Bahanu hated being called average.

  Average meant forgettable. It meant you could vanish in a crowd and the crowd wouldn’t change shape. It meant teachers forgot your name halfway through the semester. It meant your failures weren’t dramatic enough to be remembered—and your wins weren’t impressive enough to matter.

  He wasn’t average.

  He was behind.

  That was worse.

  The school day ended the way it always did—bells, footsteps, laughter, the sound of life moving forward without asking if you could keep up.

  Bahanu walked through it like a shadow that refused to admit it was one.

  Outside the gates, the city wore its usual mask: neon signs, convenience stores, scooter engines, bright posters advertising happy things. But underneath that surface, the real city lived.

  The city that fought at night.

  He passed an alley where the air always felt too cold. He passed a building with a rooftop that people avoided after dark. He passed a bus stop where someone had once screamed without anyone hearing.

  He didn’t slow down.

  Not because he wasn’t afraid—he was. But fear didn’t stop the hunger in his chest. Fear didn’t fill the gap between himself and everyone else.

  He had watched the Trials once.

  Just once.

  He’d told himself it would be enough—one look to prove it was real, one look to prove he wasn’t crazy for believing. He’d been wrong.

  That night, he’d stood behind a chain-link fence at an abandoned lot, the air vibrating like a storm trapped inside a box. Two fighters faced each other under a broken streetlamp. One moved with speed that didn’t belong to a human body. The other’s shadow bent wrong, like it was trying to crawl away from him.

  They didn’t fight like people.

  They fought like events.

  And when it ended, the winner didn’t celebrate. They just exhaled, and the world seemed to exhale with them, relieved the pressure hadn’t torn it open.

  Bahanu had gone home shaking.

  Not from horror.

  From envy.

  Now, walking under streetlights that pretended the city was safe, he could still feel it—the invisible weight that had pressed down on his skin during the fight. The certainty that the world was bigger than the rules he’d been living by.

  He clenched his hand inside his pocket until his nails pressed into his palm.

  I’m not staying like this.

  His phone buzzed. A group chat notification—classmates joking about something he wasn’t part of. A photo of someone’s new shoes. A meme. A laugh.

  He didn’t open it.

  He turned onto a quieter road. Less traffic. Fewer eyes. The kind of street where the city’s mask slipped a little at the edges.

  That’s when he heard the footsteps behind him.

  Not close. Not threatening. Just… present.

  Bahanu kept walking.

  The footsteps kept pace.

  His shoulders tightened, but he didn’t look back. Looking back was an invitation. Looking back said you were scared.

  A second later, a voice called out—cheerful, familiar.

  “Bahanu!”

  He stopped, exhaling through his nose, and turned.

  Ryo Kazami jogged up like the world had never tried to eat him. Athletic, bright-eyed, carrying his backpack like it weighed nothing. His grin was the kind that made strangers feel like friends.

  Ryo slowed beside him, hands on his hips. “You disappeared after class again.”

  Bahanu’s expression didn’t change. “I walked.”

  “Yeah, and I ran.” Ryo bumped his shoulder lightly. “Same direction. Fate.”

  Bahanu didn’t believe in fate. Not the romantic kind, anyway. The city’s version of fate was different. Sharper. More like a knife that found you eventually.

  But he didn’t say that.

  He said, “Go home.”

  Ryo blinked. “That’s your greeting?”

  “It’s advice.”

  Ryo laughed, unbothered. “You always talk like you’re fifty.”

  Bahanu kept walking. Ryo fell into step beside him like he belonged there.

  For a moment, with Ryo’s presence filling the silence, the city looked normal again. Just pavement and light and tomorrow’s homework.

  Then they passed the alley.

  The cold one.

  Ryo didn’t notice. He never did. He kept talking about the sports festival coming up, about training, about how the school was getting louder and the teachers were getting stricter.

  Bahanu listened with half an ear.

  His other half was listening to the alley.

  Because tonight, the cold felt deeper. The darkness inside didn’t sit still—it leaned outward, as if curious.

  As if hungry.

  Bahanu’s steps slowed.

  Ryo glanced at him. “You okay?”

  Bahanu stared at the alley mouth.

  A glint of something caught the light near the base of the wall—small, glassy, out of place among trash and cracked concrete.

  A cup.

  No—too clean to be trash. Too deliberate.

  It looked like a drinking glass left on the ground by someone who wanted it found.

  Ryo followed his gaze. “What’s that?”

  Bahanu didn’t answer. He stepped closer.

  The air changed immediately, prickling against his skin like static.

  The glass was filled with water.

  Except it wasn’t water.

  It shimmered faintly, like moonlight had melted into liquid. Tiny motes drifted inside it—silver, slow, almost alive.

  Ryo whistled. “That’s… weird.”

  Bahanu crouched and reached for it.

  Ryo’s voice sharpened a little. “Hey. Don’t touch random alley drinks.”

  Bahanu’s fingers closed around the glass.

  It was warm.

  Not room temperature—warm like skin.

  His pulse thudded once, hard enough to make his wrist ache.

  Ryo frowned. “Bahanu?”

  Bahanu stood, holding the glass steady. He stared into the shimmering surface and saw his own reflection.

  Same black hair. Same tired eyes. Same thin line of mouth that refused to soften.

  Same weakness.

  Something twisted in his chest. Not fear.

  Need.

  He lifted the glass.

  Ryo grabbed his arm. “Seriously. Don’t—”

  Bahanu didn’t pull away. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even look at Ryo.

  He just said, very quietly:

  “If power exists… I’ll take it.”

  And he drank.

  The liquid slid down his throat like fire pretending to be water.

  For half a second, the world stayed the same.

  Then warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading fast, as if something had been sleeping inside him and was waking up violently.

  His vision blurred.

  Ryo’s grip tightened. “Bahanu—what’s wrong?”

  Bahanu tried to answer.

  His mouth opened—

  —and the alley lights flickered out.

  Darkness swallowed them.

  In that darkness, Bahanu felt it.

  A presence.

  Not beside him. Not behind him.

  Inside him.

  Old. Elegant. Patient.

  Like a crown waiting in dust.

  Bahanu’s knees threatened to buckle. He clenched his jaw and stayed standing out of pure stubbornness.

  A whisper moved through his blood.

  Not words.

  A recognition.

  As if the thing inside him had finally found its name.

  Ryo’s voice came again, now edged with real fear. “Bahanu, your hand—”

  Bahanu looked down.

  His fingers were shaking.

  Not from weakness.

  From strain—like his body was struggling to hold the shape it had always been.

  He swallowed hard, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too small.

  The alley lights snapped back on.

  The shimmer in the glass was gone.

  The cup in his hand was empty.

  Bahanu stared at it, breathing slow.

  Ryo stared at him, pale. “You’re… you’re sweating.”

  Bahanu slipped the empty glass into his bag like it was contraband.

  Then he began walking again.

  Ryo hurried after him. “Hey! You can’t just—what was that? Are you sick? Do we need—”

  Bahanu’s voice cut through Ryo’s panic, calm as a closed door.

  “I’m fine.”

  Ryo didn’t believe him.

  Bahanu didn’t believe him either.

  Because under the calm, beneath the skin, something was moving.

  Something that had been sealed.

  Something that now had a crack in its cage.

  And it was smiling.