I'm still surprised I managed to catch up with class after everything that happened. My body moved as if on autopilot, dragging itself along hallways filled with noise and fluorescent light. The world hadn't changed, but I had. After the mission earlier today—after staring death in the face and barely making it back—I returned to school like everything was normal.
The bell rang somewhere in the distance, and I stood in front of the classroom door, staring at the nameplate like it was some kind of barrier to reality. My limbs felt heavy, like my blood had turned to syrup. Though my wounds had closed up thanks to some quick patchwork from Quill and a minor Bia pulse, the sensation of numbness clung to me like wet clothes. From the top of my head to the soles of my feet, everything just… throbbed.
I took a breath, trying to gather what little composure I had left, and knocked on the door.
TOK TOK.
A second passed. Then two. No response. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Immediately, I bumped into someone.
"Ah—!"
It was the teacher.
I flinched and quickly bowed my head, offering a rushed apology. "Sorry, Sensei."
She blinked at me, mildly surprised, then stepped aside without a word. Her expression was unreadable, the kind teachers use when they've already given up trying to understand their students.
As she exited the room, I glanced around. The classroom was half-empty. Only a few students remained at their desks, chatting or cleaning up. Sunlight streamed in from the windows, painting golden lines across the floor.
I looked at the clock.
Recess.
Wait—Recess? I'd missed almost the entire school day.
Damn.
I'd expected to return in time for at least two subjects, but apparently, I'd overestimated my recovery time. The toll from that battle still dragged behind me like an invisible chain.
I trudged back to my seat at the far end of the room, and as I slumped into my chair, I felt a familiar presence nearby.
Vincent.
He leaned against my desk, arms crossed, and his signature crooked smile painted on his face. But his eyes—those sharp, perceptive eyes—held a different weight this time.
"Well, well," he said, voice low and casual. "Aren't you energetic for someone who was supposedly nursing a headache?"
I let out a weak chuckle. "What, no welcome back hug?"
He didn't flinch.
"You've been gone for way too long," he continued. "Even after lunch. People were starting to wonder if you ran off to join a cult or something."
I sighed, resting my head on the desk. "I felt like I got hit by a truck. I'm not even exaggerating."
"That so?" he said, skeptical. "You expect me to believe that?"
I turned my head toward him, eyes half-lidded. "You wouldn't believe me even if it did happen to you, dumbass."
He reached out and smacked the back of my head—not hard, but enough to sting a little.
"Ow—hey!"
"That's for the 'dumbass'."
I laughed, shaking my head. It felt good, strangely. After everything that had happened this morning, this back-and-forth was grounding. Like a thread keeping me tethered to normal life.
We started chatting about class—what I missed, which teachers noticed my absence, who asked questions. He gave me the short version while I fished through my bag for my notebook. As I prepared my materials for the next class, a loud grumble echoed through the room.
My stomach.
"Ugh…" I clutched my gut slightly. I hadn't eaten since before the mission. No wonder I felt like collapsing.
"Hey, Vin," I muttered, leaning closer. "You got snacks? Anything at all?"
He blinked at me, then raised an eyebrow.
"Wait, you're hungry? Didn't you basically have a full day of free time?"
I groaned. "Stop asking questions, man. You sound like my mom."
"Umm... Felix?"
A soft voice caught me off guard. I turned around slowly.
Standing behind me, holding out a small packet of Presto biscuits, was Sarah.
Her long brown hair was pulled behind her ear, and her expression was somewhere between shy and sincere. We didn't talk much—just exchanged occasional greetings or nods in the hallway. That was about it.
So why was she offering me food?
"Would you… like some of my Presto?" she asked gently.
I blinked, trying to process it. My brain was still lagging from the day's events.
"Uh… are you sure?" I asked awkwardly. "Have you eaten already?"
She nodded. "Don't worry. It's just extra. And you look like you need it more than I do."
Her kindness hit me harder than it should've. Maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it was just how genuine her gesture felt—but something about that moment stuck.
"Thanks," I said, taking the biscuit from her. "Seriously."
She smiled—small, humble, but warm. The kind of smile that didn't demand anything in return.
In contrast, I couldn't help but glance toward the back of the room.
The Gala Girls.
They were loud. Popular. Always together. Always giggling. Always watching. They liked me, or so they said, because I was "fun to talk to" and "chill." But I never liked their vibe. Everything felt like a game with them—performative, shallow.
