The night air hit Jason like a cold splash, sharp and a little damp, smelling faintly of gasoline and old trash. He stepped out of the gas station's buzzing neon glow and into the muted darkness of the street. The plastic bag in his hand felt heavy, its contents shifting as he walked—mostly cheap snacks and a bottle of water.
The shades were tucked inside his hoodie pocket, smooth and cool against his fingers. He hadn't planned on taking them, but when he saw them hanging on that cheap display rack by the door, they'd practically called his name.
His heart was still pounding, not from fear but from the weird rush of what he'd just done. Blue.
The flash of invisible force that ripped the crowbar from the robber's grip. The way the man crumpled to the floor, eyes wide with shock. No one else saw it. No one even looked his way. Jason had slipped out like a shadow, a thief with a prize and a secret.
He took a long breath, pulling the shades out and sliding them on. The lenses were darker than black, swallowing light. The world around him shifted—the harsh streetlights dulled, colors bleeding into shadows.
"Perfect," he muttered.
He turned down a side street, letting the shadows swallow him. The city felt different wearing those glasses. He didn't look like the guy who just knocked a robber flat. He looked like someone who belonged in the background—just another face lost in the crowd.
Back at his apartment, the air was stale and heavy. The place smelled like old smoke and sweat. He tossed the shades onto the cracked leather couch and sank down next to them.
His stomach rumbled again. He tore into a sandwich like it was his last meal, but even as he chewed, his mind replayed the robbery. The rusted crowbar, the man's desperate yell, the snap of Blue knocking him down.
Blue worked better than he'd expected. Not because he had more cursed energy—he could see in perfect detail, every particle and flow, thanks to the Six Eyes. The energy felt endless, limitless, never draining no matter how long he focused. But it was the control, the precision, that blew him away.
He could do this. Not just fight, but bend the world around him.
Morning came with harsh sunlight leaking through the blinds. Jason pulled on his hoodie and the stolen glasses, then headed to the empty parking lot behind his building.
A crumpled soda can caught his eye. He focused, pulling at it gently. It slid forward, scraping the pavement. Easy.
Next, he targeted a rusty dumpster. The metal groaned as he pulled, the entire container moving just enough to make his teeth grit at the noise
For hours, he pushed himself. No tiredness from cursed energy—his Six Eyes gave him perfect control which made him spend close to 0 curse energy. But the mental effort was real. Concentrating on every tiny shift, every force vector, every reaction took its toll.
By midday, he was sweating, muscles aching from the strain. He left the lot and climbed the stairs back to his apartment, head pounding slightly
Sitting on the couch, he stared at the glasses beside him. If he could do all this, what else was possible?
No one else knew about his power. No one had a clue. And he intended to keep it that way