The room remained silent, the only sound the faint hum of the monitors. Every agent in the underground office was frozen in place, eyes glued to the screen. Emrah’s movements repeated on loop: the first night in the mansion, the conversation with his older self, and finally, tonight—stepping into his room and disappearing into thin air.

  The Director leaned forward, steepling his fingers. Sweat gleamed on his brow. “I don’t want hypotheticals, Yusuf. What do we do? How do we contain a man like this?”

  Yusuf’s eyes flicked to the screens, tracing every movement Emrah made. Each motion, each flick of his hands, was perfect, deliberate, almost casual—but deadly. “We don’t confront him directly,” he said, voice low. “At least, not yet. He’s fast, smart, and his systems… they’re unlike anything recorded. We observe. We report. That’s all we can do.”

  The Director exhaled sharply, a hand brushing across his temple. “Observation alone won’t be enough. I’m assigning this to you, Yusuf. You follow him. Close observation. Every step, every decision. Report to me in real time. Do you understand?”

  Yusuf’s throat tightened. Five years undercover. Five years of careful balance between loyalty, danger, and his love for Sahra. And now this—tracking Emrah, the very man who could annihilate them with a thought. “I understand,” he said, voice steady though his pulse raced. I can do this. I have to.

  The Director’s eyes hardened. “You cannot fail. One misstep, one delayed report… and this entire operation collapses. We cannot afford errors. He is classified as a national threat. You are the only one I trust to watch him without being noticed, son.”

  Yusuf nodded, but inside, panic gnawed at him. He’s untouchable. One wrong glance and it’s over. And if Sahra… if she ever finds out the truth about me or his brother… I don’t know if she could handle it.

  After Yusuf left, the Director’s hand slid to a hidden drawer, pressing a small button. A new set of files appeared on the monitor—dossiers, surveillance footage, personal records. “Elif,” he said, voice measured, “you will secretly observe Yusuf. His decisions, his behavior, his loyalties. Nothing escapes your notice. If he falters… if his judgment is compromised…” His eyes narrowed. “We cannot afford mistakes. You are twenty years old. You are capable. I trust you with this.”

  Elif Polat stood silently, her hands curling into fists. Fear tightened around her chest as her thoughts shifted to Yusuf, the man she had trained under, trusted, and grown up with over the years. Now I have to watch him… my brother. And if he slips… we all die.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice firm but trembling slightly inside. She tried to suppress the knot of unease twisting in her stomach from watching the footage. But seeing it over and over, witnessing the full range of his abilities, her pulse raced. How do you fight someone like that?

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  The Director’s eyes returned to the monitors. “We do not fight him—not yet. We survive. Observation. Analysis. Prepare for any scenario. Yusuf will gather the intel, and you, Elif, will ensure nothing is overlooked. If Yusuf fails…” His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “…we lose everything.”

  As Yusuf drove back to the mansion, he was lost in thought. The enormity of the mission pressed down on him. Every second counts. One mistake and it’s over, he told himself.

  Elif’s thoughts remained fixed on Yusuf, mind racing with doubts and fears. She had to watch him without alerting him, yet every instinct screamed at her—Yusuf’s loyalty to Sahra was already complicated. Now, under the shadow of Emrah’s unparalleled power, their mission had become a delicate tightrope walk.

  Meanwhile, Emrah—having just finished training with his abilities—sat down on his throne, his gaze fixed on one specific skill: Temporal Reverie.

  It was the ability that had piqued his interest the most, yet the system had repeatedly warned him that it was also his most dangerous—especially for a Stratum 9 user.

  He possessed the Eternal Vitality passive, and because of it, Emrah knew with certainty that he would never become paralyzed. In his day-to-day life, Multiple Sclerosis no longer hindered him at all. Yet the use of his supernatural powers was a different story entirely. The chains that had once bound his body now bound his system itself, imposing limitations on his abilities.

  Because of that, he chose not to activate the skill yet, deciding to wait until he felt stronger. He knew his flaw well: overusing his powers caused fatigue and weakness to resurface, echoes of MS returning when he pushed beyond his limits.

  Lost in thought, Emrah eventually fell asleep on his throne.

  When morning arrived, Efsun and Efsane woke up to find themselves lying on Emrah’s large king-size bed—but there was no sign of him anywhere. The room felt strangely empty, the air too still, the sheets beside them already cold.

  At the same time, Emrah stirred awake on his throne within the Pocket Domain. He rose slowly, the weight of his thoughts lingering, and prepared to step outside.

  As he exited the domain and entered his room, the space seemed to shift. Efsun and Efsane froze, breath catching in their throats. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then they rubbed their eyes, slapped themselves—desperate, instinctive gestures to prove this wasn’t a dream.

  Emrah’s feet touched the floor with a soft, unmistakable sound.

  “Girls, we need to talk,” he said, his voice calm, stripped of its usual warmth.

  The seriousness in his tone sent a chill through them. It was the first time they had ever seen him like this.

  Before either of them could respond, the faint sound of approaching footsteps reached the room—slow, deliberate, growing louder with each step. The sound echoed down the hallway, cutting through the silence as Efsun and Efsane stood frozen, shock still clawing at their senses.

  Emrah’s expression didn’t change, but his mind raced.

  What should I do in this situation? The girls on one hand. The person approaching on the other. I have to think of something—fast.

  Not only were his powers exposed now, but his reputation was at risk of turning him into something he never wanted to be. A symbol. A leader.

  I don’t want that, he thought. Not yet.