Sarah was different.
She was quiet. Polite. A little mysterious. But real.
As I took a bite of the biscuit, a few voices called out mockingly.
"Felix, stop taking advantage of Sarah's kindness!"
"This guy definitely has ulterior motives!"
I looked up and saw a few of my classmates glaring at me. Mostly guys.
Of course. Sarah wasn't just any girl—she was the class muse. The kind of girl who made everyone else act like territorial dogs the moment a guy got too close.
Sarah laughed it off with surprising ease. "Don't mind them," she said, brushing her bangs behind her ear. "They're harmless. Please, enjoy the snack."
I nodded, chewing slowly. Somehow, the biscuit tasted better than usual—like the kind you remember years later, not because of the flavor, but because of what it meant.
Vincent leaned over and made a face. "Dude. Can you eat like a normal person? You look like you're falling in love with a cookie."
I nearly choked laughing.
Sarah giggled too, covering her mouth, and the three of us shared that strange, rare moment of peace. Like we were the only ones in the room.
Vincent and I kept talking after that. Our conversation spiraled into the usual chaotic banter—joking, teasing, throwing harmless insults back and forth like tennis balls. Sarah sat nearby for a bit before returning to her seat, smiling as she left.
For the first time that day, I felt... human again.
Not a fighter.
Not a weapon.
Just a tired teenager, sitting in class, joking with his best friend, with crumbs on his notebook and a heart just barely catching up to the rhythm of the world.
The final bell rang, and with it, the floodgates opened.
Students poured out of classrooms in waves, their voices clashing in a sea of tired chatter and end-of-day energy. The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm amber hues across the school's stone walkways. It should've felt peaceful.
But for some reason, the air felt… heavier.
I walked side-by-side with Vincent, hands in my pockets, my body still aching from the earlier mission. The adrenaline had faded, but the fatigue stayed behind like a shadow I couldn't shake.
We headed toward the nearby 11/7 convenience store, our usual after-school stop.
Vincent groaned dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. "Man… school's been so boring lately."
I glanced at him. "Was it ever exciting to begin with?"
He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Every day feels the same. Wake up. Class. Go home. Sleep. Repeat. It's like I'm stuck in an endless tutorial level."
I gave a half-smile, letting him vent. It was weirdly comforting, hearing complaints about a world that didn't include monsters or powers or life-threatening missions.
"What do you usually do in your spare time?" I asked.
Vincent shoved his hands into his pockets. "I read manhwa. Sometimes comics. I study a bit—if I'm bored enough. Then I just… go through the day. Like clockwork."
"Huh." I tilted my head, half-teasing. "Sounds incredibly fulfilling."
He bumped my shoulder with his. "Oh, like you're any better. What do you do? Some top-secret job that's too cool for the rest of us?"
That one made me laugh, almost too hard.
The irony of his guess burned a little. He wasn't even that far off.
Sometimes I wondered if Vincent's instincts would get him killed one day.
"I mean… you wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said with a wry smile.
He raised an eyebrow. "Try me."
I turned to him with a casual grin. "In my spare time… I fight monsters."
He was mid-step when he froze.
His eyes widened.
"…Wait, seriously?" he said, voice flattening.
But he wasn't looking at me.
He was looking behind me.
My body moved before my brain could catch up. That pressure in the air—the instinctual fear—gripped my spine like icy fingers.
I turned.
And there it was.
A hulking Psytonoid standing at the edge of the nearby forest trail, halfway between reality and nightmare. It was beetle-like in form, with a hardened, iridescent black exoskeleton that shimmered with unnatural energy. Massive jagged limbs clicked as it stepped forward, and on its back, a curved katana gleamed under the fading sunlight.
Its eyes—pale white slits—locked onto us like a predator tracking prey.
Samurai Kabuto.
A named-type Psytonoid. Strong. Unpredictable. Definitely not one I should be facing in my current condition.
Vincent's voice shook. "W-What the hell is that?!"
I grabbed his wrist.
"RUN!"
We bolted.
Our shoes slammed against the asphalt as we tore down the narrow path between trees. The 11/7 sign flickered faintly in the distance, tauntingly normal in a world that was anything but.
While running, I opened my internal Bia interface, mentally pulling up the creature's stats.
