Let me talk a bit about the past—about how I became a superhuman.

  Before I had any powers, I often did things that seemed eccentric to others. But maybe I was just projecting, because I never thought what I did was all that unusual. Other people probably did similar stuff too, at least to some degree—they just rarely shared it with anyone.

  What I mean is this: I'd place a ballpoint pen, an eraser, or any other small, lightweight object within easy reach right in front of me, then stare at it with total concentration. I'd imagine my mind could invade physical reality, influencing the object enough to make it move—even just the tiniest bit, as long as it was visible to the naked eye.

  It didn't have to be dramatic. A slight shift would do. If I focused hard enough, emptied my mind of everything else, and poured all my mental energy into it, wasn't it reasonable to hope for that tiny miracle?

  Of course, deep down I didn't really buy my own reasoning. It was mostly just a hobby. Ever since I could remember, I'd been obsessed with magic, superpowers, and anything supernatural. Those stories sometimes laid out elaborate, pseudo-mystical systems—borrowed from real occult traditions—and claimed that with the right training, you could glimpse the path to enlightenment or immortality. Reading them naturally made me want to imitate. I couldn't exactly trek into the mountains to find a "spiritual vein" or a "secluded cave," but sitting cross-legged on my bed with palms and soles facing outward in meditation? That was easy enough.

  Even back in elementary school, when I first started, I knew perfectly well that no amount of persistence would let me tap into the "qi of heaven and earth." I just wanted to get as close as possible to the worlds in those fantasy stories. When I meditated like the characters, I felt like I belonged in their realm.

  The last time I seriously tried was in my third year of junior high. I read in some random book that ancient monks would prepare an extinguished candle in a quiet room, then stare intently at the wick, visualizing their gaze igniting it.

  The point wasn't actually believing you could light it with your eyes. It was a way to eliminate stray thoughts and enter a profound meditative state. I found the idea compelling and became fascinated. Zen meditation itself didn't produce flashy supernatural feats, but it was still a form of mystical experience, and I was deeply curious about it.

  For a while after that, I carried a candle with me everywhere. Whenever I had a free moment, I'd take it out, stare at the wick, and picture it bursting into flame.

  What I never expected was that, over time, although I never reached any mystical trance, something far more absurd started happening—without any warning.

  It was an ordinary school day. The teacher announced the end of class, gathered her materials, and left. The classroom erupted into the usual post-lesson chaos. No one came over to talk to me, so as usual, I pulled out my candle and zoned out staring at the wick to kill time.

  One minute, two, three… about five or six minutes passed. Still no sign of entering any so-called meditative state. That was expected. I kept my mind blank and continued gazing at the wick out of habit.

  But this time, something was different.

  Under my stare,

  the wick suddenly caught fire out of nowhere.

  -

  The demon burst into flames out of nowhere.

  Its entire body ignited like a giant matchstick striking friction against the air as it charged toward me at high speed, then exploded in a roaring blaze.

  A scorching wave surged outward like a tsunami, bending trees and bushes along the roadside in every direction. I was caught in the blast too, but it didn't burn me—I simply stepped back two paces with the momentum and twisted my body to sidestep the demon's path. The creature, like a runaway car, crashed clumsily into a nearby charging station.

  It let out a shrill, frenzied scream of agony, too pained even to stand, and rolled wildly on the ground trying to smother the flames.

  At the same time, the shadows around me stirred. More than a dozen razor-sharp blades of darkness shot toward me from every angle in swift, lethal strikes.

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  But before they could reach me, flames erupted from my entire body. The shadow blades met my fire and disintegrated like cotton tossed into a bonfire—they couldn't advance a single inch past the blazing barrier.

  The demon wasn't finished yet. Some of the shadows didn't attack me; instead, they rushed toward its own body.

  I've heard that in some fire-suppression operations, they use sand instead of water. The principle is the same: cover the burning material to cut off oxygen and stop the combustion. These shadows were clearly trying something similar, wrapping the writhing demon like a cocoon of darkness.

  But before they could smother the flames, the shadows themselves caught fire. Far from extinguishing anything, they became fresh fuel, making the demon's torment even worse.

  "Z—" Its voice came out warped and dripping with malice, as if screamed from the depths of a scorching hell, "—Z啊啊啊!!!"

  With a roar, its body shot up from the ground and lunged at me in the blink of an eye.

  But I didn't blink. My eyes stayed locked on it.

