He swept the room with his eyes.
Purple and red RGB lighting pulsed from a massive gaming computer, equipped with three curved monitors in the corner.
Clothes had been carelessly strewn over the backs of the chairs, while empty energy-drink cans crowded the desk like random towers.
In the middle of this luxurious pigsty, Histori sat on the black leather sofa, his back straight and his hands in his pockets.
"Don't you have anything for me to drink?" Histori asked in a perfectly ordinary tone, as though he were asking for something he was entitled to—or perhaps reminding Mahoro of the bare minimum of good manners.
The latter got up with a grunt and muttered a low curse, then headed for the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and slammed it shut, looking distinctly hostile. After that, he picked up a juice carton with his fingertips and hurled it at Histori's face with wildly excessive force.
But Histori caught it effortlessly with his left hand.
Silence filled the room for a full minute. The only sounds were the distant hum of the refrigerator and the nervous tapping of Mahoro's fingers against the wooden armrest of the sofa.
"Hey, how long are you planning to stay quiet?"
Histori's Adam's apple rose and fell as he took a long sip, his hand feeling the cold aluminum.
"I don't have anything to talk about… I only came to say that I'm not your enemy."
"Fine, I have something to talk about. How did you discover my electric ability? Was it Rose?"
Histori tilted his head slightly to the left.
"Rose? What does she have to do with us?"
Mahoro scoffed and dropped his weight onto the sofa, crossing one leg over the other carelessly before looking straight at him.
"What does she have to do with me? That bitch has hated me ever since I insulted her this morning."
"Actually, all the girls in the class hate you now."
Mahoro's eyes narrowed as he stared at Histori's impassive face, as though Histori had just delivered the most logical fact in existence.
"Your personality isn't any better, even though Sessica is still clinging to you like a child. But there's no need to dance around the subject. Tell me how you discovered my ability."
"Your phone."
"Excuse me?"
"You were playing League of Legends the whole time. How did your phone's battery stay at ninety-nine percent?"
Silence lasted for half a minute. Mahoro lowered his head and, for the first time, began to think seriously. Then he said, with an unusual calmness:
"Who the hell are you?"
"Actually… I was curious, so I downloaded the game yesterday."
"And what do you think of it?" Mahoro said this with a mocking smile as he adjusted his posture, as though his mood had improved.
"One hundred and seventy-three playable characters… I spent half my time reading their profiles, and the other half thinking about what an idiot I was as I watched my life say goodbye to fifteen minutes of itself in every match."
Time stopped for a moment. Mahoro's smile did not disappear, but it shrank, acquiring a dramatic glow that made half his face gleam when the long neon lamp above them suddenly shone more brightly for no discernible reason.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Hey! I've let you get away with a lot. I'll fry your ass if you think about insulting the game again."
Histori finally rose and headed for the door, announcing the end of the visit.
"See you tomorrow."
Mahoro did not turn around until he heard the door close.
"Damn him… I wish I'd shocked him right then. I really want to hear him whimper when that damned stiff face of his turns into the sobbing face of a barroom whore."
He could actually picture the scene in his mind, but then he shook his head, scattering the cloud of imagination above him.
"No, reality is better. I need to think of a way to pick a fight with him, but… does he really have an ability or not?"
Histori was heading toward one of the half-open lockers when he spotted his phone inside. Mahoro had actually returned it.
Histori slipped the phone into his pocket, closed his locker, and returned to his apartment.
When he opened the balcony door and stepped outside, he placed a hand on the cold railing. Then he heard a voice to his left.
"Ugh… you've got to be kidding me…!" A particularly obscene curse rang out.
Histori looked to his left and found Mahoro standing on the neighboring balcony, with no more than a meter between them. He had one hand over his face and was rubbing his temple irritably.
"How long have you been my neighbor, for fuck's sake?"
"Are you still angry because I criticized your game?"
"Shut up!"
Suddenly, someone pounded violently on Mahoro's apartment door—hard enough for Histori to hear it too. Mahoro placed a hand on his own railing, then vaulted acrobatically onto Histori's balcony without asking permission. He entered the apartment, shoving Histori ahead of him, and said:
"Listen, there's no time to explain! If an ugly girl asks about me, tell her you don't know me."
Histori's POV
The bathroom door closed from the inside at the same moment that someone knocked firmly on my apartment door this time.