Target: Samurai Kabuto
Classification: Psytonoid – Beetle-type
Threat Level: Class D
Core Weapon: Katana
Status: Aggressive – Engaged
Not good. Not good at all.
I ducked behind an alley corner and stopped. My chest heaved. Sweat dripped down my face. I could still feel the pain from earlier missions clinging to my muscles like lead.
I turned to Vincent. "Stay here."
He grabbed my arm. "Are you insane?! You can't fight that thing! Did you see it?!"
"I did," I said, voice flat. "I've fought worse."
"Dude, you're barely standing!"
I pulled free. "Just trust me."
Before he could argue, I stepped forward into the open and raised my hand.
One quick flick.
Smoke grenade—deployed.
A gray cloud erupted, filling the space between me and the Psytonoid. I slammed my palm to the ground and activated a rope-binding spell, ensnaring its legs in thick energy cords made from embedded threads of Bia.
Then I pulled my P250 from the holster and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each shot echoed through the air like thunder.
When the smoke finally cleared—
It was still standing.
Completely unharmed.
"…Shit."
It growled. A low, metallic scraping sound like blades rubbing together.
Then it tore through the ropes like they were wet string.
It charged.
My body screamed at me to move.
"Quill! Pull me in!"
A surge of heat shot down my arm as my spiritual weapon manifested—a long spear of silver light, forged from my bond with Quill.
The Psytonoid swung its katana downward.
I blocked, barely. Sparks exploded from the clash. My arms shook violently from the impact.
I leapt back, stumbling toward where Vincent still stood, stunned.
"Too much…" I muttered. "I used too much Bia earlier. This morning's mission drained everything."
Vincent caught me, steadied me. "So that's where you were?! Damn it, man—why didn't you say anything?!"
"Because I didn't want to drag you into this."
He gritted his teeth. "Well too late for that!"
The Psytonoid hissed, its eyes glowing brighter. I could feel it—this was a fight I couldn't win in my current state.
And then… Quill spoke.
"Then why don't we let Vincent use Bia?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Earlier this morning, you modified the gun for Sir Henry's men, right? You manipulated the interface. You can do the same now—temporarily grant Vincent access to the system. He might be able to fight. The risk is high. But the alternative... is death."
I hesitated. My mind raced.
Could he even handle it? Could I live with myself if he couldn't?
"…I guess we don't really have a choice," I whispered. "It's succeed or die trying."
I turned to Vincent.
"Hey. Remember how you said life's been boring?"
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "What? Why are you bringing that up now?!"
"Just answer."
"Y-Yeah! It's boring as hell. Why?"
I smiled. "Good. Because I'm giving you the power to make it interesting."
His eyes widened. "Wait—what?!"
"I can let you fight with me. Just once. Though you might pass out afterward."
"Dude! That's not the kind of disclaimer you give after saying something cool!"
I pulled a modified Presto biscuit from my bag—one that Quill had infused with Bia. A gamble. A miracle in snack form.
"Here. Eat this. If it works, you'll awaken your potential."
Vincent stared at it.
"You serious?"
"JUST. EAT. IT."
He caught the biscuit. Shrugged. "Okay, okay—down the hatch."
He popped it into his mouth and swallowed.
…
Nothing.
"…So?" he said. "Do I punch it now or—"
Then it hit.
A burst of golden energy erupted from his body, swirling like divine flames. The ground beneath him cracked. His eyes widened as he looked at his hands, glowing with untamed power.
"Holy crap… what's happening?! I feel like I could punch the sun!"
Behind him, the Psytonoid reeled back from the blast.
"Take this," I said, tossing him my spear.
He caught it one-handed, spinning it with a grin.
"You sure I've never done this before?"
He moved like someone born for it. Each twist of the weapon was instinctive.
"Go," I said, smiling despite myself. "Go have your fun."
Vincent charged.
Vincent moved like lightning.
One second, he was standing beside me, blinking in disbelief. The next, he was already halfway across the clearing, golden energy crackling around him like an aura of fire. The spear twirled in his grip like it had always belonged to him—an extension of his will, his instinct.
The Psytonoid, momentarily stunned by the shockwave from his awakening, recovered fast. It snarled, clicking its mandibles, and raised its katana.
Clang!
Spear met blade in a flash of sparks.
The first clash echoed like a bell through the trees.
Vincent stumbled slightly from the impact, but he held his ground. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of panic and excitement. He glanced at me just long enough to shout:
"WHAT DO I DO?!"
