THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS.
The alleyway was silent.
There was a metallic clanking against the brick walls that blended with the far-off engines, echoing against the brick walls. For Damon, standing amidst the loud noise made his breath feel eerily still yet extremely suffocating.
Over a dozen men dashed out of the alley, closing in on him. The feet of thugs walked across the asphalt and knives scratched the walls over a roar of voices.
"You're finished, boy," snarled the man he had tossed in the overflowing dumpster just a few minutes before, his voice full of disgust.
Damon didn't wait for the crowd to reach him. He turned and ran toward an abandoned factory. He knew they would chase him, following his fear through the dark.
Undoubtedly, the wild instinct in Damon snapped and his body began to move with an ease he had never known.
A rusted pipe came crashing down toward him. His reflexes stopped the swing, caught the thugs wrist mid-catch and tossed him face first into the wall. Another thug charged forward, and received a single, vicious kick to the head that turned off his lights immediately after impact.
The effort seemed to sink with each hit Damon made.
Now he stood absolutely still, but from that stillness, his muscles found the path of least resistance without a second thought. He ducked, spun, elbowed, and countered, making a desperate struggle to survive into a savage dominion.
He effortlessly parried their wild, clumsy assaults, returning each one with a sharper, cleaner, and devastatingly precise counter.
Suddenly, a biker revved his engine, the mechanical scream cut through the shouts of the surrounding gang.
Damon glanced over his shoulder. He looked strangely calm despite the chaos around him.
Suddenly, he burst into a full sprint straight toward the noise. The world blurred as he charged forward. He jumped and slammed his feet into the rider's chest, kicking him clean off the bike.
In a single, impossibly graceful motion, Damon dropped perfectly into the empty seat without a moment of hesitation. He twisted the throttle while leaning over the handlebars, while the whistling breeze whipped across his face as the bike surged forward.
Two bullets flew past his head in quick succession. He jerked the motorcycle sideways to dodge and lifted the front wheel, forcing the gunfire to miss through the empty space below him.
A massive man with shoulders like concrete blocks stepped into his path. Roaring with rage, the giant swung a thick wooden plank right at him.
Damon dropped low, executing a flawless backflip off the accelerating seat just before the point of impact. As he spun mid-air, he caught the swinging plank and redirected its heavy momentum toward the man.
The giant managed to catch the wood but lost his footing, stumbling backward directly into the path of the driverless motorcycle. The sharp wooden splinter impaled the bike, sending the entire machine crashing violently into the exterior wall of an adjacent building—Obscuron Tower. For one terrifying fraction of a second, the world hung in total suspension.
Then — BOOM.
The air itself compressed into a solid wall, striking Damon square in the chest as a massive fireball erupted outward. A blinding explosion of crimson and gold sent his body flying backward like a discarded feather. Searing heat consumed everything.
The pavement rushed up to meet him hard, agony radiating through his ribs before the entire world plunged into pitch blackness.
When his eyes opened, muffled sirens rang in the distance over the crackle of raging fire. A high and raspy 'whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir' sound filled his ears, the agony of it alone drowned out the wailing police officers and the roar of raging flames.
Pure instinct and the strange, elevated awareness he had come to feel, was his only remaining weapon.
Slouching onto his side and coughing up thick smoke, he examined the orange-washed alleyway. It was a wreckage of twisted metal, shattered glass, and pools of burning oil.
The approaching sirens meant authority was closing in fast. He drew one deeply agonizing breath, and cast a final look at the destruction and bolted. His speed was entirely unnatural for his build, a dead sprint that seemed to gather incredible velocity with every stride.
As soon as he looked back, the orange glow behind him was no more than a blur against the dark city skyline.
"What... have I done?" He whispered with a shaky voice, the smell of ozone and burned metal remained on his clothes. His hands shook, but he didn't know if it was from the fight or from himself.
He continued running until his lungs burned like fire, and the city light spread into abstract lines of color. As he ran up ahead, Ahead, he spotted the very same priest from before.
However, this time, the priest lowered his glasses and forced Damon to look straight into his eyes. It was as if he said, "I saw everything... and I'm not telling."
Damon didn't pause to analyse it. He simply kept running toward home... No. The house.
His father sat slumped over the living room armchair, a half-emptied bottle catching the faint glint of the room's light.
"You're late," his father slurred as Damon stepped inside.
"I—"
The slap came with the speed of old habit, but Damon's body moved with the new, alien reflex. He caught it. For a split second, neither of them moved. His fingers locked tightly around his father's wrist, freezing the swinging blow dead in its tracks and leaving both of them paralyzed in absolute shock.
"So you think you're grown now…" his father mumbled calmly, pulling his arm back before stumbling, missing the chair, and falling into unconsciousness.
Damon turned toward the stairs and hesitated for a long moment. Then, crouching low, he propelled himself upward, clearing the entire flight of stairs in a single, gravity-defying bound. He stood at the top, suspended between intense fear and total shock, a faint, involuntary smile starting to twitch at the corner of his lips.
