The day dragged on, the same dull routine repeating itself. Patrols were supposed to be a precaution, a way to spot threats before they became problems, but so far, we had nothing.
Xavier had fallen sick last minute, leaving the rest of us to handle the route without him. Not that it made much of a difference—there wasn't anything happening.
By mid-afternoon, I was starting to think the day would be another complete waste.
Then we heard the screams.
I turned sharply, instincts kicking in, my eyes scanning the streets.
A girl—no older than eleven—was sprinting toward us, her face streaked with tears. She was breathing heavily, her small frame trembling as she finally reached me.
"Please!" she gasped, clutching at my sleeve. "You have to help! There's—there's a man at my school—he's hurting people—"
My entire body tensed.
Technically, this was hero jurisdiction. The Elites weren't supposed to interfere in civilian matters unless it was an absolute emergency. But how could I turn away from this?
"What school?" I asked urgently.
She hiccupped through her sobs. "Southcrest Middle—please, he—he's got a weapon, I think he's looking for someone!"
That was all I needed to hear.
"Heesung, Cherry, Kaito," I said sharply, already moving. "We're going."
Kaito hesitated. "Shouldn't we call the heroes—?"
"They can catch up," I cut him off. "That school doesn't have time to wait."
No one argued after that.
The girl led us through the streets, her pace faltering as exhaustion caught up with her. Kaito eventually scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way.
By the time we reached the school, I could already tell something was wrong.
The front entrance was wide open, and the usual sounds of kids playing, teachers talking—it was all gone.
The air was eerily silent.
I stepped inside first, hand hovering over my weapon. The hallway was a mess—lockers left open, scattered books and backpacks thrown across the floor. There was no immediate sign of the attacker, but something told me he was still here.
I turned to the others. "Spread out. We need to find him before this gets worse."
They nodded.
And with that, we moved.
---
The day dragged on, the same dull routine repeating itself. Patrols were supposed to be a precaution, a way to spot threats before they became problems, but so far, we had nothing.
Xavier had fallen sick last minute, leaving the rest of us to handle the route without him. Not that it made much of a difference—there wasn't anything happening.
By mid-afternoon, I was starting to think the day would be another complete waste.
Then we heard the screams.
I turned sharply, instincts kicking in, my eyes scanning the streets.
A girl—no older than eleven—was sprinting toward us, her face streaked with tears. She was breathing heavily, her small frame trembling as she finally reached me.
"Please!" she gasped, clutching at my sleeve. "You have to help! There's—there's a man at my school—he's hurting people—"
My entire body tensed.
Technically, this was hero jurisdiction. The Elites weren't supposed to interfere in civilian matters unless it was an absolute emergency. But how could I turn away from this?
"What school?" I asked urgently.
She hiccupped through her sobs. "Southcrest Middle—please, he—he's got a weapon, I think he's looking for someone!"
That was all I needed to hear.
"Heesung, Cherry, Kaito," I said sharply, already moving. "We're going."
Kaito hesitated. "Shouldn't we call the heroes—?"
"They can catch up," I cut him off. "That school doesn't have time to wait."
No one argued after that.
The girl led us through the streets, her pace faltering as exhaustion caught up with her. Kaito eventually scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way.
By the time we reached the school, I could already tell something was wrong.
The front entrance was wide open, and the usual sounds of kids playing, teachers talking—it was all gone.
The air was eerily silent.
I stepped inside first, hand hovering over my weapon. The hallway was a mess—lockers left open, scattered books and backpacks thrown across the floor. There was no immediate sign of the attacker, but something told me he was still here.
I turned to the others. "Spread out. We need to find him before this gets worse."
They nodded.
And with that, we moved.
I advanced carefully through the hall, ears straining for any movement. The silence was suffocating, pressing against my skull like a warning.
Then I saw him.
A man stood at the far end of the hall, partially obscured by shadows. A hooded cloak draped over his frame, concealing most of his figure. A mask, metallic and expressionless, covered his entire face.
Another one.
First the woman in the alleyway, and now this? Was there some kind of pattern forming?
I tightened my grip on my weapon. "Hey!" I called out.
The masked figure turned his head slightly, acknowledging my presence but not reacting beyond that. He was holding something—something small and metallic in his hand. A knife.
I took a cautious step forward. "Drop the weapon."
Still, he said nothing.
A chill crept up my spine. This guy wasn't just some random attacker—he felt different, like he had a purpose being here.
"Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want?"
The man finally moved, tilting his head ever so slightly.
Then, in a voice distorted by the mask, he spoke.
"I'm here for the girl."
My stomach dropped.
"What girl?" I asked, even though I already had an idea of who he meant.
He didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his stance, gripping the knife more firmly.
He was getting ready to fight.
I exhaled sharply, bracing myself. "You're not taking anyone."
The masked man let out a quiet chuckle.
"Try and stop me."
