The officer grumbled, his face contorting in agony as he tightly pressed the cloth against his bleeding eye socket.
Indeed, it had been an act—and a glorious one at that.
In fact, it was easily the most convincing performance Kuon had ever pulled off.
When he first conceived the gamble, he doubted he could trick a Superhuman.
But out of options, he had played the hand anyway, and it had paid off.
When the officer had blitzed him in the building’s corridor, the sickening crack hadn’t been his ribcage—it was the internal framing of his armored vest taking the brunt of the impact.
Kuon wore the vest every time he sneaked past the perimeter into the higher-class sectors.
He would have been a dead man long ago if he hadn’t.
As for the blood he had spit onto the floor, he had simply bitten down hard on his own tongue to make the scene look as desperate as possible.
The rest was pure theater.
Granted, the strike had still hit like a runaway transport and left him dizzy, but his body was intact.
Naturally, Kuon hadn’t said any of this out loud.
He had flipped through enough of his sister’s fantasy novels to know that doomed protagonists loved to explain their tactical genius to their enemies.
Kuon had always found that absurd.
Why give your opponent a detailed manual on how to beat you next time?
It was idiotic, and Kuon refused to be an idiot.
With a furious scowl, the blinded officer snarled through gritted teeth, his voice harsh and hoarse: “You…
you think this is over?!
Just wait, you filthy Ruined rat!
You’ll pay for this!” Kuon turned his back on the man, shooting a cold glance over his shoulder.
“I’d like to see you try, jackass.” His internal thoughts, however, told a completely different story.
‘Please don’t.
I never want to set eyes on you again.’ As satisfying as it felt to act tough, Kuon knew that if the officer brought back enforcement heavy-hitters, his odds of surviving a second round were zero.
Without lingering another second, Kuon dropped through a breach in the crumbling outer wall, landing on the roof of a lower building before sprinting off into the shadows.
For nearly half an hour, he navigated a pre-planned labyrinth of blind alleys, narrow passages, and forgotten fire escapes.
Finally, he came to a halt before a rusted, heavy metal gate hidden deep in the sector’s blind spot.
The gate was massive, but time and corrosion had carved a jagged gap out of the bottom—just wide enough for a lean teenager to squeeze through.
Kuon had mapped this route months ago to slip past the patrol choke-points between the higher sectors and the outer slums.
It was his best-kept secret, and so far, no patrol unit had discovered it.
Checking his surroundings, Kuon carefully crawled under the gate, making sure his oversized hood didn’t catch on the jagged iron teeth above him.
Once clear, he collapsed onto his back in the dirt of the Ruins, letting out a long, ragged exhale.
Crossing between the sectors was never easy.
Every trip left his joints stiff and his legs burning with exhaustion.
That was why he only risked the crossing twice a month—or three to four times for rare occasions.
And today was the rarest occasion of all: his little sister’s birthday.
“I wonder what she’s doing right now,” Kuon muttered, a faint smile breaking through his exhaustion.
“Probably burning dinner.
That girl…
I told her she didn’t need to cook, but she never listens.” He chuckled softly, a genuine warmth easing the tension in his chest.
He couldn’t wait to see her face when he pulled out the gift.
Sitting up, he retrieved the cloth-wrapped bundle from beneath his cloak and cleared the dust from its cover.
*The Promise of Ash and Bone* *Volume 7: Conjugation* It was a wildly popular serial among teens in the lower sectors—a dark fantasy about a protagonist who awakens a power system, only to discover that every surge of strength chips away at his humanity.
The premise was interesting enough that, despite his protests, Kuon had secretly read the first few volumes himself while checking for missing pages.
Satisfied the book was undamaged, he tucked it securely back inside his cloak and set off down the familiar dirt paths of his home sector.
The Ruins were true to their name.
Ancient stone structures stretched endlessly into the haze, their cracked surfaces scarred by decades of neglect.
Trash and forgotten scrap lined the narrow streets, filling the stagnant air with the sharp scent of rust and old rot.
A uneven line of industrial streetlamps illuminated the main thoroughfare.
A few were shattered beyond repair, while others flickered erratically, buzzing with weak power that felt older than the city itself.
Kuon often wondered how long they had managed to stay lit—a hundred years?
Two hundred?
In a place like this, nothing was maintained; things simply ran until they died.
As he walked, he passed a cluster of locals gathered around a makeshift barrel fire near a collapsing wall.
The quiet chatter died down the moment his footsteps echoed against the stone.
“Kid, where have you been?” The voice belonged to a short, lean man in his sixties, his face deeply lined from a lifetime of surviving the outer sectors.