But as he glanced down at his open palms, he noticed the dark streaks of grease and soot carried from the alleyway. The brief smile vanished instantly. His hands weren't merely fast; they were physically stained.
"What's happening to me?"
Saturday morning arrived, and the city streets were already bustling with weekend activity. Drawn by a grim sense of curiosity, Damon jogged past a growing crowd gathered around the brightly taped-off crime scene. News crews, flashing cameras, and police officers moved actively through the charred wreckage.
"…Twelve dead, three survivors," a reporter was saying into a microphone. "Police have not confirmed identities; however, based on clothing residue, those are very likely thugs. What they have confirmed, however, is that it was caused by an explosion in the old district last night. The three survivors describe a boy in his late teens—"
A sickening, heavy knot instantly tied itself in Damon's stomach.
Suddenly, a man dressed in a white lab coat forced his way through the gathering crowd, his expression twisted in a state of furious panic. "You idiots! I couldn't care less about the survivors, or the dead! Do you have any idea what you've destroyed?!"
"Sir, calm down—" an officer started.
"Calm down? That was over nine billion yen! Nine billion yen! Gone!" the man screamed.
"Sir, there were people inside—" an officer started.
"People can be replaced! That prototype was a decade of work! MY HARD WORK!"
Damon felt a thin cold at the base of his neck. To the news he most like seemed like a vigilante who'd broken a street gang. To the angry scientist, he was just the cause of a costly leak in their budget.
'Well, they did attack me first. But still, what the heck happened last night?' Damon wondered, staring at his fist.
Nearby, a forensic investigator spoke in somewhat low murmurs to a camera as she validated her worst fears:
"...looks like a bike hit the structure first, but that alone shouldn't have levelled the place. We're looking at some kind of catastrophic chain reaction. The prototype... it just vaporised. If Obscuron had fully detonated, we wouldn't be standing here."
The panicked scientist kicked a broken bin in pure frustration. Damon took a cautious step backward, from feeling suddenly far too exposed in the crowd.
"Hey, kid—scram," the police ordered.
He didn't wait to be told twice and took off with that same almost blinding speed that completely defied his ordinary appearance.
"Yo!"
Damon skidded to a halt and slowed his hurried pace. "Daiki?" he asked, genuinely surprised.
Daiki flashed a familiar and easy smile. He possessed deep amber skin and a perfectly styled, thick Afro, radiating a level of confidence that would have suggested he had never really been away.
"Dude, I thought you were in the States," Damon said with fresh smile on his face.
The two young men stepped forward and embraced. They locked in a heavy embrace—the kind that instantly erased the years of distance between them.
"Was," Daiki said, adjusting his bag. "My dad works with the guys who built that generator that blew up. He had to fly back and rebuild it, and he made mom and I follow him."
Damon froze, the breath catching in his throat. "…That generator?"
"Yeah. Sucks, huh?" Daiki shrugged.
"Yeah…" Damon said in a voice that was barely a whisper.
"So... how're your parents?"
Daiki went quiet when Damon explained the situation with his mother and father. "Damn. I'm... so sorry."
"Yeah."
Daiki grinned, punching Damon lightly in the shoulder. "Look at you, though. Did you actually grow, or are your shoes just thick?" They promised to meet later, exchanged a quick fist bump, and split paths while waving.
Later that day, Damon found himself at Natsuki's house. He knocked on the door three times and her mother's smile was wide and welcoming. She had blonde hair like her daughter but crimson-red eyes.
"Oh. Damon, how are you?" she asked, her voice still hesitant for the boy in grief.
"I'm fine, ma'am," he answered respectfully.
"Natsuki! A handsome boy's here for you!" Her mother called out teasingly.
"Tell Souta I'm not interested!" Natsuki called from upstairs.
"It's Damon!" The mother teased.
Damon heard footsteps and stairs creaking, then she appeared. Her hair was tied back, and she was dressed casually, with the same sharp, assessing eyes. She stopped and began scanning him. He looked different; there were less shadows under his eyes and he looked sharper and healthier.
'He's eating again...' Natsuki mentally breathed a sigh of relief.
"You look different," she stated.
"Less zombie-ish?"
"Barely," she countered with a light scoff.
They walked to the park whilst Damon kicked rocks nervously. "About the other day," he began. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," she said, her voice dry. "Kinda used to your crappy apologies."
He chuckled, the sound rough and real. "There's no need to be mean."
"No need for you to be a baby either," she shot back. Though a smile twitched at her lips.
He pointed at the basketball court. "Bet I can beat the best baller at Southmere."
"You don't even play basketball," she said, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "And I'm not falling for your ragebait."
A small, reckless smirk spread across his face as he passed her the ball. "Prove me wrong then."
"Ohhh, okay. Then don't cry when I beat your ass."
"Good for me. First to twenty."
"You're on," she said, a determined edge in her voice.
He didn't seem fully okay, but pretending to be okay was easier than thinking about the hospital or about his mother in general.
The game started light and playful, then turned it quickly turned sharp and serious. She dribbled, crossed, and scored with an obviously practiced ease. Yet Damon stole, dodged, and leaped with a startling speed and scored back instantly.
