressing his emotions, likely contributes to this. His ability is effectively a free rein on how he wishes to express himself. A specialist capable of using every other Nen affinity at full efficiency can be groundbreakingly powerful. So powerful, in fact, that Adonai finds it suspicious there are no apparent conditions. There is also the fact that his Nen is probably responsible for his telepathic immunity, his aura responding to his subconscious desire to keep his thoughts private. Could his Nen somehow differ from those shown in the original series?
Then he reminded himself of the sheer absurdity of Nen's potential. The concept of post-mortem Nen, when analyzed, is utterly insane. If a dying person has strong emotion, such as hatred or loyalty, their Nen will respond, fulfilling that emotion even if they die or returning them from death. Biscuit's ability to alter her appearance, not by training for it but by simply wishing for it to happen for years, is another proof of Nen's potential. Adonai's feats over the past few days, fueled by his apparent genius-level talent and strong sense of self, while extraordinary, are not impossible.
It had been three weeks since his divination test. That he possessed such detailed knowledge of his ability, with specialized systems, names, and methods for further training, raised eyebrows among the others, especially Logan. Adonai, however, didn't care. He smoked his cigarette, imitating Joaquin Phoenix with a resigned shrug, and said, "You wouldn't get it." He had no desire to explain shonen anime to these people, it would be entirely out of place.
"You just made that all up, didn't you? You big fucking nerd," Alison mocked. He swore to avenge her insult, even if the statement was true. And now, he did.
All of last week had been dedicated to intense Nen training. First, he reinforced the four basic principles, then extensively explored their advanced applications. Having already mastered the basics of Gyo for his divination test, he quickly perfected it. Then he moved to In, initially seeming useless, until he considered the prevalence of telepaths in marvel, who could sense his aura. In is an advanced form of Zetsu, designed to make one's aura imperceptible. Unlike Zetsu, which stops the flow of aura entirely, In allows Nen use while remaining hidden. He tested it in front of Jean, and she could not sense a thing.
Then came En, which is the art of extending one's aura over a wide range while using Ten to contain and give it shape. Within that field, the user can feel everything that moves or exists, the outline and motion of all within the radius. It is perfect for detection. Adonai could currently extend his aura up to three meters and maintain it for about thirty minutes before exhaustion set in.
Next was Shu, which is essentially shrouding an object in aura to strengthen it. With enough control, one can make an ordinary shovel capable of digging through solid rock. Then came Ko and Ken, both of which he found rather easy to master. Once he had those under control, he moved on to what he considered the fun part.
He focused primarily on Enhancement. Enhancement Nen is crucial in combat, and a user's affinity for it often defines their strength. A skilled Conjurer might struggle to block 9mm bullets even with Gyo, while a master Enhancer can withstand sniper fire without injury or survive a direct explosion from an anti-tank bazooka with only minor burns. But the potential of Enhancement extends beyond combat. With sufficient mastery, it can be used to enhance virtually anything, within or outside the human body.
Adonai soon made his way to the library and borrowed several books on biology. Every system, every cell, was a problem waiting for optimization. The human body, he realized, was an inefficient machine. Nen could fix that.
He began modifying himself through Nen, targeting biological systems directly.
For digestion, he enhanced the parietal cells in the stomach to regulate acid production more precisely, preventing both under- and over-secretion. Pancreatic enzyme secretion was increased for faster macronutrient breakdown. He used Nen to expand the villi surface area in the small intestine, allowing near-total nutrient absorption. The gut microbiome was stabilized and balanced through constant Nen flow, maintaining ideal bacterial ratios for metabolism and immunity. The result was complete digestion efficiency: no bloating, no residual waste, and full energy extraction from all consumed material.
So in essence , I don't need to shit very often because my digestion system is very efficient.
He then adjusted metabolism by regulating liver enzymes involved in gluconeogenesis and β-oxidation, allowing the body to switch instantly between carbohydrate, fat, and protein energy sources without hormonal lag. Nen control of insulin, glucagon, and cortisol signaling stabilized blood sugar and prevented energy crashes. The hypothalamus was modulated to maintain ideal hunger and energy balance, removing fat storage as a default response. Adipose tissue responsiveness to insulin was reduced, ensuring excess calories were used for energy instead of stored as fat.