I walked toward it at an even pace. I turned the key and opened it wide. A relatively short girl stood before me, with sharp black eyes behind rectangular, silver-framed glasses. Her arms were folded sternly across her chest.
She was not ugly in the slightest, despite what Mahoro had said.
"How can I help you?"
"Mahoro Ryota… do you know him?" she asked in a rude tone dripping with condescension.
I looked at her for a second. Covering for him meant getting involved in her problems.
"He's in my bathroom. Would you like to see him?" I said with an expressionless face.
Her pupils trembled in shock. Then she clenched her jaw, and her cheeks flushed with a mixture of disgust and anger. She took a step backward as though she had been bitten.
"Why are all boys ill-mannered bastards?!" she spat, then walked away, striking the floor with her shoes.
I closed the door and found Mahoro emerging from the bathroom, his face flushed and the veins in his neck standing out. He lunged at me and seized my shirt collar in a tight grip.
"You sick dog! Is the only thing that damned brain of yours can think about how to annoy me?!"
"If I had told her you weren't here, she would have barged into the apartment, and I wouldn't have been able to stop her physically, as you know. She is a girl who could cause me trouble if I accidentally hurt her." I said this calmly while looking at my collar, its fabric twisted around his fingers.
"Damn it…"
He let me go and peered through the peephole at the door, then muttered:
"Thank God, she's gone."
"Who was that girl? Is she one of your relatives?"
"Shut up! Do you want me to emigrate from the country? She's an acquaintance of mine, though. A ridiculous girl, and my mother keeps telling me, 'Get to know her and take her out.' Damn it!"
"Tea or coffee?"
Mahoro was silent for a moment before answering as he sat down in his desk chair:
"Coffee… no sugar. My life has been sweet enough since I met you."
I brought him what he asked for and sat on the edge of the bed, watching this unexpected visitor. The other boy began to notice how neat and exceedingly clean Histori's room was—completely different from his own pigsty.
"She's Gena Miu… more or less like us."
"A chaebol? Is she from Hyundai or LG?"
Mahoro scoffed.
"Her father is a vice president at Samsung, which makes him even richer than my father. That's why the idiot thinks she's some kind of sacred being, or a piece of heaven."
"Fine. Is that all?"
Mahoro turned toward me, making use of the wheeled chair.
"Are we really supposed to get married, have children, work ten hours a day, and pay bills until we die? Especially if your family has already decided that woman is destined for you?"
I raised my eyebrows for the first time.
"So that girl…"
"More or less."
"And you don't like her?"
"I don't love anyone. But her ability is incredibly annoying."
"Is that why you hid in my bathroom?"
Mahoro stopped for a moment, suspicion appearing in his eyes.
"What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"
I continued without thinking, my red eyes fixed on him. I rested an arm on the bed's headboard and began to explain:
"Something was wrong with that girl's eyes from the beginning. She can see through walls, can't she?"
Mahoro laughed.
"Have you been playing Sherlock Holmes again? Listen, pal, as impressed as I am—against my will—by your clever analysis of my phone, there's no way you'll get it right twice, and…"
"But she can't see through the porcelain walls used in the luxurious bathrooms that distinguish the student apartments in this luxurious school."
Mahoro stopped speaking when I interrupted him, setting his coffee cup down on the desk with a light tap.
"Let's assume you're right, and that I'm crazy enough to believe you. Why didn't I hide in the bathroom in my own room? What kind of nonsense is this?"
"Because you wouldn't have had enough time, and that girl might have spotted you—especially since she wears glasses. Her eyesight may be poor, or it may weaken when she uses her ability, so she can't see medium distances. But I assumed that the walls of these apartments are ability-resistant, even if not one hundred percent."
Mahoro exhaled, then picked up his phone and called someone. He said immediately:
"Hey, Jin. Do you have the ability to see through walls?"
I heard a faint crackle, followed by a sharp shriek from the other end. It made him pull the phone away from his ear before he ended the call coldly. He rose from the chair, and frightening blue sparks flickered between his fingers.
"I knew you had an ability. Come on, fight me!"
"I don't have an ability."
"Liar."
"I'm not. Besides, fighting on campus is forbidden, even for those without abilities."
Mahoro sat down again and began to fidget nervously with his hair.
"This is driving me insane. Do you have an ability or not, you dog?"
"If you love fighting that much, fight Domon."