When he jumped, his shirt lifted slightly, and Natsuki's eyes caught on his abdomen, freezing for a heartbeat. Her gaze lingered for a fraction longer than she intended.
'Since when does... Did he always have a six-pack?' Natsuki blinked, losing her footing for a split second as he came down with the ball.
"Since when do you have abs?" she asked, louder now.
"Surprised?" he asked, mocking her, throwing her rhythm off balance.
Damon vaulted up again, fingers brushing the rim before he dropped lightly back to the court.
'What's going on here? Six months ago, he could barely jump. Now he's dunking effortlessly. And that speed... He's fast. Too fast.'
Natsuki blitzed—long shots, clean dunks, even a spin‑dunk that made him whistle.
Later on…
"Twenty-six to eighteen," he said easily. "Guess I win."
She sat down, catching her breath, staring at him. "You've been hiding that from me, D?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
They sat side‑by‑side, and he explained everything. For a moment, he forgot the weight on his chest. Just a moment—but it felt like breathing.
"So... a ring gave you a six-pack. And you blew up a lab, and those dead guys on the news are because of you? Are you out of your mind, Damon?" she asked, her disbelief barely contained.
"I know it's hard to bel—"
"Hard is an understatement." She stood up, planting herself directly in front of him, her voice low and challenging, but her eyes were searching him. "Damon, listen to yourself. I want to believe you, I really do, but this is insane. It sounds so... fake. Like a bad comic book"
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His shoulders slumped.
Then he caught the line of her shorts against her legs. Heat hit his neck, and he ripped his eyes away.
"Then prove it," she whispered. "I wanna believe you, and at the same time I don't want to. But you've gotta prove what you're saying either way."
He let out a breath, keeping his gaze tracked on the ground. Her hand didn't snap to his chin. It hovered by her pocket first. Hesitant. Then she slid her palm under his jaw, warm skin against his skin, tilting his face up until their eyes locked.
"Look at me," she said, her voice dropping.
Time stopped dead inside Damon's head. 'Wha— How many times have I told her not to do that? The way I'm looking at her now... will she notice?' Shock and a sudden, quiet hope hit his eyes. He didn't pull away from her hand.
Her gaze sharpened, a smirk playing on her lips. "How am I supposed to believe that a ring gave you powers unless you show it to me? I mean, you're faster, and you look healthier too. If you're really as strong as you say you are… prove it. Bleep test. Now."
He quickly regained his senses and groaned calmly, "You're annoying."
"Just run, bro. Like it's your last."
He smirked, stretched, and took off, a small cloud of dust rising behind him. She watched, stopwatch in hand, pretending not to be impressed.
'Calling him bro... It's been feeling odd for a long while,' Natsuki thought. 'I should... no. I shouldn't. Who knows how he feels?'
BEEP.
Level one. Damon kept a steady pace against the pavement.
BEEP.
Level two. He wasn't even breathing harder, though the sound began to shift in his ears as the frequency increased. The stopwatch's digital chirp lost its flat, electronic tone and became sharper and more steady.
BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...
Then he didn't have to go to the park anymore; his mind was in that hospital room again. The smell of bleach and antiseptics infested his nose now and masked the smell of the air. He heard the squeak of the nurse's slippers, and he saw his mother's hollow blue eyes.
'I regret ever having you.' Her words echoed.
BEEP.
He shifted gears with his legs moving like a car engine. His heart hammered against his rib cage with each beat. He wasn't running toward the finish line. In his mind, he was running from that hospital bed. Each time the timer rang, it felt like the needle jumping on a monitor.
'You ruined everything.'
BEEP.
He ran faster, the world froze. He wanted the sound to stop. He wanted to run so fast that time would stop, just so he wouldn't hear that merciless beat of her dying.
Natsuki noticed something was wrong, judging from Damon's expression and the silence that followed was pitiful.
When he hit the final level, he didn't simply stop, he skidded, his breath heaving and his chest burning. He saw her concern, and gave an assuring sign. She smiled small and proud, maybe a little afraid of what she had unleashed.
Damon sighed when Natsuki turned away, 'Nice one, mom.'
"How'd I do?" he asked as they both sat down.
"You impressed me, but I've seen better," Natsuki said. Though her thoughts differed entirely.
'No. I haven't seen better. I have no idea what I just saw. How could Damon, the person whom I could beat in a race on any day... How did he suddenly beat a world record? He didn't just beat it; it's utterly outclassed. I didn't believe him at first, but... is it really possible?'
Their eyes met again, but they stood closer now. Her breath hitched lightly as she looked into Damon's blue eyes; his face had changed slightly in her own purple eyes. They were much closer now as she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. He did the opposite. Their breaths came shorter, and the silence between them seemed warm and soothingly charged.
But neither of them moved, except the wind. The atmosphere seemed silent and waiting patiently for what was to come. Damon didn't move. He couldn't tell you what was coming next, but for the first time in a long while, he wasn't afraid of it.