To minimize waste, he enhanced mitochondrial efficiency, specifically the electron transport chain complexes (I–V). Nen optimized proton gradient stability, improving ATP yield per oxygen molecule. This reduced metabolic byproducts like lactic acid and reactive oxygen species. The colon's reabsorption capability was also increased, reducing water and nutrient loss. Combined, these changes meant near-total conversion of fuel into usable energy with minimal excretion.
He enhanced oxygen efficiency by improving red blood cell function, lung capacity, and mitochondrial performance, giving him superior endurance and minimal fatigue. Muscle strength increased through denser fibers, stronger tendons, and reinforced bones, making him several times stronger than an ordinary human. Even the best athletes in the world could not compare, though since this was a comic book universe, defining "peak human" could get confusing. He could bench press about 1102 pounds, which was impressive, though still nowhere near what Gon or Killua could do before even learning Nen. Adonai consoled himself that progress, no matter how small, still counts.
He improved speed and agility by boosting neural transmission, joint flexibility, and balance coordination for faster, more precise movement. He was now twice as fast as the best Olympic sprinters. His durability was raised by strengthening skin, bone, and connective tissue to resist impact without losing flexibility. Endurance was enhanced through greater mitochondrial density and improved lactic acid recycling, allowing him to sustain long periods of physical exertion.
Healing and longevity came next. He accelerated stem cell activity, enhanced telomerase production, and refined DNA repair to prevent harmful mutations and slow aging. His senses were refined for sharper vision, hearing, smell, taste, and touch, allowing him to detect the smallest details and environmental shifts. Subtle biological systems were also adjusted. His pheromones were brought under conscious control, his immune system reacted instantly to threats, and his body temperature remained perfectly regulated regardless of climate. He even refined his neural pathways and memory retention, allowing faster thought processing and better recall.
Once the biological foundation was set, he sought combat experience. He asked Logan to train him. Adonai had been in plenty of street fights before, but he was no match for veterans like Logan or the other X-Men. For the past week, he trained with Logan every day for at least three hours. His enhanced coordination, physical power, and faster neural response made him almost a perfect warrior. When he bragged about this to Logan, he was promptly beaten into the floor. Logan's only comment was that he was a decade too early to be so arrogant. Adonai privately concluded that Logan was coping and refused to accept that the younger generation always surpasses the old. That was simply the rule of shonen.
"You can turn it on, Professor," said Adonai, standing alone in the center of the Danger Room. He looked up toward the viewing deck on the ceiling, where the others were probably watching him.
He had made a habit of coming here often, fighting whatever constructs the room produced to refine his combat ability. His training sessions had become a minor attraction among both staff and students.
The room darkened. The environment shifted into a vast frozen plain. Dozens of robotic constructs appeared, surrounding him. The temperature dropped below thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Adonai's body immediately adapted. The cold ceased to bother him.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaled deeply, then sprinted forward toward the machines charging at him.
POV: Jean
"What do you think?" the Professor asked calmly.
From behind the glass, Adonai could be seen dismantling a squad of training robots with effortless grace. He moved like liquid steel, striking, pivoting, evading. A hit came from behind, he avoided it without even glancing back, and his counter kick crushed the robot's head clean off.
How did he see that?
Jean wasn't the only one thinking it. The observation room was full; students and even the teachers were watching in silence. Every pair of eyes was drawn to the boy below, his movements inhumanly fast and frighteningly precise. He struck through reinforced alloy as if it were paper.
"I've never seen anything like it," Logan muttered. Even through his usual calm, Jean could tell he was impressed.
"It's like he has a 360-degree field of vision," Scott said, analyzing. "He reacts before the attack even starts."
"It's unnatural," Logan said again.
They turned toward him.
