Chapter 6: Training II
Leon walked.
Behind him, the city still clung to the last fragile threads of night. Broken neon signs blinked their final pulses, windows glowed dim with forgotten warmth, and the silence of sleeping streets echoed in his ears. But ahead—light spilled over the world like ink on paper, soft and inevitable.
Above, the deep midnight hues faded to violet, and then, to a pale, delicate blue—the kind of color that made even sorrow seem beautiful. The stars—once scattered like silver dust across the heavens—faded slowly, as if shyly stepping aside for the coming light. Their disappearance felt like a gentle goodbye. A farewell between the past and whatever waited ahead.
Leon didn't rush. His footsteps were slow, deliberate. The cold morning air whispered against his skin, tugging softly at the edges of his coat. The path beneath him was wet with dew, and each step landed quietly, as though the earth itself feared to disturb the silence.
Then, the sky opened its eyes.
From beyond the distant hills, a quiet orange bloomed. It wasn't sudden, nor loud—it rose with grace, painting the clouds in tender brushstrokes of gold and honey. The world awakened, not with sound, but with light.
Blue clouds drifted overhead like watercolor dreams, mixing with soft whites and golden threads. They swirled together like a painter's breath—gentle, radiant, and alive. It was a sky that didn't just rise. It remembered.
Leon stopped.
He stood still on that lonely path, his breath forming a fading ghost in the crisp morning air. The sun's light washed over him—soft, not yet harsh. For a moment, it felt as though time had folded into itself. The air shimmered with quiet beauty, the kind that left no need for words.
A garden of silence. A moment suspended.
Like the garden of words.
And within that sacred stillness, Leon felt it again. That ache. That longing. A memory that clung to the edge of thought—warm, painful, and distant.
His laughter under peach blossoms.
His mother's voice calling his name.
His father's journal, buried with dust and truth.
All of it... like dew. Fleeting. Beautiful. Gone.
But this wasn't a place to mourn.
This was a place to become something more.
He turned toward the abandoned park—its cracked stone paths covered in moss, its rusted bars and swings swaying with the breeze. It was forgotten by the world... but for Leon, it was where everything would begin again.
Here, he would forge his body into a blade.
Here, he would embrace the pain.
Here, he would awaken the ancient art whispered in soldier's blood and sweat
Formic Tyrant Fist.
"Like the ant that carries mountains, bend not to fate—but bend fate to your will."
"If becoming a demon is the only way to achive my goal
Then i will laugh becoming one"
Meanwhile, Somewhere Else...
A sudden explosion rocked the back end of Kevin's house.
BOOM!
Dust and smoke erupted from a shattered window, followed by a small fireball that curled into the morning air. Birds scattered. The neighbors' dogs started barking. Inside the kitchen, a frying pan hit the floor with a loud clang.
Out of the smoke stumbled Kevin—his hair frizzed up, face smeared with soot, and clothes burned at the edges. He looked less like a person and more like a failed experiment straight out of a comic strip.
He coughed once, then adjusted his goggles like a scientist who'd just discovered something interesting—possibly how to blow himself up more creatively.
That's when a shoe flew through the air like a missile.
THWACK!
It hit him squarely in the forehead.
"I told you a million times!" a furious voice rang out. "No explosions in this house, Kevin!"
From the hallway, storming through the smoke like a silver-haired goddess of wrath, came Silver—the cold, commanding girl from the T.A.N.O.A.T unit. Dressed casually but with that ever-present aura of intimidation, she crossed her arms and glared.
She was Kevin's roommate.
Kevin raised a finger as if about to explain—but thought better of it.
"...It was a small test. Barely a C-rank detonation," he muttered, brushing ash off his shoulder.
Silver narrowed her eyes. "One more 'small test' like that, and I'm detonating you."
Kevin gulped and gave her a sheepish grin. "Noted.
Sunlight slipped lazily through the half-closed curtains, lighting up the chaos of Kevin's room—wires tangled with socks, a half-built drone on the table, and a cup of noodles forgotten beside a humming laptop.
Silver leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. Her silver hair caught the morning light, eyes slightly narrowed.
"Isn't there usually college today?" she asked casually.
Kevin, sprawled across a beanbag with a screwdriver in one hand and a circuit board in the other, let out a long sigh.
"It's no fun without him."
Silver tilted her head. "Without who?"
"Leon," Kevin said, as if the name explained everything.
Silver blinked, mildly surprised. "You skip college because Leon's not there?"
Kevin sat up, tossing the screwdriver aside. "I'd rather be in a dumpster."
"...Why?"
"He may be cold, emotionally constipated, and totally dismissive of things like morals, good, evil, or, y'know... feelings." Kevin waved his hands dramatically. "But staying with that idot makes your day fun"
"Huh?" Silver raised an eyebrow.
Kevin began pacing, animated now. "We played chess once, okay? I'm not bragging but—my IQ's 320. Triple two-zero, baby. Top-tier. I thought I had him."
"And?"
"He destroyed me. Fifteen moves. Fif. Teen." He held up his fingers for emphasis.
Silver tried not to smirk. "Maybe you underestimated him."
"It wasn't just that." Kevin rubbed his arms like he had goosebumps. "He was smiling while playing—not a normal smile, either. It was like...straight from a horror movie. Like he already saw all my moves before I made them."
He shuddered. "Gave me nightmares for a week. I swear, I still see that look when I close my eyes. Hhhhh..."
Silver chuckled under her breath. "So, you're saying the cold-blooded genius haunts you... over chess?"
Kevin nodded solemnly. "Like a ghost with perfect strategy."
"You're just overexaggerating," Silver said flatly, tying her silver hair into a lazy ponytail before turning and walking out. Kevin looked at her curvaceous figure a pink bliss fluttered in his mind thinking about the things he would do tonight .
The door clicked shut behind her.
"Hmmmmm..."a silence followed Kevin thoughts to respond
He simply stared at the machine on his desk. Lights blinked. Wires pulsed faintly. The scent of burnt solder lingered in the air.
He resumed working, but his hands moved slowly—almost automatically.
Because his thoughts were elsewhere.
Most people... they thought Leon was just a bully.
Cold eyes. Sharp tongue. Isolated.
The kind of guy who picked fights just to prove he could win.
But that was far from the truth.
Only Kevin knew how Leon truly played.
"That guy..." he muttered, almost to himself. "If you had seen him that day ."
"He is Not the loud kind. Not the reckless kind."
Leon was the kind of maniac who watched the world burn with unblinking eyes—because he'd already measured the temperature, the wind direction, the flammability of every piece of wood... and decided the fire was necessary.
He wasn't ruled by rage or revenge.
He didn't believe in justice or evil.
He believed in results.
In survival.
In efficiency.
Leon didn't move unless he saw ten steps ahead. Didn't speak unless silence was no longer useful.
To him, people weren't friends or enemies—they were factors.
Pieces in a calculation.
A means to an end.
Or an obstacle to remove.
Kevin clenched his jaw as he tightened a bolt.
That chess match still haunted him.
He hadn't just lost.
He had been disassembled.
Move by move.
Emotionless. Methodical.
Like Leon wasn't playing to win—but to prove that loss was the only path left open.
Kevin swallowed.
"He's like time itself... cold, calculated, never stopping."
He glanced at the flickering screen.
"Leon doesn't follow the world. He rewrites it—one decision at a time."
A pause.
"And he'll burn the whole system down... if the equation demands it."
The machine beeped softly.
Kevin didn't look up.
He just exhaled.
That why college is boring without him...
[To be continued...]