Zane barely had time to register the guard's cry before the mob reacted.
"That's him! The reject!" someone shouted.
"Zane Carter? The bastard of that super-villain?" another spat. "Didn't he fail his awakening? How dare he come back?"
The voices multiplied, a storm of hatred and mockery swirling around him.
"He attacked a guard? Typical filth."
"He's his father's son! No different from a villain!"
The very people who had ignored him, mocked him, dismissed him—now they had a reason to unleash their loathing.
The guard who had started it all struggled to his feet, his baton still clutched in a trembling hand. His pride had been wounded, and he refused to let it go.
"You all saw it!" he shouted. "This reject sneaked up on me and struck me down! Look at me—I'm wounded! What if he had a knife? What if he's planning something worse?"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The accusation fanned the flames of their fear.
"We can't let him run free! He's dangerous!"
"Who knows what villainous tricks he inherited? Restrain him before it's too late!"
The mob inched closer, their glares burning into him. Some held makeshift weapons—planks, clubs, even a rusted old pitchfork.
Zane exhaled sharply. How predictable.
A familiar, cold resentment stirred within him. They never needed a reason to hate me. But now they had one.
Then, a thought flashed through his mind. The rules of the World Hero Council.
Every newly awakened individual must report to a registration branch within 24 hours of awakening.
And—more importantly—
If any awakened individual is obstructed on their way to register, they are permitted to use their abilities in self-defense.
Zane's lips curled into a smirk. So, they wanted to corner him? Fine. The law was on his side.
His fingers curled into fists. His muscles coiled, ready to react.
A soft chime echoed in his head.
[System Notice: Warning! Incoming threat detected. Do you wish to activate a skill? Y/N]
Zane's smirk deepened. Finally.
Golden light flickered around his fingertips. The Divine Radiance—his first real power—was ready.
He slowly raised his head, meeting the mob's hateful gazes with something new—not fear, not submission, but confidence.
"You want a villain?" Zane's voice was calm, yet it sliced through the chaos like a blade. "Come and see what a real one looks like."
Three attackers lunged at him, clubs raised high. Five more followed, wielding crude weapons with murderous intent. Their eyes burned with hatred, their actions speaking louder than words.
They weren't just trying to teach him a lesson. They wanted him dead.
He was surrounded from all directions, but not a shred of fear touched him. Instead, confidence surged through his veins. If this had happened yesterday, he might have panicked, might have begged or run.
But today?
His senses were sharper than ever, his vision clearer. The moment they moved, he saw every attack coming—every shift in their stance, every muscle tensed for violence. He even sensed attacks from behind, as if his body instinctively understood the battlefield.
"Luminous Step."
A strange tickling sensation burned through his legs as energy flooded his limbs. What is this feeling? He felt as if he could sprint across continents, dash through storms, and still have energy left to fight.
The weapons came crashing down—slow, too slow.
Zane moved.
To the frenzied mob, it was as if he had disappeared.
One second, he was in the center of their assault. The next, he was gliding past them like a shadow slipping through cracks in the light. Clubs smashed against empty air, swords clanged uselessly, fists struck nothing but the cold morning breeze.
They stood there, stunned—bewildered by the sheer impossibility of what they had just witnessed.
Some of them felt a creeping realization, a flicker of understanding at the edge of their thoughts. What the hell is going on? How had Zane—a so-called reject—moved like that?
But others…
Their rage burned away reason. Their pride refused to accept the truth before their eyes. No, it wasn't skill. It was a trick. A fluke. A coward's dodge.
Fueled by anger, their egos blinded them to reality.
"Hah! He dares to dodge?" one of them snarled. "Everyone, attack at once! He can't evade all of us forever!"
And just like that, the flames of hatred roared even higher.
They stumbled in confusion. How? How could a supposed "reject" move like this?
A ripple of unease flickered across some of their faces. But others—too enraged, too caught up in their own pride—refused to stop.
Fueled by fury, they charged again.
Zane exhaled through his nose, his patience thinning.
That was enough.
If words couldn't make them understand… then he'd make them understand through action.
Zane's golden eyes gleamed as his stance shifted. This time, he wasn't just going to evade.
This time, they would feel what true power was.
"Hmm, they're like zombies. Fine, come, come." His lips curled into a smirk.
Then, under his breath, he whispered, "Radiant Strike."
That overwhelming sensation surged through him again, but this time, it wasn't in his legs—it burned in his palms. A dazzling white light erupted from his hands, crackling with raw energy.
He flickered.
Before they could even process what was happening, bodies were sent soaring through the air—each strike landing with bone-shaking force. Agonized groans filled the air as they crashed to the ground.
When the dust settled, not one of them remained standing. Some lay unconscious, others barely clung to awareness, writhing in pain.
All except one.
"You—you!" The guard's voice trembled as he pointed at Zane, his face twisted in disbelief.
Zane tilted his head, amused. "Me, what? If you have something to say, say it."
"Y-you've awakened, haven't you?"
Zane scoffed. "Took you long enough to figure that out." He took a step forward, and the guard instinctively stepped back.
"Now move. You're not worth my time."
The guard, humiliated but desperate to save face, suddenly straightened his back. "Are you just going to let me go? What, afraid of the consequences? You broke the Hero Council's rule by using your skill against civilians! Soon enough, they'll strip you of your power. You think I'm afraid of a villain like you?"
Zane arched a brow. "Oh? Is that so?"
Then, lazily, he lifted a finger—pointing at a CCTV camera.
The guard's face drained of color.
"You and your little gang were the ones blocking my way to register my Awakening." Zane flashed a grin. "And per Hero Council regulations, a newly awakened is permitted to use their abilities in self-defense when obstructed from registration."
His smirk deepened. "Enjoy your punishment."
With that, he turned and strode toward the testing hall, leaving the guard standing there, frozen in shock.
All this time, Thor Shelby had been watching.
The hero sat inside the testing hall, arms folded, observing with keen interest.
When Zane arrived, their eyes met.
"Are you here to retake the trial?" Shelby asked, his voice calm, eyes unreadable.
"Yes." Zane nodded without hesitation.
Shelby glanced past him, toward the beaten mob. "You're not going to do anything about them? Are you planning to show mercy?"
Zane's expression darkened slightly. Then, in a low voice, he muttered,
"I'm not showing mercy. If I went around avenging myself on every pathetic fool who wronged me, I'd be nothing more than a villain in the making."
He exhaled, then met Shelby's gaze again.
"My fate—my life—won't be decided by losers like them."
A smirk played on his lips.
"The system will deal with them. And that's satisfying enough for me."
With that, he turned away, stepping into the testing room. As he crossed the threshold, the door shut behind him with a final, resounding click.