"Normally," Logan began, eyes fixed on the arena, "in a fight, your body reads danger in steps. The nerves pick up movement, send the signal to your brain, and the brain orders the muscles to react. That whole chain takes time, even for someone trained." He paused, watching Adonai twist mid-air to intercept a strike that should've been impossible to detect. "But this kid… it's like he cuts the middleman. His body reacts before the mind even decides to. Like his nerves are wired straight into instinct itself."
Jean felt goosebumps run down her arms.
"It is a bit suspicious, isn't it?" Storm said quietly. "A whole system for training his abilities, like he already knew how… and now this frightening combat skill."
"What are you implying, Storm?" Jean asked carefully.
"Nothing in particular, dear," Storm replied with a soft smile. "Only that he seems far too knowledgeable for a boy his age."
"A possible infiltrator?" Scott said calmly, eyes fixed on Adonai as he dismantled another robot. "Wouldn't be the first time. Fits Magneto's usual methods."
Jean didn't need to read his mind to know he didn't believe his own words.
"Come on, Scott," Kurt said, laughing lightly. "Aren't we jumping to conclusions?"
Scott only shrugged.
"I actually talked to him about that," Angel said suddenly. All eyes turned to her. "We had an argument a few days ago. I told him I didn't trust him. That he knew too much for someone who only just learned he was a mutant."
Angel was confident, rarely afraid to speak her mind, though she usually did it with more tact.
"And what did he say?" Bobby asked, clearly intrigued. Even the teachers leaned in.
"He took me outside to this barren stretch of land," Angel said, her cheeks coloring slightly. "Then he pointed at it and said, 'Behold the field where I grow my fucks. Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren.'"
The room burst into laughter. Jean couldn't help but smile. That was exactly like him.
"The boy's clean," Logan said suddenly, cutting through the noise. "When he came to me a week ago asking for training, he didn't know a damn thing about real fighting."
They all turned back to the glass. Adonai vanished from sight for a heartbeat, reappearing behind a robot, and tore it apart in one motion.
"You were saying?" Bobby said dryly.
"The boy's a natural," Logan said. "I don't know if it's part of his mutation, but he learns frighteningly fast. I've only seen someone that good once before. It's like he can copy any move after watching it a single time. Add to that his raw strength and reaction speed, might even be sharper than mine."
Jean watched Adonai move, slipping past every strike and countering with precise, effortless speed. Strong as a bear, graceful as a cat.
"A high compliment," the Professor said. "Especially from you. Still, let's be clear. Adonai is a student here, and he'll remain one unless he violates our principles. Talent and eccentricity are no crime. Make sure he feels welcome."
"Of course, Professor, that goes without saying," Scott said with conviction.
"And besides," Storm added gently, "he's unlikely to have met Magneto. We were the first to reach him when his powers awakened."
Everyone nodded.
"You said you'd only seen one person learn as fast as him," Kitty said, looking at Logan. "Who was it?"
That caught Jean's attention. Logan rarely spoke about his past.
"Captain America," Logan answered simply.
Silence followed. None of them could tell if he was joking or serious. But being compared to the symbol of heroism itself, Steve Rogers, was a compliment of the highest order.
POV: Adonai
I'm getting my virginity back at this rate.
He had been busy for the past three weeks, obsessively mastering Nen. So focused, in fact, that he often forgot to eat. He had to thank the others for bringing him food, probably thinking he'd starve himself if they didn't, but the truth was, he barely needed it anymore. His body had become far too efficient.
Naturally, mastering the basics of Nen wasn't all he'd been doing. He had also been working toward his self-imposed goal: finding a way to fix Rogue's condition. He hadn't gone out once, buried in experiments and theories, but even he knew when to take a break. If he didn't stop soon, he'd burn out completely.
It said a lot about his current mental state that one of his more promising ideas was based on titration. In chemistry, titration is the process of slowly adding one solution to another until equilibrium is reached, the exact point where the reaction is neutralized. Applied here, Rogue's uncontrolled power would be the overreactive solution, she draws in too much energy at once. His idea was to create a Hatsu that functions as a titration mechanism, feeding or buffering aura in precise, incremental doses to stabilize her energy reaction. Each "drop" of aura would neutralize a portion of her unstable bioelectric field, like adding base to acid.