  Its speed was incredible, its strength overwhelming. In my normal state, I wouldn't even have time to lift a finger before it tore me apart. But my attacks don't require me to move a finger. If it thought I was like some video-game fire-user who has to gather a fireball first and then throw it manually, it was underestimating me badly.

  My gaze, my voice, my breath—everyday things—are all conduits for my power.

  My flames are my mind. Wherever my mind can reach, my flames can destroy. People say things like "if looks could kill" to describe intense killing intent. In my case, my looks really can kill.

  Just like right now.

  The demon ignited again. This time, I made the flames erupt only across its front. The massive heat wave hurled it backward, forcing it to keep struggling desperately inside the inferno.

  "This is impossible…" It finally seemed to realize what was happening to its body. "Just… just by looking at me… Aaaah!!!"

  "It's only fire manipulation. Not exactly earth-shattering, right?" Compared to my own familiar power, I was far more interested in what it could really do. "On the other hand, don't you have anything more unusual… more bizarre up your sleeve?"

  The demon didn't have the energy left to reply. It kept desperately trying to use its shadow powers to put out the flames, but it was useless.

  The fire continued relentlessly breaking down its body, yet I could see its flesh regenerating at an unnatural pace. Every time a chunk charred and crumbled, new tissue grew to replace it. Overall, regeneration still lagged behind destruction—it would just take a while to burn it to death completely.

  Killing it in one go wasn't impossible; the current situation was partly me holding back on purpose. I don't actually know the maximum temperature my flames can reach. Their destructive power doesn't depend on physical heat—it depends on my intent when I use them. With murderous focus, I can vaporize rock on the spot. Without it, I can envelop a human body in fire without harming a hair.

  At first, I really intended to kill it. It was trying to kill me anyway—if I burned it to ash, no one could blame me. But right at the decisive moment, I hesitated.

  Not because I value even an enemy's life. If it were human, maybe. But this thing wasn't even humanoid—I had zero psychological burden torching it. Still… wasn't it a waste to just burn it to death on the spot?

  Maybe I shouldn't kill it. Maybe I should capture it alive. Lock it somewhere, interrogate it about more weird phenomena. Of course, it might still have hidden, deadly trump cards that could turn the tables. But I thought the risk was worth taking.

  Speaking of "risk," there was one very important thing I hadn't done yet. Better take care of it now.

  "Struggling like that is pointless," I explained my ability aloud. "As long as you're within my line of sight, my flames won't disappear. Even if you somehow manage to put them out, I can reignite them as many times as I want."

  In a lot of battle manga, villains monologue about their powers when they're winning. I know it's not smart, but it's one of my personal obsessions.

  If I ever made a bucket list, one entry would definitely be "explain my ability settings to an opponent while demonstrating them in their face." I regretted not getting the chance down in that cave.

  Even if this habit gets me in trouble later, I can accept it. The experience underground made me truly understand myself—I now have complete confidence in my mental strength.

  I could tell the demon wasn't ready to give up quietly. Just as I was about to explain more, it let out a humiliated roar, then sprang off the ground again—this time not toward me, but away.

  Its fleeing silhouette moved like jagged lightning, vanishing from my view in an instant.

  Maybe this was the smartest move it could think of right now. It had realized I could ignite things with my gaze. Since its shadows and physical attacks couldn't reach me, escaping my field of vision was the best option—otherwise it would just keep burning until it died in agony.

  But I never said that leaving my direct line of sight would make it safe.

  Running away mid-explanation is bad manners.

  I closed my eyes, and the image of the demon's location appeared in my mind.

  After fleeing the neighborhood, it had quickly reached the river about a kilometer away. My flames were still burning on its body. Seeing the water, it plunged in without hesitation. The moment the river met the fire, massive clouds of white steam erupted.

  Even my flames can't evaporate an entire river—at least I've never tried. The demon was clearly hoping the sheer volume of water would douse them. Useless. My flames don't need oxygen to exist, so they won't vanish just because oxygen is cut off.

  And running away from me was a mistake. No matter how far it goes, it can't escape my gaze. Sure, there are no "fireflies" near it right now, but the reason fireflies share their vision with me is because they are my flames—fragments of my mind. And now, the fire burning on the demon's body has become my eyes.

  Wherever the flames shine, that's where my gaze reaches.

  Once I've set something ablaze, even if it flees to the ends of the earth, it can't escape my burning. Unless I allow it, those flames will never go out.