"Who's that supposed to be?"
"Don't you know him? You almost got into a fight with him in class today."
He began to think, scratching his cheek as he searched his memories.
"Is he the dark-skinned guy with the disgusting tattoos? And why should I fight him?"
"Because he hates you, and because you insulted him in the middle of class. He'll start trouble with you soon, without a doubt."
A sharply defined, perfectly steady blue light shone from Mahoro's fingertip. He pressed it against the metal joint of the desk chair, and it gave off a powerful spark, like a metal-welding machine.
"Don't worry about him. I'll fry his ass if he thinks about coming near me. I'll strip off his skin and remove those tattoos for free—no laser required."
His ability really was astonishing… if he used it against me, I would be in serious trouble.
That was what I told myself, but the gravity of the moment was broken by his next question:
"Why do people get those tattoos?"
"Maybe for intimidation and to inspire fear, like the yakuza in Japan or the Italian mafia."
"Are you kidding me? I'm scary without tattoos. My aunt had a famous singer tattooed on her left breast like an idiot, and I told her something truthful at the worst possible time: 'When the years pass and your breasts sag, that woman will turn into a real rat.'"
"What happened afterward?" Histori asked without changing his expression.
"My father nearly disowned me, and the family ties were severed completely. She said, 'You're so ill-mannered! Your feet will never set foot in my house again!' As if I care. Since that day, my father has treated me like the founding member of the ungrateful sons' club."
A quiet settled over them afterward. One red eye and one blue eye exchanged looks.
The visitor soon left, in a manner entirely different from the way he had entered.
Her light-purple hair swayed from side to side as she walked energetically, hugging her friend's arm and laughing with her.
Her expression changed for a single second, then she said:
"We'll talk later, okay? I just remembered something I have to do."
She moved away from her friend, waved to her, then climbed the stairs until she reached the library. She entered and headed toward someone sitting at a table, blatantly ignoring the rules of the otherwise deserted library.
He was wearing a medical mask, and his hair was black. He raised an eyebrow as she approached him.
"Why were you watching me?"
"You noticed? Not bad."
Mia Cyrus's POV
He was calm… just as he always was.
"Don't change the subject. There won't be any orders until graduation." I folded my arms, suspicion settling across my face.
"I just heard that Histori Martinez is here. I'll stop by to play with him later." He said this as he closed his eyes and put a hand in his pocket, intending to take out the black rectangle. But he stopped halfway through the motion, leaving only half the phone outside his pocket.
When he heard a metallic sound, he opened his eyes and found my face extremely close to his. My fingers had formed metal claws, and my index finger rested directly beneath his chin. I whispered:
"Don't even think about getting close to him, okay? Because I won't be gentle with you."
"Were you ever gentle? You're one of the fiercest students in our school, and your reputation precedes you."
"If you already know that, why are you hovering around what belongs to me?"
"Are you intensely jealous or intensely loyal?"
"That's none of your business, but I'll satisfy your curiosity and answer you: neither."
He leaned his head back to look at my hand and noticed a pink glove from which extremely distinct, razor-sharp metal claws protruded.
"When did she put that on?" he wondered.
But the shocking part was that, in the blink of an eye, he found my other hand inside his pocket, emerging white and gloveless, as though I had never been wearing anything at all.
"What is your ability?"
"You'll find out if you meddle with him."
He raised an eyebrow and said calmly as he stood:
"There are other students besides us, you know. They all care about him, and most likely they'll cause trouble for him."
"How many?"
"Two besides me, and it wouldn't be surprising if they all went to him."
"Go to him one at a time. That's my advice." I said this as I moved away from him in long strides.
"Why?"
I glanced back over my shoulder and smiled at him for the first time.
"He becomes more violent when he fights several people. You'd be better off facing him alone if you intend him harm."
In my room, I was lying on the bed after taking a quick shower when the ringing and vibrating of the phone broke my relaxation.
I answered in a curt voice:
"Who is this? Very few people know this number."
"Does that mean you didn't even look at the screen? Where can I find Mahoro?"
I fell silent when I realized who was speaking. My eyes narrowed.
"He's an awakened, powerful B-rank. You'll get into serious trouble if you're exposed, especially, and…"
He cut me off in a stern voice:
"He's mine. Don't worry about it."
"He's in Histori's class, and his room is close to Histori's. His favorite place is the roof after four in the afternoon, but you might find him in the garden, in blind spots and along paths the girls don't use."
