"I cannot believe we won by drying them out," I said, shoving a spoonful of 'Choco-nuke Explosion' ice cream into my mouth. "That was the weirdest fight of my life."
"It was efficient," Vikram said, sipping an espresso. He wasn't eating ice cream. Apparently, sugar was for peasants. "St. Lionheart plays a perfect, disciplined game. To beat them, we need to be unpredictable."
We were at The Sugar Rush, a trendy café near the stadium. It was packed with tourists and off-duty Hunters. Riya was sitting by the window, not eating. She was scanning the crowd, her eyes darting back and forth.
"Riya, relax," I said. "The match is over. Nobody is going to attack us over a waffle."
"I don't like it," Riya murmured. "I've been tracking the mana signatures in the city. There's... static. Like a radio station that's slightly off-frequency. It's making my sensors itch."
"Maybe you need new glasses," Vikram suggested unhelpfully. "Aryan, go get me a napkin. I got a speck of foam on my lip."
"I am not your butler!" I protested.
"I bought you a suit worth two crores."
"Right away, sir."
** The Counter**
I navigated through the crowd to the service counter. The line was long.
Standing in front of me was a girl wearing an oversized grey hoodie with the hood pulled up. She seemed to be trying very hard to be invisible.
"Order for... 'Liz'?" the barista called out.
The girl in the hoodie jumped. She scurried forward to grab her tray.
It was a massive order. A 'Rainbow Unicorn Parfait' with extra sprinkles, sparklers, and a little umbrella. It was the most childish, sugary thing on the menu.
She turned around quickly, trying to hide the giant pink dessert, and walked right into me.
"Whoa!" I steadied her tray just before the unicorn lost its horn. "Careful. That looks... intense."
The girl looked up. Her hood fell back.
Pale blonde hair. Eyes like frozen lakes.
Isha. The Ice Queen of St. Lionheart.
She froze. I froze.
She looked at the giant pink parfait in her hands. She looked at me. She looked back at the parfait.
A faint blush crept up her pale neck.
"It's... for my little sister," she lied instantly. Her voice was stiff.
"You have a sister named Liz?" I asked, pointing to the cup.
"It's a nickname," she snapped. "What are you doing here, Astra-Trash?"
"Eating," I pointed to my table. "And don't call me trash. We won our match."
"You beat the Slime Triplets," Isha scoffed, regaining her composure. "Congratulations. You defeated three idiots who share a single brain cell. Don't let it go to your head."
She moved to walk past me, but I stepped in her way.
"Why do you hate us so much?" I asked. "Vikram, I get. He's annoying. But me?"
Isha stopped. Her eyes narrowed.
"Because you are a tourist, Aryan. You stumbled onto a god-tier weapon by accident. You didn't train for years. You didn't bleed for it. You just... got lucky."
She gripped her parfait tighter.
"Some of us have to work for our power. We have to sacrifice everything to be strong enough to protect this city. Watching you play hero with borrowed power... it's insulting."
She pushed past me, shoulder-checking me hard enough to make me stumble.
She pulled her hood back up and vanished into the crowd, nursing her giant pink dessert like a secret shame.
I stood there for a second.
Borrowed power, huh?
She wasn't wrong. I looked at the bracelet. Without this, I was just a kid who failed Math.
The Window Seat
I went back to the table, mood ruined. I threw the napkins at Vikram.
"Did you get lost?" Vikram asked. "You look like you saw a ghost."
"Worse. I saw Isha. Apparently, she has a sweet tooth and a grudge."
Riya wasn't listening. She was staring out the window, her face pale. She was gripping the table so hard her knuckles were white.
"Aryan," she whispered.
"What?"
"Don't look now. But look across the street. Into the alleyway next to the weapon shop."
I frowned. I slowly turned my head.
The street was busy. Cars, pedestrians, street vendors.
I looked at the alleyway.
Walking into the shadows was a boy.
He was wearing the Astra-Tech black-and-orange uniform.
He had messy black hair.
He had a yellow backpack.
He turned his head slightly and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a smile that promised murder.
It was me.
I looked at the boy in the alley.
Then I looked at my own reflection in the window.
Then I looked at my hands.
"Uh," I said, my voice trembling. "Riya... am I here? Or am I there?"
"You are here," Vikram said, his voice dropping an octave. He had seen it too. "Which means that... is an imposter."
The "Other Aryan" stepped into the darkness and vanished.
"The static," Riya whispered, standing up. "It's not a radio signal. It's a Mimic. A Class-A Shapeshifter."
Vikram stood up instantly. "We need to go. Now. If there is a Shapeshifter in the city, nobody is safe. Not the judges, not the other teams..."
He looked at me.
"And especially not us. Because if that thing commits a crime wearing your face, Aryan... the tournament is over."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the ice cream.
The Prologue wasn't just a scene. The assassin was here. And he—or she—was wearing my face.