So I've become a nerd.
There were problems, of course. He lacked any deep knowledge of how his energy might interact with Rogue's mutation, and his grasp of biology was embarrassingly basic. But most importantly, it was boring. Painfully boring. If he went down that route, he'd have no opportunity to Aura farm. And rule one of Aura farming is simple: always Aura farm. No exceptions.
That alone disqualified most of his earlier solutions. They were either too dull or too complicated, the kind of projects that would take months to yield results.
He wanted something more efficient. A method that would help Rogue and benefit him at the same time. He needed a Hatsu that wasn't just functional but useful, something he could deploy in real combat as well.
The Marvel universe isn't for the weak, and I'll be damned if I ever get caught lacking.
Then he remembered something, and felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. In most versions of Rogue's story, her lack of control stems from the trauma of her first awakening, the boy she kissed into a coma. That moment froze her development at a nascent stage, leaving her power governed by fear.
The problem, of course, was that relying on comic book knowledge was a gamble. One, he hadn't read everything about the X-Men. And two, the comics themselves were inconsistent. Different authors, different interpretations. Some claimed Rogue could master her ability once she overcame her fear. Others insisted she could relapse whenever her emotional state dipped below a certain threshold.
He didn't want a temporary fix. He wasn't one for half-measures. But still, there was potential there.
Maybe he could test the psychological approach as a stopgap, then build a permanent solution once he gathered enough data.
But that could wait. For now, he needed to relax.
He glanced at the clock, it was past ten. With a quiet sigh, he changed clothes and slipped out to the garage. A few moments later, one of the Institute's sports cars roared to life.
Time to blow off some steam. Meet new people. Have a little fun.
POV: Susan Storm
Susan Strom was not having a fun time.
Since she earned her scholarship to Columbia University, life had started to look up. Finally, she could carve out a little independence, step by step, without relying entirely on her aunt. She would always be grateful, immensely grateful, for her aunt, who had taken her and Johnny in after their mother died and their father became a murderer. But gratitude was one thing. Dependence was another.
It hurt, a little, to feel like a burden, even when she knew her aunt would never see it that way. Asking for money to go out, buying something extra she didn't strictly need, it all felt wrong. She hated the idea of leaning on someone else when she had a chance to stand on her own. So she'd found a part-time job, quietly covering her necessities, saving herself from having to ask. And she told Johnny to do the same. Always come to her first, she said. Don't bother Aunt Mary. Even if he didn't mind, even if Aunt Mary would have laughed it off, she couldn't let it feel like she was taking advantage.
Ever since their parents, she'd felt responsible for Johnny. The thought of him struggling while she could help gnawed at her. She wanted to be someone he could rely on, someone steady and unshakable, without having to make others bear the weight for them.
It wasn't just about money or errands. It was pride, quiet and stubborn, threaded through everything she did. She was grateful, yes, but she wanted her own hands on her own life. To know she could meet her obligations, support her brother, and still keep her dignity intact.
She didn't need anyone to notice. She just needed to know she was capable. That she could stand on her own two feet, even when the world, or tragedy, had tried to knock her down.
So how had it come to this?
Susan looked at the boy in the driver's seat, staring at her with expectant eyes. Why had she agreed to go out with the girls in the first place? And how had she ended up alone with this boy?
The reason was far more embarrassing than she would ever admit aloud. Her independence, something she took pride in, had left her strangely inexperienced. She had spent so much of her life being responsible that she'd never learned how to simply let go.
Even in high school, she'd never gone to parties or done the things her peers did. Back then, she'd told herself those things were distractions, childish and pointless. People who cared about fun instead of their future. That attitude had probably been why she didn't have many friends; most probably thought her a stuck-up, serious girl, and she couldn't blame them
It wasn't until college that she realized just how sheltered she'd been. She hadn't been forbidden from the world, she had built a shelter for herself. She had convinced herself that school, work, and taking care of her brother were all that mattered. Those things became her comfort zone, and she'd never stepped beyond it.