The other end hung up as soon as I finished speaking.
The butler Bernard was standing beside him. He said to him in a serious voice:
"This doesn't reach anyone, understood? Especially Yi Lian."
"As you wish, sir. But as you know, I don't hide anything from the head of the family."
He glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"My father knows everything. Don't tell him I'm going there; that is what I want you to keep safe and preserve."
"Why Yi Lian specifically?"
"That psychopath will lose her mind with madness over him if she hears that her beloved brother, whom she's obsessed with, was bullied by a level-B electric lunatic."
In a luxurious office, Yagami sat in his sumptuous leather chair, the ember of his cigar still at its beginning, as though he had not drawn on it for a long time.
His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen, watching a white-haired man—not because age had overtaken him, but for another reason.
The man was sitting on a bed, hunched over, his hands clasped at his sides, while metal bars surrounded him in a place resembling a prison.
Beside Yagami stood an elegant young man with sharp features and carefully tousled black hair. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties.
He wore a black three-piece suit that emphasized the authority of his presence, centered by a deep crimson tie that drew the eye.
With his black-gloved hand, he held the edge of a black file. His eyes gleamed golden amber, carrying a cunning look and a faint smile that hinted at a secret never meant to be told.
"Anyone watching would think we were imprisoning him or conducting inhuman experiments on him."
Yagami did not reply, prompting him to continue.
"I'm curious about him, sir. Why did he ask for a room that looks like a prison?"
"I don't know." He answered without taking his eyes off him.
"How long ago did we recruit him?"
"Three years ago."
"That's an extremely short time. Are you sure he's as loyal to the family as I am?"
"And are you loyal to my family, Henry Lombardly?"
Henry laughed merrily and placed a hand over his chest.
"Me? Of course! I'm loyal to several things, such as food, money, and women. But the family? Come on, you realize I'm with you because you pay generously."
Yagami looked at him and said in an ordinary tone as he exhaled a cloud of smoke:
"Your salary is only three thousand dollars. A dog from our family earns more than you. And the problem? You were the one who asked me for that salary."
Henry froze for several seconds, then said with sudden seriousness:
"When I told you that you paid generously, I didn't mean money."
Yagami raised his right eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
"I meant dopamine. I enjoy obeying you. Every task you assign me is fun and difficult, even though I'm a lawyer on top of it all. You're indulgent with my nonsense, and your children like me, even though your wife nearly kills me whenever she sees me with them. In any case, where in heaven's name could I find a master like you?"
He said this with a mocking smile and moved to leave, but a voice came to him from behind:
"You may go to him, but don't get your hopes up."
And indeed, Henry headed down the cellar with steady steps.
The basement was part of an underground storage complex used exclusively by the Martinez family to store medicine, food supplies, and even bundles of cash and gold.
He could actually see antiques scattered here and there: a quarter-meter-tall gilded statue of a woman clasping her hands as if she were praying, along with extremely strange paintings by artists long since forgotten by time.
The stone corridor was barely wide enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder. Behind the iron bars stood a room—and strangely enough, the key was still in the lock.
Shaheen examined the room.
The man sitting inside did not even turn to look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
Henry stepped inside and sat down on a chair beside him, taking in every detail.
There were ornamental fish swimming in an aquarium, bubbles of oxygen rising from beneath the water.
An air conditioner was running at full power, making the room unbearably cold.
The room...
was exceptionally clean.
Not merely clean by ordinary standards. It was immaculate.
Everything was spotless—even the bedposts were completely free of dust or dirt.
Books were scattered across the desk and the bed, written in several different languages:
English. German. Turkish. Arabic. Persian.
Henry asked with genuine admiration,
"How many languages do you speak, my friend? Anyway, I'm Henry Lombardelli. I'm a guest in this mansion, just like you. I heard from my master that you've been here for five years. They say you were the foreigner who came to South Korea as one of the most powerful soldiers..."
The white-haired man did not answer.
Henry watched him with sharp eyes, the smile never leaving his face.
"Are you awake?"
Still, there was no answer.
Henry had already noticed the man's white hair, but his facial features suggested that he was only in his thirties.
He was still young.
Yet the unidentified man was thinking about something else entirely.
With his eyes closed, he was reliving the memories of that day...
for the 923rd time in a row.
To be continued...