He woke up gasping for air.
Sweat drenched his shirt, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
For a moment, he just sat there—frozen—his hand pressed tightly against his chest.
Then he moved.
He stumbled toward the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at his reflection.
His breathing was ragged as he pulled his shirt off and looked down.
No hole.
No blood.
Not even a bruise.
His trembling fingers brushed the spot where the blade had pierced him. Nothing.
"…What was that? A dream?"
The memories came in flashes—the alley, the man, the blood, the scream.
And that armor. That red glow.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
"It was just a nightmare… that's all."
He turned off the light and walked back to his room, forcing himself to believe the lie.
---
The morning was as ordinary as ever.
Vendors shouted along the street, the smell of fried bread filling the air.
Students in uniform passed by in clusters, laughing, yawning, calling out to each other.
He walked silently among them, his bag slung over one shoulder.
The old history book was in his hand again—but this time, he wasn't reading.
His eyes stayed on his palm.
It looked normal… yet he couldn't shake the image from his "dream"—that same hand glowing red, shattering the man into pieces.
He tightened his fist.
---
Bump.
A student crashed into him at the corner.
"Hey! Watch where you're going!" the student snapped.
He blinked, staring.
It wasn't him who bumped, but he didn't argue—just bowed slightly and walked away.
Inside the classroom, the chatter was the same as always.
He sat in his usual seat at the back, placed his book on the desk, and started flipping through the pages.
Maybe if I just focus on this… I'll forget everything.
Today's story was about the Supernaturals—humans who awakened strange powers through something called Triggers.
"Trigger…"
He remembered that word from his dream too—the static voice in his head:
D—!!? De—!? T—!?
The memory made him clutch the book tighter, his head throbbing faintly.
Then the door slid open.
"Everyone, settle down," the teacher said. "We have a new transfer student today."
The room instantly filled with whispers and excitement.
She stepped in.
A girl with red hair that shimmered under the light and eyes like burning rubies.
Her presence alone silenced the class.
"Please introduce yourself," the teacher said.
She smiled politely. "My name is Aria Kurenai. Nice to meet you all."
Her voice was calm, soft. She scanned the room with those crimson eyes, then began walking.
Her steps echoed softly as she moved between the desks—until she stopped right in front of him.
He didn't look up at first, still staring at his book.
Then—
"You."
The sound froze him. Something in it made his chest tighten.
Slowly, he raised his head.
And the world stopped.
His vision blurred, then sharpened—the image of her face flashing in his mind: terrified, her neck gripped by a blade, screaming run.
The alley. The blood. Her eyes.
His heart skipped a beat. The memory slammed back into him all at once.
It wasn't a dream.
It was real.
The girl smiled faintly.
"Nice to meet you, classmate."
Her tone was soft… but it didn't sound like a greeting.
It sounded like a warning.
---
The bell rang—it was break time.
He stood up, grabbed his bag, and slipped out of the classroom.
Aria stayed, surrounded by curious classmates, but her gaze never left him.
She smiled politely at their questions, then excused herself.
"Sorry, I need to go somewhere," she said, walking out despite their offers to join her.
---
The boy hurried to the back of the school where no one ever went.
His hands shook as he leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
"It's just a dream," he whispered to himself. "It's not real. It's not real…"
But before he could steady his breath—
Clack.
A footstep.
He turned—and froze.
Aria stood there, a faint smile on her lips.
In her hand—a small silver knife gleamed under the sun.
In the next instant, she was on him—pinning him to the wall.
The blade pressed against his throat.
"You," she said coldly. "Who are you?"
"I—I'm…" he stammered, voice trembling.
"Who do you work for?" she demanded.
"I don't—what are you talking about?"
"You think you can deceive me?" Her voice hardened, eyes narrowing.
"You… Death Trigger."
The words hit him like lightning.
Death… Trigger?
"Where is he?" she asked, pressing the knife harder.
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
A thin line of blood ran down his neck.
Her voice trembled — not just with anger, but something buried deeper. A flicker of fear… or was it memory?
---
Elsewhere—
In that same alley where it all began, a man in a long black coat stood silently, his boots touching the blood-slick ground.
An enormous figure loomed behind him—his assistant—holding a wide black umbrella that shielded them from the burning sun.
On the ground, what was left of the "big guy" quivered — pieces of red flesh twitching, sticky and alive.
The man removed one glove and raised his hand.
"Come back," he whispered.
At once, the remains began to move.
They slithered across the ground, merging together in thick streams of crimson, crawling toward him as if obeying their master.
The mass climbed up his arm, seeping beneath his coat, vanishing into his body.
The man exhaled softly. He watched it squirm weakly in his grasp. "You were too reckless this time, my other self. You failed to catch the girl, and got yourself killed instead."
He closed his fist. The remains sank into his arm, vanishing beneath his skin and coat. For a brief second, his eyes glowed faintly silver.
Images flickered in his mind—the girl's scream, a flash of blood, the boy's lifeless body—then nothing.
The vision stopped abruptly.
"Tch." He frowned. "That's it? You didn't even see who killed you. The girl vanished, and the boy's body…" His gaze swept the alley. "Gone."
He crouched, inspecting the ground—no blood trail, no trace of the boy at all.
"Someone cleaned this up," he muttered. "But why leave your remains?"
The assistant's deep voice rumbled behind him. "Orders, boss?"
The man lowered his hand.
From his shadow, the blood and flesh began to take shape again—reforming into the same hulking figure the boy had destroyed. Its blank eyes opened, obedient and conscious.
"Clean up the rest," he said coldly. "And find out who helped the girl… and who took the boy."
---End of Chapter 2---