She had never dated, not for lack of interest from others, but because she didn't see the point. She never went to parties, never flirted, never experimented with any of the things her peers seemed to find natural. So now, listening to her dorm mates talk about parties, boyfriends, sex, and breakups, she'd felt something she hadn't in years- curiosity.
They spoke about it all so casually. She, on the other hand, had nothing to add. What was she supposed to say? That she worked, studied, and went home? It made her feel boring, like she had somehow skipped over a part of life everyone else had experienced.
So this time, she'd said yes. When a few girls invited her to hang out with some guys, she told herself it was a chance to change. This was her chance to explore, to discover something beyond Susan, the responsible sister, the girl who had always closed herself off.
And that was how she ended up here, with Justin.
He had apparently liked her for a while, and the girls had helped him set this up. The others had found excuses to leave, and soon it was just the two of them, driving aimlessly until he parked on some empty roadside surrounded by trees.
She wouldn't have minded getting to know him if he'd actually tried to talk. He was cute enough, not her type, she barely knew him after all. But every attempt at conversation went nowhere. His attention, she realized with mounting discomfort, was entirely physical. He barely listened, responding with half-sentences, his attention fixed elsewhere.
Now his hand was on her thigh.
She stiffened. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
This wasn't what she had in mind.
His other hand brushed against her chest, and before she could react, his lips were on her neck. She froze. Her thoughts scattered.
She didn't want this.
Gently, she pushed him back. He looked at her, confused.
"Look, Justin," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I'm sure you're a nice guy, but this is going way too fast. How about we slow things down?"
Did she sound like an inexperienced little girl? She couldn't help wondering.
"What do you mean?" he said, frowning. "Like… slowly kiss or what?"
"No," she said firmly. "I mean get to know each other first. Jumping straight to this, it's too sudden."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he snapped. "You can't just say that after leading me on all night."
"Huh? Leading you on?" she repeated, incredulous. "We only met an hour ago."
"Oh, come on. You seriously didn't know this was coming? I bought you a drink, I paid for your food…"
"Wait," she said, flabbergasted. "Because you bought me a drink, I owe you sex?"
"Of course not," he said quickly, but his tone betrayed him. "I'm just saying, I really like you, Sue. But you can't pretend you weren't giving signals. Laughing at my jokes, touching your hair like that–"
"I was being polite," she said, suddenly self-conscious.
"Oh, so you were also just being polite when I bought you that drink?" he shot back.
"Justin, I accepted because you insisted, after I refused, several times," she said tightly.
"What's your problem?" he barked, his voice rising. "Is it because I'm not some hot guy? You smiled at me on campus like you were interested, were you just playing with me?"
Susan's heart thudded. They were alone, surrounded by trees, no sound but the car engine and his voice rising. She suddenly became aware of how isolated they were, how vulnerable she was.
"No," she said, voice steady despite her racing pulse. "I'm done here. You can keep your drink money."
She dug into her purse, pulled out the cash, and threw it at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, grabbing them and trying to protest.
"I'm walking," she said firmly. "I have no interest in this anymore."
Before he could react, she opened the car door and stepped out, boots crunching on the gravel. The cold night air cleared her head.
"Fine! whatever," he yelled as she walked away, his engine roaring to life behind her. She didn't look back as he drove off, the sound fading into the distance.
Susan exhaled, finally allowing herself to feel relief.
God, how could she be so stupid?
The first time she tried stepping out of her comfort zone, and this was where it got her; alone, in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night.
What was she supposed to do now? There was nothing but trees stretching endlessly into the dark. They loomed larger than they should have, and the silence between them felt alive. She tried not to think about the obvious- that she was a woman, alone, with no one around for miles. If she screamed, no one would hear her.
She folded her arms and started walking, her breath fogging in the cold air.
Come on, Sue. You got yourself into this. You can get yourself out too.