His tired eyes narrowed as he took in Kuon’s dusty clothes and disheveled state.
Concern showed clearly beneath his rough demeanor.
Before Kuon could draft a smooth excuse, a barrage of quiet, worried questions broke out from the surrounding group.
Living in the Ruins meant keeping your head down.
Venturing toward the inner walls alone was practically a death sentence; if the patrols didn’t shoot you, the auto-turrets would.
Kuon offered a vague wave and a quick series of half-truths, but as the questions mounted, he quickly felt overwhelmed.
Weaving through the small crowd of weary men and women, he slipped past them with practiced ease and darted around the nearest corner before they could corner him again.
‘Damn…
Can’t a guy get five minutes of peace after barely keeping his head attached?’ A few turns later, Kuon arrived before the district’s most imposing landmark: the Iron Leviathan.
It was a colossal, decayed fortress frame that had once served as a defensive military node in the city’s early era.
Decades of rust had eaten deep into its thick plating, and artillery scars marred its broad flanks, yet the memory of its strength remained visible in its heavy lines.
Growing up in the lower sector, Kuon had looked at the giant every day of his life.
Yet every time he stood beneath its shadow, he felt a strange, quiet pity for the fallen titan.
It was built to endure.
It was built to protect.
It was built to stand forever.
And yet, here it was—rotting in the dirt.
“How sad…” Kuon murmured under his breath.
Pulling his gaze away from the iron ruin, he crossed the narrow lane and stopped outside a small, weather-worn cottage.
Unlike the crumbling stone around it, this place was intact, its wooden frames patched with care and its small windows clean.
Kuon paused at the threshold, sniffing the air, and let out a soft laugh.
‘Cake…’ The faint, unmistakable aroma of baked dough drifted through the cracks of the door—sweet, warm, and distinctly overdone at the edges.
Kuon stepped up and gave three short knocks on the frame.
“Who’s there?!” a raspy, sharp young voice called out from inside.
“It’s me,” Kuon replied casually.
“Who?!” Kuon sighed, raising his voice slightly.
“Me—your handsome, immensely talented, and incredibly generous older brother.
Open up!” “Why are you so late?!
What were you doing out there?!” The voice paused, sharp suspicion lacing her tone.
“Did you…
Oh god, did you go outside the wall again?!” “I…
had some business to handle,” Kuon stammered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m fine, I promise.
Not a scratch.” Silence met his answer.
Kuon waited a beat, then let out a defeated sigh.
“Look…
I’m sorry.
It won’t happen again.
Can you let me in now?” “Not good enough!” the voice snapped back.
“Apologize properly!” ‘This girl…
she’s going to give me grey hair before I’m twenty.
If I even live that long anyway.’ Kuon closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and adopted the most dramatic tone he could muster.
“I am deeply ashamed of my reckless behavior and humbly throw myself upon your mercy.
Please forgive your foolish brother…
and open the door before I freeze out here.” A beat of silence followed, then the deadbolt clicked.
The door creaked open, and Kuon stepped forward, reaching out a hand.
“Hey, Ste—” Before he could finish, a small blur lunged through the doorway, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.
Her chestnut hair was messy, and her oversized canvas apron was liberally dusted with flour.
Soft tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes as she squeezed him, burying her face into his chest.
“You idiot!” she sobbed quietly.
“Stupid, reckless big brother!” Stephanie was barely a teenager, yet she often carried herself with more practical sense than half the adults in the district.
She barely reached Kuon’s chest, but the sheer force of her hug nearly knocked the wind out of him.
Kuon’s tense posture melted away.
The lingering fatigue, the pain of the chase, and the cold reality of the city outside vanished, replaced by something warm and familiar.
He softened his expression and gently rested his hand on her head, patting her hair.
“Hey, Steph…
why the tears?” “I’m not crying!” she protested immediately, wiping her cheeks against his jacket while holding tight.
After a long moment, she finally pulled back, sniffling as she wiped her face with the back of her wrist.
Kuon stepped inside and nudged the heavy door shut behind them, sliding the bolt into place.
Stephanie crossed her arms, trying for a stern look through red-rimmed eyes.
“Now tell me…
what were you actually doing out there?” Instead of answering, Kuon reached into his oversized cloak and pulled out the cloth-wrapped package.
With a wide, triumphant grin, he held it out to her.
*The Promise of Ash and Bone* *Volume 7: Conjugation* Stephanie froze, her eyes widening as she stared at the title stamped across the cover.
“Happy Birthday, Stephanie.”