At 11:00 PM, inside the secret room of Renxin Hall.
Julian Vance picked up the disposable burner phone.
The cheap plastic casing felt rough and uncomfortable in his palm.
He dialed the number.
A long ring echoed through the earpiece, accompanied by background noise—smooth jazz, the clinking of slot machines, and muffled chatter.
*At least he has good taste in casino music,* Julian thought.
On the seventh ring, the line picked up.
“Speak.” Remy LeBeau’s voice carried a faint French accent.
In the background, a woman laughed.
“Mr.
Remy LeBeau,” Julian said.
“This is Dr.
Vance from Renxin Hall.
You left a business card a week ago.” Silence stretched over the line for two seconds.
“Ah…
the miracle doctor.
To what do I owe the honor?” “I have a long-term proposal for you.” Julian leaned back in his chair.
“The compensation is beyond your imagination, and I can permanently cure your ‘energy surge’ issue—the little problem keeping you awake at night and causing that sharp pain in your left shoulder whenever you use your ability.” An even longer silence followed.
The background noise vanished; Remy had likely stepped somewhere quiet.
“Interesting.” Remy lowered his voice.
“How do you know…” “I’m a doctor,” Julian interrupted.
“We can discuss the details in person.
Name the time and place, though I suggest somewhere quiet.
Ideally with a roof.” Remy chuckled softly.
“You sound awful sure I’ll agree to meet.” “You will,” Julian said.
“Because besides me, no one else knows that every time you unleash your full power, you suffer a sharp, stabbing pain three inches below your left shoulder blade for exactly seventeen seconds.” The clink of glass echoed through the receiver, as if a cup had been knocked over.
“Midnight,” Remy said.
“The docks.
Roof of Abandoned Warehouse Number Three.
Don’t bring company.
I’ll know.” “I’ll be alone,” Julian replied.
“And don’t set too many traps.
It’d be a waste of playing cards.” He hung up, pulled out the SIM card, and snapped it in two.
Outside the window, the night in San Francisco was still young.
Midnight sharp, at the docks.
The ocean breeze carried the briny scent of salt and diesel, snapping Julian’s coat in the wind.
Warehouse Number Three was a five-story brick building from the 1940s, its paint peeling and windows shattered.
A figure stood at the edge of the roof, outlined against the moonlight.
Julian climbed the final stretch of the fire escape and stepped onto the roof.
Cracks and weeds covered the concrete surface.
He stopped fifteen meters away from Remy—far enough to react, but close enough not to seem overly defensive.
“Punctual.” Remy turned around.
He wore a dark trench coat tonight, bareheaded, casually shuffling a deck of cards between his fingers.
“Doc, you got some nerve.” “You can’t be a doctor without nerve,” Julian said.
Wall-Piercing Vision had already swept the entire roof—six playing cards were embedded in the surrounding shadows, infused with trace amounts of explosive kinetic energy.
A trigger-activated trap.
Remy stood with his back to the light, deliberately leaving Julian exposed under the moon.
A textbook ambush setup.
“So, let’s hear your proposal.” Remy flicked his wrist, flipping an Ace of Hearts between his fingers.
“And how do you know about my…
little pain point?” “First, the test,” Julian said.
“I know you won’t trust me easily.
How about this: you attack in three waves, and I will only dodge without fighting back.
If I’m still standing by the end and can lay out a concrete treatment plan for your condition, you seriously consider my offer.” Remy narrowed his eyes.
“Three waves?
You sure about that?” “Begin.” Remy didn’t move, but Julian felt the ambient energy begin to shift.
The cards hidden in the shadows hummed with subtle vibration.
The first wave.
Ten ordinary cards fanned out from Remy’s hand.
They weren’t particularly fast, but their trajectories were treacherous, cutting off any room to dodge left or right.
No explosive energy was infused into them—it was a pure probe.
Julian shifted his footing slightly.
It was no ordinary martial arts footwork, but a simplified variation of Pacing the Dipper—three steps: forward-left, back-right, retreat.