The road was empty and narrow, no streetlights, just the pale silver of the moon tracing her shadow. Every sound, the rustle of branches and the crunch of gravel, set her nerves on edge.
Then, in the distance, an engine.
She turned her head sharply. Headlights cut through the darkness, growing brighter, faster. She hesitated. Hitchhiking was dangerous. She knew that. But so was freezing or walking until morning.
She stepped off to the side, letting the car pass. The red vehicle roared by, too fast, throwing up a gust of cold air. Then, suddenly, the sound of tires screeching.
The car stopped, then began reversing.
Her stomach tightened.
It came back quickly, halting right in front of her. The window rolled down, and a young man leaned slightly toward her. He was handsome: dark hair, striking green eyes that caught the moonlight just enough to seem unreal.
"Need a ride?" he asked. His voice was smooth, melodic. A little too calm for the hour.
She hesitated. "That's kind of you, but… I'll be fine," she said, forcing a small, polite smile. Her instincts screamed caution.
He tilted his head. "You're planning to walk back to the city? From here?"
She didn't answer.
"That's at least fifteen miles," he added lightly. "You'll freeze before you even see a streetlight."
"I'll manage," she said quickly.
"You don't sound very sure," he leaned his elbow against the window. "Look, I get it, you don't trust strangers. Smart move. But if I wanted to hurt you, would I have stopped in front of you with my lights on?"
Susan's brow furrowed. "That's… not really reassuring."
"Fair point," he laughed softly. "I suppose it isn't. But it's better than pretending you're safer walking through the woods alone at midnight."
She glanced back down the dark road. He wasn't wrong.
He studied her face, his expression more thoughtful than amused now. "Tell you what. You can sit in the back seat if that makes you feel safer. Doors unlocked. Windows up. I'll drive you as far as the city. No strings attached."
She bit her lip. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because," he said simply, "you look cold, tired, and far too stubborn for your own good. Besides, I am not trying to read about you in the paper tomorrow morning."
That earned a flicker of reluctant amusement from her.
"Five minutes," he said. "If you don't feel comfortable, I'll stop and you can get out. Fair?"
Susan looked at him, at the confidence in his eyes, the warmth in his tone. He didn't look dangerous. But then, she reminded herself, neither did Justin.
Still, there was something different about this man. The way he spoke wasn't pushy or self-satisfied. He was… patient. Amused, maybe, but not mocking.
She exhaled, weighing her pride against the cold biting through her jeans. It was an easy decision.
"Fine," she said at last. "But only until the city."
He smiled faintly. "Scout's honor."
She gave him a skeptical look. "You don't look like a scout."
"Good," he said, unlocking the door. "I was never any good at camping anyway."
Despite herself, Susan smiled. Then she opened the door, slid into the passenger seat, and pulled the seatbelt across her chest.
The heater hummed to life, filling the car with warmth.
He glanced at her, still wearing that faint, knowing smile. "See? Not so bad."
Susan turned her face toward the window, unwilling to admit that, for now at least, he was right.
"I'm sorry for the bother," she said.
"Not at all," he replied as he drove. "Rough night, huh?"
"Something like that," she muttered, unwilling to elaborate.
He hummed lightly, eyes on the road.
"I'm Adonai, by the way," he said after a moment. "Adonai Ezra."
"Susan Storm," she replied, offering a polite smile.
"Of course you are," he said, as if something had just clicked in his mind.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked carefully, watching him.
"It means," he said with quiet amusement, "that I, like God, do not play with dice and do not believe in coincidence."
"So what?" she asked, brow raised. "You think our meeting was fated or something?"
"Naturally," he said, still smiling faintly. "Stan Lee has a great sense of humor."
"Stan Lee?" she repeated, confused. "Don't people usually say God has a great sense of humor?"
"That's what I said," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Susan blinked at him, not understanding a word of what he meant. They drove in silence for a while, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Eventually, she felt his gaze on her and turned to face him.
"Can I help you?" she asked automatically, a reflex from her old customer service days.
"I don't know," he said, meeting her eyes. "Can you?"
