District 13 — Four Days to War
Power felt different when it moved.
Not louder.
Not brighter.
Sharper.
Maximus Sagaza stood alone in the underground training hall beneath his headquarters, sweat pouring from his body as magic flowed in controlled circuits through his core.
For months, he had trained.
For months, nothing changed.
Now every circulation produced growth.
Not illusion.
Not adrenaline.
Growth.
His foot slammed into the concrete wall.
Cracks spread like lightning.
He laughed under his breath.
Not loud.
Controlled.
He didn't celebrate loudly anymore.
Discipline did not allow that.
But anticipation?
He couldn't suppress that.
"Sir."
Sullivan stood near the treadmill, tense.
"White Mafia collection day is in four days."
The treadmill belt screamed under Maximus's accelerating pace.
He didn't answer immediately.
Victor Vonden.
Level 7 skill.
Low-tier magic control.
Authority built on tribute and fear.
For years, Maximus had bowed his head and paid.
Because he couldn't win.
Now…
He slowed the machine.
Stepped off.
Heart steady.
"Send word," Maximus said, voice calm.
"All Shadows have four days to fill their cores."
Sullivan stiffened.
"And if they fail?"
"They aren't Shadows anymore."
He didn't explain what that meant.
He didn't need to.
Sullivan bowed and left.
Maximus lifted his hand.
"Status."
[Strength: 51]
[Toughness: 55]
[Agility: 56]
[Magic Energy: 223]
He stared at the numbers.
Then at his skill.
[Nothing Manipulation: Imperceptibility {10}]
A branch of an Original.
A concealment ability so refined most world-ranked espers couldn't pierce it.
And yet…
Even with a level 10 ability…
He had been stuck.
Plateaued.
Small.
Now numbers rose.
And that terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.
Because progress meant commitment.
Commitment meant no retreat.
If Black Heavens was real—
—and he already knew it was—
refusal meant death.
If White Mafia discovered his shift—
war meant death.
If he failed both—
execution.
He exhaled slowly.
For the first time in years, fear felt clean.
Clear.
Alive.
"I missed this," he murmured.
The feeling of moving forward.
Even if forward meant blood.
06:30 — Technology Division
I skipped breakfast.
I rarely skipped meals.
But today required clarity.
The door to the Tech Division was reinforced.
Magically insulated.
Silent.
Technology here didn't hum loudly like the combat halls.
It whispered.
Because this was where the Triangle built its future advantages.
The engineer at the entrance blocked me immediately.
"Wrong building."
"I know why your container fails under magic saturation."
He shoved me out before I could elaborate.
Door slammed.
I leaned back against the wall and rubbed my shoulder.
"Violence everywhere…"
I didn't leave.
Some people reject persistence.
Some people examine it.
Alice Star belonged to the second category.
Twenty-three minutes later, the door opened again.
"You. Inside."
Good.
The Lab
The room felt like a different academy.
Combat floors smelled like sweat and ego.
This place smelled like ozone and ambition.
Transparent chambers held swirling fields of contained energy.
Holographic projection arrays mapped mana resonance curves across floating screens.
Nine students worked in focused silence.
No one cared about me.
That alone was refreshing.
I entered the room labeled [ALICE].
She didn't look up immediately.
Short blonde hair clipped unevenly.
Protective goggles pushed onto her forehead.
Lab coat sleeves rolled up.
Fine burn scars across her fingers.
She wasn't elegant.
She was dangerous.
"You have thirty seconds before I call security," she said without turning around.
"Your magic-stabilization glove collapses under sustained mana pressure because you're compensating at the output channel, not the intake regulator."
Silence.
The tool in her hand stopped moving.
She turned slowly.
Sharp blue eyes.
Evaluating.
"What intake regulator?"
"You're filtering ambient mana as if it were clean," I said calmly. "It isn't. You need a phased converter before compression or the field destabilizes."
Her jaw tightened.
"You saw that schematic?"
"No."
She walked toward me slowly.
"You're guessing."
"Yes."
That made her pause.
Because confident guessing meant pattern recognition.
She hated incompetent confidence.
But she loved interesting problems.
"Explain," she said.
So I did.
I spoke for maybe forty seconds.
Not too long.
Not too clean.
Just enough to show understanding.
Her stare didn't soften.
But it sharpened.
"You've studied this?" she asked.
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
I shrugged.
"Observation."
She stepped closer.
Too close.
"Who told you about our failure?"
"No one."
She didn't believe me.
Good.
Suspicion meant engagement.
"You don't belong here," she said quietly.
"That's correct."
I turned toward the door.
"That's all I had."
She didn't stop me.
Didn't ask me to stay.
Didn't dismiss me either.
She simply watched.
Calculating whether I was useful, dangerous, or anomalous.
Perfect.
Outside
Once I stepped into the hallway, the interface flickered.
But not instantly.
Not conveniently.
It pulsed faintly.
Delayed.
Earned.
[Observation condition satisfied.]
[Resonance recorded.]
[Super Intelligence {9} acquired.]
There it is.
Not because I walked in.
Not because I said a line.
Because I engaged.
Because I analyzed her flow of mental energy while she worked.
Because Eyes of Truth captured the structural logic of her cognition pattern.
It wasn't clean.
It wasn't full.
It was a blueprint.
A dangerous one.
Super Intelligence wasn't combat.
It was amplification.
Of everything.
Mistakes included.
I exhaled slowly.
I would not activate it yet.
Enhancing cognition too fast risked personality drift.
And I liked my personality intact.
For now.
Rising Tension
Two trajectories were now in motion.
District 13 — approaching White Mafia collection day.
Triangle internal calibration before the monthly dungeon.
And I had inserted myself into both.
Too early?
Maybe.
Necessary?
Absolutely.
Because the world wasn't following the novel anymore.
And that meant—
Preparation had to outpace prophecy.
As I walked back toward the dormitory sector, I flexed my fingers slightly.
Maximus was training like a man preparing for execution.
Alice was reworking her glove with new variables.
Maya was evolving faster than projected.
Lucas still saw white when he looked at me.
Everything was moving.
Quietly.
That's when the real danger begins.
Because systems don't react to noise.
They react to patterns.
And I was becoming one.