The cards sliced past his body, the closest flying a mere three centimeters from his cheek.
“Your energy issue stems from a conflict between your genetic expression and how you use your power,” Julian said, his voice completely calm.
“Mutant power is like a river, but the way you use it is like digging haphazard trenches through the riverbed.
When the flood comes, it overflows; during dry spells, it cuts off entirely.
That’s why your power fluctuates and turns back against your own body.” Remy’s fingers paused.
“Go on.” “Second wave,” Julian said.
The look in Remy’s eyes shifted.
He swept his right hand through the air, not throwing cards, but making a clenching gesture.
Behind Julian, three trap cards shot upward simultaneously and detonated just two meters from his back.
Flames instantly engulfed the area, sending a shockwave laced with flying concrete shrapnel in every direction.
Almost in the same breath, three cards launched from Remy’s hand—the King of Spades, King of Hearts, and King of Clubs.
Their surfaces gleamed with metallic sheen under the moonlight.
Overcharged with massive kinetic energy, the three cards tore through the air at terrifying speeds, aiming straight for Julian’s head, chest, and knees.
A pincer movement.
A death trap.
Julian moved.
The instant the explosion erupted behind him, his body glided toward the front-left.
It wasn’t a run; it was as if the ground had suddenly turned to ice, sliding him across space.
It was a micro-teleportation born of Vanishing Trace—a distance of barely a meter and a half, but more than enough to escape the blast core.
Yet the three Kings were already upon him.
Julian raised his right hand, sweeping it gently through the air.
The power of Mister Negative surged forth—not to heal, but to invert.
The “positive” kinetic energy charged into the cards—the energy designed to accelerate, strike, and explode—was instantly drained, inverted, and turned into nullifying “negative” energy half a second before reaching his palm.
The three cards lost all momentum in an instant.
From air-tearing deadly weapons, they transformed into weightless autumn leaves, dropping vertically to clatter softly onto the concrete at Julian’s feet.
Remy’s pupils contracted.
Julian gave him no time to process.
The pebble held in Julian’s left hand flicked outward.
It didn’t fly straight at Remy; instead, it arced through a bizarre trajectory around Remy’s raised right arm, striking his left wrist with pinpoint precision.
*Clang!* The crisp sound of metal striking metal echoed.
A card concealed up his sleeve was knocked loose, spinning through the air before falling onto the ground between them.
The King of Diamonds.
“No need for the third wave,” Julian said.
He straightened up, dusting off his coat.
“Remy, every time you unleash your full power, that sharp pain three inches below your left shoulder blade lasts for seventeen seconds.
It’s not a muscle strain; there’s a bifurcation at that energy node.
Forcing an overload causes inflammation—like miswired electrical circuitry burning out the moment current flows.” Remy froze.
His left wrist was still numb—not from the pebble, but from pure shock.
The card in his sleeve had been his ultimate trump card, packed with enough energy to blast through armor plating.
Yet now it lay there beside the other three Kings, as if its very soul had been drained away.
“How did you…” Remy’s voice was hoarse.
“Like I said, I’m a doctor.” Julian bent down and picked up the King of Diamonds.
The card felt cold to the touch.
“Now, let’s discuss terms.” Remy drew a deep breath and slowly loosened his tense muscles.
He stowed away the rest of his deck.
His movements retained their natural elegance, though the cynical flippancy was gone.
“Let’s hear it.” “Long-term employment,” Julian said.
“A base salary of five thousand dollars a month, plus mission bonuses calculated separately.
No cap on bonuses, depending on difficulty and risk.
Your primary duties will be intelligence gathering, acquiring specialized items, and dealing with certain…
unconventional targets.” “Sounds like an all-around enforcer.” “Field operative,” Julian corrected.
“My Chief Operative.
You’ll have high autonomy.
I’ll only issue orders for key missions, and I won’t interfere with whatever side gigs you take in your free time.” Remy raised an eyebrow.
“Sounds awfully generous.