"You're the one staring," she said, defensive now. "Do you want to ask me something?"
"Is there something I should be asking?" His tone was light, teasing, almost musical.
"I don't know," she muttered. "But I'm sure you're wondering why I'm alone in the middle of nowhere at this hour."
"It crossed my mind," he admitted. "Let me guess, trouble with a guy?"
She turned to him, intrigued. "What makes you say that?"
"The fragrance," he said simply.
"The fragrance?" she echoed, frowning.
"Amouage Gold," he said with a faint smile.
"That's amazing," she said, genuinely impressed. "How did you guess that?"
"I'm in the amazing business," he said with a grin, flashing perfect white teeth. "A bright, complicated scent. Women usually wear it when they want to be noticed, or to attract someone in particular."
"That's… disturbingly specific," She said, looking at him curiously.
"It's a memorable fragrance," he shrugged lightly, eyes still on the road. "Warm, but sharp. Not something you throw on without intention."
"So what, you think I wore it to impress a man?" she challenged.
He smiled, unbothered. "You didn't wear it for the cold, did you?"
"Maybe I just like it," she crossed her arms. "Maybe it makes me feel good."
"Maybe," he said softly. "But scents tell stories, Sue. Even when we don't mean them to."
She studied him, uncertain whether to be annoyed or intrigued. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh?"
He chuckled quietly. "Not even close. But I'm good with patterns."
"Being able to guess that so easily," she mused, tilting her head. "So you're some kind of rich playboy, aren't you?"
"Definitely not rich," he smiled.
"Then how come you're driving a car like this?" she asked, amused.
"Oh, I stole it from my professor," he said lightly.
She laughed despite herself. "Oh, did you now?" she teased, eyes glinting. "Then where are you going with your stolen car?"
"Wherever the wind takes me," he replied. "Just drive around, meet new people, have fun."
"It must be nice to just let loose whenever you want," she murmured.
"It is," he said easily. "But you could do it too."
"I wish it were that simple," she said softly. "Some of us don't have the luxury of letting the wind decide where we go."
"Responsibilities, huh?" he said thoughtfully.
"Among other things," she replied. "Working, keeping up with my studies, and a brother who can't go a day without getting into trouble."
"Sounds exhausting," he said with a chuckle.
It was strange how easy he was to talk to. She had met him minutes ago, yet here she was sharing personal details. There was something about him, his tone perhaps, that made it feel safe. Like he wanted nothing more than to listen.
"It is," she admitted. "But that's what being an adult is. You can't just walk away from everything because you're bored or curious."
"Can't you?" he asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice.
"No," she said firmly. "I have responsibilities. It's the sensible thing to do."
"Now there's a word," he said, intrigued. "Sensible. Funny how that always means doing what hurts less instead of what means more."
She arched an eyebrow. "Said like someone who's never had to clean up after a bad decision."
It struck her then how casually she was speaking to him, even criticizing, as though they'd known each other for years.
"Oh, I've cleaned up plenty," he said, unbothered. "But I've never regretted a mess."
"Maybe not now," she said. "But what about when you're forty?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead," he admitted. "To be honest, I never planned to make it past twenty-seven."
She turned toward him, concerned. "Why not?"
He gave a half-smile. "I don't know. It just seems that the older people get, the more boring they become."
"Why's that?" she asked, genuinely curious now.
"Well," he began, his tone taking on that peculiar intensity she was starting to recognize, "being old is a process of subtraction. People make a thousand mistakes when they're young, that's the point of youth. But as they grow older, they contract a disease called common sense. One day, like Adam, they realize they're naked and run to hide behind the bushes, ashamed of their own desires. They cover themselves in rules and traditions, strip away the things that make them feel alive. The more 'common sense' they gain, the fewer mistakes they make, and the more of themselves they lose. Until they become nothing but common sense. It grows stale after a while, you see. It starts fearing anything new or strange. That's why old people are so stubborn."
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. He was absurd, and yet somehow compelling.
