The cold, gritty pavement of the alleyway pressed hard against Kim Miyoku’s cheek as the metal-jawed syndicate thug hurled her downward.
The air exploded out of her lungs in a sharp gasp, and a dull, throbbing wave of agony flared across her ribs.
Her vision swam for a fraction of a second, the neon lights of the distant vending stalls blurring into jagged streaks of sickly violet and electric blue.
”Thought you could talk back, didn’t you, unevolved trash?” the metal-jawed thug sneered, standing over her and cracking his iron-dusted knuckles.
The metallic plate bolted across his jaw gleamed under the flickering emergency bulb.
“Without that lunatic high schooler around to pull your strings, you’re nothing. Just rotting meat waiting for the garbage trucks.”
The other two thugs laughed harshly, leaning against the damp corrugated walls and crossing their arms as they watched their leader loom over the defenseless girl.
In Sector 9, violence against the unevolved was as routine as the sunrise; nobody in the residential block dared stick their neck out.
Windows slammed shut, and heavy deadbolts clicked into place down the corridor.
Miyoku clutched her side, her fingers gripping the coarse fabric of her oversized jumpsuit.
Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, not just from the pain, but from a rising surge of bitter frustration.
She was tired of being treated like a ghost, tired of watching helpless families cower in the dirt, and tired of the cruel reality that in a world ruled by magic, mutants, and alien weapons, unevolved humans were treated as disposable refuse.
Even a broken machine can spark before it dies, she had told them.
Summoning every ounce of her remaining strength, Miyoku gritted her teeth, ignoring the burning ache in her chest, and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.
Her dark, clear eyes locked onto the metal-jawed thug with a piercing, unyielding intensity that caught him completely off guard.
”You talk a lot,” Miyoku whispered, her voice trembling slightly yet carrying a chilling, razor-sharp edge.
“For a dog on a corporate leash.”
“You little—I’ll break every bone in your body!”
He raised his iron-dusted fist high above his head, channeling a crude, unstable surge of low-tier inner mutation density into his arm, hardening his skin into a dull gray shale.
He brought the punch down with lethal velocity, aiming directly for Miyoku’s shoulder.
Miyoku didn’t flinch.
She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.
CLANG!
The sound that echoed through the alley wasn’t the sickening crunch of bone and flesh.
It sounded like a high-velocity meteor slamming into a solid titanium bulkhead.
Miyoku blinked, opening her eyes.
Standing directly over her, blocking the thug’s massive, hardened fist with a single, bare hand, was a tall silhouette draped in a tattered, slime-stained high school uniform.
The collar was buttoned neatly to the top, the tie was knotted with military precision, and a dark, suffocating aura of absolute dominion radiated from his frame, dropping the temperature in the alley by ten degrees.
Deku Kwanoh slowly turned his head downward, casting a cold, deadpan gaze at the trembling thug whose fist was currently locked tight inside Deku’s palm.
”You’re standing in my way,” Deku said, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly chilling.
“And you’re breathing my air.”
The metal-jawed thug’s eyes bulged completely out of their sockets as he tried to pull his fist back, only to find it trapped as if welded into a block of solid steel.
“Wh-When did you… how did you get back here from the corporate zone?!”
Deku didn’t answer with words.
He answered with absolute authority.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, Deku channeled his Tier 3 spatial distortion and maximum mutation density. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
A blinding flash of kinetic pressure erupted from his hand, sending a shockwave straight up the thug’s arm.
CRACK!
The sound of shattering bone echoed like a gunshot down the narrow corridor.
The metal-jawed thug let out a high-pitched, agonizing shriek as the kinetic shockwave traveled through his entire body, blowing out his boots and sending him flying backward through the air like a discarded ragdoll.
He slammed hard against a rusted metal dumpster, bouncing off it before collapsing unconscious into the sludge.
The remaining two syndicate thugs froze in absolute terror, their eyes darting between their unconscious leader and the slime-covered high schooler standing calm and composed over Miyoku.
Without a single word spoken, the two thugs dropped their weapons, turned on their heels, and bolted down the alleyway in a blind panic, disappearing into the neon-lit gloom.
Silence settled back over the alcove, broken only by the hum of the overhead ventilation shaft.
Deku slowly exhaled, turning his dark, piercing eyes downward.
He extended a hand—calloused, strong, and dusted with corporate ash—toward the ground where Miyoku was still kneeling.
Miyoku stared at his hand for a long moment, the quiet, protective warmth she had felt earlier swelling into a profound, undeniable anchor in the middle of the dystopian storm.
Slowly, she placed her small, grease-stained hand into his, letting him pull her effortlessly to her feet.
”You’re late,” Miyoku muttered softly, a faint, trembling smile touching the corners of her lips as she wiped a speck of dust from her cheek.
Deku adjusted his tie, his dark eyes softening by just a fraction as a cold, confident smirk touched his mouth.
”Class was dismissed early,” Deku replied smoothly.
“And principal’s orders are simple: nobody touches my people.”