"Just move!" I yelled back. "Let your body guide you! The Bia will adapt!"
The Samurai Kabuto lunged again, this time swinging its katana in a tight, horizontal arc. Vincent ducked under the blow, the blade grazing the fabric of his school uniform. He responded with a counter-thrust, his spear narrowly scraping along the Psytonoid's shell, leaving behind a glowing white scar.
He backed up, breathing hard. "Okay—okay, this is insane!"
"Keep it up! It's working!"
With his second wind rising, Vincent pressed the attack.
Each strike from the spear had a raw, unrefined energy to it—he wasn't trained, not formally. But the Bia inside him compensated. It reacted to his movements, assisted his balance, predicted the opponent's path. He was like a kid learning to swim by being thrown into the deep end—except the deep end had swords and claws.
He feinted a strike to the right, then spun left, jabbing at the Psytonoid's leg.
CRACK.
One of its armored joints cracked from the pressure. The beast shrieked and stumbled backward.
Vincent's grin widened. "Did you see that?! I actually—"
Too slow.
The Samurai Kabuto suddenly slammed its foot down on the shaft of the spear, pinning it to the ground.
"Watch out!" I shouted.
Before Vincent could react, the creature leapt upward—using the embedded spear as a springboard—and spun in midair, its katana gleaming with a deadly arc.
SCHHK!
A thin red line cut across Vincent's shoulder.
He cried out and staggered back, clutching the wound.
My heart skipped a beat. The smell of iron hit the air.
"Vincent!"
But he didn't go down.
He stood there, his breathing ragged, blood staining the side of his shirt—but still upright. Still smiling.
"That all you got?" he growled through clenched teeth.
His knees wobbled—but then his eyes narrowed with focus. The light in him hadn't faded.
The Psytonoid landed, blade drawn, preparing to finish it.
But Vincent… was faster.
As the creature raised its sword, Vincent surged forward—using the wound as a distraction. He lunged past the katana's swing, grabbed the spear still embedded in the dirt, and twisted it free with a grunt.
Then he spun and drove it directly into the Psytonoid's abdomen—right where the armor was weakest.
SHHHHK—
Both combatants froze.
Time slowed.
The creature stood, twitching. Vincent stood opposite, one arm still extended from the final thrust. His other hand clutched his bleeding shoulder.
They stared at each other.
Neither moved.
Only their labored breathing broke the silence.
Then—
Vincent's leg buckled.
He dropped to one knee, gasping.
The Psytonoid's arm twitched.
Its blade rose.
No—!
I didn't hesitate.
My body moved on instinct, fueled by fear, fatigue, and whatever scraps of Bia I had left.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Three shots rang out.
The last one found its mark.
The Psytonoid's head exploded in a mist of shattered exoskeleton and ichor. The creature collapsed with a sickening thud, its katana clattering beside it.
Behind it, I stood—arms trembling, my P250 still raised.
The echo of the final shot faded into the trees.
"…Stubborn bastard," I muttered. "Forgot this was a two-on-one."
Vincent didn't respond. He was slumped forward, eyes barely open.
I ran to him, dropping to my knees.
"Vincent! Hey—Vin!"
He blinked once, then slowly smiled. "Did… did I do good?"
I laughed—a short, breathless, almost panicked sound. "You did great, man. You were awesome."
He nodded slowly. Then everything caught up with him, and his eyes rolled shut as he passed out.
I caught him just in time, slinging one of his arms over my shoulder.
"You really overdid it…" I said, hoisting him up and standing with effort. "But damn… that was one hell of a fight."
The walk back to the 11/7 was slow.
My legs felt like jelly. My energy reserves were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Vincent's unconscious weight pressed against me, but I refused to let him fall.
The store's neon sign buzzed in the distance, casting a warm glow on the otherwise quiet street.
I paused at the entrance, shifting Vincent's weight and looking up at the light.
For some reason… it felt symbolic. A return to normalcy after total chaos.
"Maybe…" I whispered to myself, glancing down at Vincent's sleeping face, "having other people with you… really does make the burden lighter."
I let the words hang in the air.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
This was only the beginning.
Letting others in… might make the burden lighter—but it also made it far more complicated.
Far more dangerous.
Because now… it wasn't just my life on the line.
It was ours.
— End of Chapter —