Susan listened, fascinated. He spoke with such eloquence and conviction that it was impossible not to be drawn in. His words were brilliant, reckless, and utterly irresponsible. And yet, for reasons she couldn't name, she couldn't look away.
"You are something else," she said at last, laughing deeply. "But why twenty-seven? According to your philosophy, wouldn't you want to explore every pleasure the world has to offer?"
"Because I don't want to be old and boring," he replied easily. "Twenty-seven is the age when one is still young enough to be beautiful in death. Dying then is... romantic. People mourn you, praise your potential, speak of what you could have been. A potential, mind you, that was never going to be fulfilled anyway. In a way, you achieve eternal youth."
"So it's all about youth with you," she said, shaking her head. "To be eternally free like a child, chase pleasure, and then die before life truly begins. That's rather pessimistic."
"Not really," he said, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Because I know something most people don't."
"And what's that?"
"Humans are eternal," he said calmly. "When they die, they're reborn elsewhere—in another world, another life, another body. They restart and live it all over again."
Great. So he's a lunatic, she thought.
"Are you a crazy person?" she asked, giggling softly.
"I'm quite sure most people would say so," he answered with a grin.
There was something disarming about him; enigmatic, charming, and perhaps a little insane. And yet Susan found herself drawn in completely. He fascinated her. They talked about everything: her life, his odd philosophies, history, literature, labor rights, even sports. Before she knew it, they had reached the inner city.
She didn't want the night to end.
"Would you like to walk around a bit?" she asked impulsively. "See the city at night?"
He smiled. "Lead the way."
They got out and wandered through the quiet streets, still talking. She was amazed at how effortlessly he could move from philosophy to politics to architecture. He listened when she spoke, really listened. Words flowed from her like water, freely and joyfully. She couldn't remember the last time she'd talked this much.
As they walked along Fifth Avenue toward the Flatiron Building, she found herself giving him a whole lecture. "So, they used to call this spot '23 Skidoo,'" she explained, animated. "Cops would chase away young men who gathered here to watch women's skirts fly up in the gusts of wind caused by the building's shape."
He listened intently, smiling as she went on about wind-bracing and early skyscraper design, things most people would've tuned out instantly. But he didn't. He asked questions, nodded thoughtfully, and looked genuinely interested.
After a while, she glanced at him and said teasingly, "You surprise me. I wouldn't have guessed someone with your 'live in the moment' attitude would care about history."
"It was one of my fascinations a few years ago," he said. "I wanted to understand how everything connects. I started with the fall of the Byzantine Empire, how that led to the Renaissance, which led to the French Revolution, and so on. You get the idea."
She smiled. "That's... surprisingly coherent for someone who plans to die at twenty-seven."
"One thing that's nice about the past," he said, "is that it stays in the past."
They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, then she said playfully, "You know, we always know when you guys look."
He raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like a sixth sense?"
"Yeah," she said. "Go on, try it. I'll look away."
She turned toward the tall buildings, pretending to examine them.
"Alright," he said, laughing under his breath.
After a few seconds she said, "Now."
She turned just in time to catch him staring.
"Wow," he said, grinning. "You really do have a sixth sense. But how do I know that wasn't just luck?"
She smirked and turned away again. "Go on, try again."
"Now."
He was caught again, unashamed. "Damn, you're good," he said, clearly amused.
She repeated it a few more times, each time catching him without fail. He only laughed harder, never once embarrassed.
They kept talking, teasing, and laughing like old friends. The unpleasantness of her night was long forgotten. The city lights shimmered on the wet pavement, and the hours melted away until the sky began to pale.
By the time they finally said goodbye, it was nearly four in the morning.
They exchanged numbers, both reluctant to end the conversation. As she watched him drive off, Susan realized something she couldn't quite explain, she didn't even know his age, yet somehow, she felt she'd known him forever.
AN: You ever get that feeling like the universe schedules all your problems to hit at once? Yeah, that's been my week. Every time I sat down to write, something else came up, like life itself decided I was getting too comfortable. Anyway, enough of my complaining. This chapter is mostly me geeking out about Nen, biology, and other fun nonsense.