Alex caught his breath as a chill ran down his spine. "A beast art," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Someone with a beast art killed that man for that briefcase!"
Panic surged. He kicked the case away as if it were cursed, watching it tumble down the hill until it disappeared from view.
Without a second thought, Alex ran. He refused to risk his life over something that didn't concern him. His shoes slapped against the cracked road as he sprinted, his lungs burning and legs threatening to give out until he finally saw the familiar, worn silhouette of his home.
The small bungalow looked ready to collapse. The curtain that served as a door fluttered weakly as he passed through. Inside, the air was damp with mold, paint peeled from the walls, and the floorboards creaked under his weight.
He pushed the memory of the explosion from his mind—the sound, the fire, the terror—locking it away behind his instinct to survive.
As usual, Dad wasn't home. The thought felt bitter. His father worked odd jobs, most of which stretched late into the night. It had been almost a month since Alex last saw him.
He trudged into his small bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep within minutes.
Morning came too soon. Alex ate a quick, bland breakfast before walking down the same lonely road to school.
The scene from last night was gone. No scorch marks, no twisted metal, not even a rumor. The road looked untouched—eerily so. If not for the stinging scrapes on his skin, he might have believed it was all a dream.
Did someone erase the event? A cover-up that clean couldn't be done by one person. That means… an organization. IOA—that's what he said, right?
A car horn blared, snapping him out of his thoughts. He shook his head hard. What am I thinking? Someone got killed over that briefcase, and whoever did it erased the evidence like it never happened. The less I know, the safer I am.
When he reached school, he slumped into his chair with a sigh. After yesterday's chaos, he hadn't even touched his phone—but now that he was back in familiar territory…
"…it's all fair game." He chuckled quietly, earning a few odd glances.
Pulling out his phone, Alex opened GikGok, losing himself in the endless scroll of noise and nonsense until class started.
By lunch, he wandered into the cafeteria, not to eat but to watch—the same cliques, the same predictable pecking order.
Tony sat in the center of attention, surrounded by his wealthy friends. Their laughter echoed across the room like a bad song on repeat. It wouldn't surprise Alex if Tony's family actually owned the school.
Tony finished his soda and tossed the can into the air. It didn't fall. Suspended in mid-air, it spun lazily, glowing faintly as Tony used his beast art.
Alex's lips curled. He pitched his voice high, mimicking the girl fawning over him. "Oh my gosh, Tony, you're so talented! You can already use your beast art—you must be, like, a Tier One superhuman!"
The sarcasm came out louder than he realized. The cafeteria fell silent. Every eye turned toward him and Tony.
Tony's jaw tightened. The soda can crumpled in mid-air with a metallic crunch before clattering to the floor. "Oh yeah? Let's settle this after school," he said coldly.
Alex blinked, squinting. Then, with exaggerated drama, he stood and slammed his hand on the table. "What? No, of course not."
"I'm not stupid," he continued. "You have a beast art. You're stronger, richer, and probably a better fighter. Fighting you would be the height of foolishness."
The cafeteria went dead quiet. Tony stared, disbelief etched on his face. "Don't you have any honor?"
Alex smirked. "Honor is something only the people who stay alive get to have. So… no thanks."
He turned and walked out, leaving Tony standing there, humiliated and fuming.
The rest of the day passed quietly, and soon Alex was on his way home again. The road looked as still as it had that morning, but the memory gnawed at him.
'Maybe I should check if the briefcase is still there.'
He tried to shake the thought. He really did. But curiosity was relentless, whispering louder with every step until it drowned out reason.
'Damn it. This is going to be the death of me.'
He turned off the road and climbed down the slope, pushing through overgrown grass and loose dirt.
There it was—half-buried in soil, scratched, filthy…but intact.
"Okay, it's still here. Great. Now I can leave." He spoke aloud, almost trying to convince himself.
Minutes passed. He didn't move. His curiosity gnawed deeper.
"The authorities didn't find it… so maybe it's not that important anymore," he muttered, crouching beside it.
The locks were damaged—maybe from the fall, maybe by someone else. Either way, it looked like no one had touched it since.
"I'll just check it. For, uh… scientific purposes." He gave a nervous laugh and pried it open.
A single hard-cover book slid out and hit the ground with a dull thud. Its once-red cover had faded to a washed-out brown, the edges frayed with age.
Alex picked it up and flipped it open. His brow furrowed. "Why the hell is this written in another language?"
Strange, archaic symbols filled the pages, twisting and curling in unfamiliar patterns. But between the lines—faint and small—were translations in English.
His eyes scanned the first sentence, and his eyebrows furrowed. They were instructions for a sort of practice that involved the manipulation of energy within one's body.
Realization struck Alex in an instant and he immediately knew what it was.
It was a beast art.