What’s the catch?” “The catch is loyalty.” Julian locked eyes with him.
“Not a deed of ownership, but a binding covenant.
While working for me, you cannot accept contracts against my interests, nor can you leak information about me.
In exchange, I offer two things.” He held up two fingers.
“First, within one month, I will permanently eliminate your energy issue.
Not temporary relief—a full cure.
After that, I can even boost your control precision and energy ceiling.” “Second, parts of my resources and intelligence network will be open to you.
You’ll find that working with me grants access to some…
very interesting things.” Remy fell silent.
The sea wind howled past as a ship horn blared in the distant harbor.
He stooped to pick up the other three Kings from the floor, his fingers rubbing over their surface.
“The cure.
How do you prove it?” “We can try right now,” Julian said.
“Give me your hand.” Remy hesitated for a second before reaching out his left hand.
Julian tapped his forefinger lightly against the inside of Remy’s wrist.
A thread of pure channeled energy flowed outward—not forcing its way through, but circulating gently around the bifurcated node, temporarily isolating the chaotic flow of energy.
Remy’s body shuddered.
Seventeen seconds passed.
No pain.
He stared at his left shoulder as if looking at a ghost.
“That’s only temporary relief,” Julian said, drawing back his hand.
“A full recovery will require targeted medication and regular treatment.
But you should be able to feel the difference.” Remy rotated his shoulder and flexed his fist.
The energy flowed far smoother than before; that lingering, faint resistance was completely gone.
“Boss.” He suddenly smirked, tipping an imaginary hat in a mock salute.
“I’ll take the job.
But I reserve the right to evaluate whether it stays interesting.
If things get too boring, I might just jump ship.” “You won’t be bored,” Julian said.
He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.
“Your first assignment.
Use your contacts to conduct a thorough investigation into the Foot Clan: their organizational structure, stronghold locations, recent activities, and especially those metal crates they’ve been moving through the docklands.
Also, look into the internal movements within the Wah Ching gang after Mad Dog Johnny fell ill.” Remy took the paper and glanced at it.
“The Foot Clan?
Those black-clad ninjas?
They aren’t folks you want to mess with.” “That’s why I hired you,” Julian said.
“One week.
A budget of two thousand dollars for expenses, reimbursed with receipts.
Any overage requires prior approval.” “Crisp and straight to the point.” Remy folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.
“I’ll take my leave then.
How do I reach you when I have updates?” “Call Renxin Hall every day at noon.
If I’m not in, leave a message with Uncle Chen.” Remy nodded and turned toward the roof’s ledge.
As he stepped over the low parapet, he paused and glanced back.
“Boss, back there during the second wave…
how’d you pull that off?
The energy in those three cards was enough to blow a car sky-high.” “Trade secret,” Julian said.
“Get going.
It’s about to rain.” Remy shrugged and leaped off the roof.
Rather than plummeting, he landed precisely on a fire escape three meters below, vanishing into the darkness after a few quick drops.
Julian stood there for a moment, then bent to pick up the dislodged King of Diamonds.
The card glinted coolly under the moonlight, showing a tiny scratch on its edge where the pebble had struck.
He slipped the card into his pocket and headed downstairs.
On his way back to the clinic, the rain began to fall.
Not a downpour, but a fine, dense drizzle that turned the streets slick and reflective.
Julian walked slowly, reviewing the fight in his mind.
Mister Negative’s power was even more fascinating than he had anticipated.
It wasn’t just healing and absorbing negative energy—it could invert energy states altogether.
Turning motion into stillness, explosion into dissipation.
Against opponents reliant on energy attacks, it was practically a cheat code.
Yet he also knew that despite suppressing the energy fluctuations as best he could tonight, certain beings with acute senses might have already caught a trace of it.
Recruiting Gambit was a solid move, but it also meant he was officially stepping out of the shadows.
On the second floor of Renxin Hall, Julian stood by the window, gazing out at the rain-soaked city.
He set the King of Diamonds face up on the windowsill.