---
I lunged first, aiming for his side with a swift strike. Fast, efficient—something that would take down a normal opponent.
But he shifted effortlessly, dodging with a grace that sent a flash of unease through me.
Before I could recover, he countered, knocking my arm aside with minimal effort.
I gritted my teeth and immediately threw a barrage of attacks, striking from multiple angles, forcing him to move. Strike after strike, I tried to land a hit—anything—but he slipped through every one of my attacks like smoke.
It wasn't luck.
He knew what he was doing.
Each time I moved, he was already two steps ahead, blocking, deflecting, twisting my momentum against me without ever needing to exert real force.
Heesung came in from behind him, Kaito from the side, Cherry launching from the front. A coordinated assault.
Still, the masked man remained untouchable.
Heesung's powerful swing was caught midair, the man twisting his wrist to throw him off balance before stepping away from Kaito's attempt to sweep his legs.
Cherry fired a volley of projectiles—small, sharp bursts of energy meant to pin him down—but he weaved through them with unnatural precision, never letting his balance falter.
Who was this guy?
It was becoming clear—painfully clear—that this wasn't some reckless attacker acting out of desperation.
He moved like someone who had seen countless battles. Someone trained. Someone experienced.
Every one of us was giving it our all, and yet he still seemed calm, almost bored as he deflected our efforts.
My chest heaved as I reset my stance, sweat already starting to bead along my brow. He hadn't even drawn another weapon besides the knife. He didn't need to.
He was reading us—reading me—as if he already knew exactly how I fought.
I narrowed my eyes, mind racing.
The frustration gnawed at me as I stood facing the masked man, feeling the pressure of the situation mount by the second. My fists tightened at my sides, but I forced myself to breathe slowly, steadily. Charging in recklessly would only play into his hands — and he clearly knew how to exploit that.
"Fall back!" I called sharply to Heesung, Kaito, and Cherry.
They obeyed without hesitation, fanning out and giving me room to think.
The man didn't move. He simply watched, head tilted slightly to the side, as if he were amused by our attempt to regroup.
But I was watching him just as closely. His posture. His stance. His reactions.
I noticed something. It was subtle — barely there — but every time he dodged or blocked, he favored his left side. His attacks were faster and sharper from the left, too.
Left-handed.
A spark of recognition flared in my mind.
Xavier.
Xavier was left-handed too. I'd spent countless hours sparring against him, learning how left-dominant fighters thought, moved, attacked. They struck at different angles. They defended differently. Their weight shifted differently.
I could use that.
I quickly signaled to Heesung and Kaito, subtle hand motions we had trained for — a silent plan.
They caught on immediately.
Cherry circled to the left, pretending to limp slightly. Heesung kept low, pretending he was injured. Kaito hung back, hiding the slow buildup of energy I knew he was preparing behind his relaxed stance.
Meanwhile, I kept my own stance guarded, purposely unsteady, baiting the masked man into underestimating me.
He watched us, still calm, still eerily patient.
Now.
Kaito unleashed a sudden blast toward the masked man's feet — not to hit him, but to force him to move.
At the same time, Cherry fired a sharp burst from the side while Heesung launched upward in a leaping strike aimed high.
I surged forward, aiming directly at him — reading his body, predicting his next step.
He dodged, fast, just like before — leading with his left, slightly dropping his right shoulder.
There it is.
I shifted mid-strike, angling my attack to his exposed right side — the weaker side.
He stumbled, only slightly, but it was enough.
For the first time since the fight had started, he was on the defensive.
He twisted sharply to recover, but Kaito and Heesung pressed him, keeping him from regaining full control. Cherry unleashed another barrage, pinning him in even tighter.
I rushed in, leaping high, driving down with an overhead attack — forcing him to guard against multiple threats at once.
The masked man grunted, blocking my strike, but it drove him down to one knee.
He glared up at me through the mask, his breathing just slightly heavier.
"You adapt quickly," he said, his voice distorted by some kind of voice modulator.
I didn't reply. I couldn't afford to get distracted.
Without warning, he pulled something small and metallic from his belt and slammed it into the ground.
A loud crack — and smoke exploded out, filling the alleyway.
"Stay alert!" I shouted, coughing as I waved at the smoke, trying to see through it.
Footsteps — fast, retreating.
By the time the smoke cleared, he was gone.
I slammed my fist into the wall in frustration.
So close.
Heesung came up beside me, breathing hard. "That guy wasn't just some random thug... he was trained. Elite-level trained."
Kaito nodded grimly. "Yeah. And he knew exactly how to counter us."
Cherry crossed her arms, her expression dark. "We have to report this to Sora. This wasn't random. Someone sent him — and whoever it was, they knew exactly what they were doing."
I stared at the spot where the masked man had disappeared, my mind racing.
He was trained. Left-handed. Skilled at adapting. He fought like he knew us.
This wasn't some coincidence.
Someone was targeting us.