The first thing I did after leaving the school wasn't to rush anywhere, or to test my bow against the sky, or even to think deeply about Avengers or villains.
No—my stomach growled.
So I stopped at a small roadside outlet and bought a veg cheese burger.
The warmth of the wrapped bun pressed against my fingers as I held it, the melted cheese already leaking slightly at the edges. My first bite was simple, ordinary—but after everything that had happened in the past one day, it tasted strangely grounding. The crunch of lettuce, the soft bun, the melted layer of cheese—all of it reminded me that even though I carried divine blessings, I was still living in a world where food, laughter, and simple pleasures mattered.
I chewed slowly as I walked, making my way toward a place hidden from the bustling crowd. Somewhere quiet, where no eyes would follow me, where I could test myself without fear of discovery.
And it was in one of those places that my steps stopped.
Because there, in a narrow alley half hidden by shadows, was something else entirely.
Five men.
They were large, muscular, every inch of them covered in black—black jackets, black trousers, even black masks pulled over their faces. They stood like hunters surrounding their prey, and their prey was a man in an expensive suit. The rich man's shoes gleamed, his gold watch caught the faint light, but none of that helped him now. His hands shook as he held a pen against a document one of them shoved at his chest.
"Sign it," the leader ordered, voice low, muffled, but heavy with threat.
The suited man trembled violently.
I froze mid-step, burger forgotten halfway to my mouth.
My first instinct surged like fire: step in, save him.
But another thought, colder, pressed harder. Who was really the guilty one here? Were these black-clothed men forcing him unfairly—or was this man, with his polished shoes and trembling hands, the sort who had bled others dry until his victims finally decided to strike back?
My lips tightened. The Marvel world was not clean. Villains were not always wrong, and heroes did not always punish the guilty.
For several heartbeats, I hesitated.
And then one of the masked men noticed me.
His head snapped toward me. His eyes narrowed. His hand dipped beneath his coat and came back with a gun raised high.
"You saw what you shouldn't," he said coldly.
The trigger snapped.
BANG!
The sound alone shattered the rich man's nerve. He dropped instantly, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, unconscious before his body hit the ground.
And the bullet—it was mine to receive.
It tore through the air in a blink, faster than I could even think.
It struck my chest—
And the Kavach answered.
Golden light flared for a heartbeat, invisible yet undeniable. The bullet folded instantly, as if its metal body were nothing more than thin paper caught in a fist. It fell, useless, clinking against the concrete.
The shooter froze, disbelief written even in the sliver of his eyes visible behind the mask.
"What…?"
The others turned, their formation breaking in shock.
"He… he blocked it?"
"No, it bent—did you see—"
But their confusion twisted quickly. Fear was replaced by something more dangerous: greed.
The leader's lips curled upward. He stepped forward, eyes gleaming like a wolf.
"Well, well. Looks like we've caught a big fish," he said, laughter spilling harshly from behind his mask. "Forget the paper. This is better. That cover, that armor—whatever it is—it's ours. We'll rip it from him, kill him, and take it. Who cares about this useless brat? A waste."
The others echoed his laughter, closing in.
And I laughed too. Low. Cold.
This really is Marvel.
They thought the Kavach was a jacket. Something to strip away, something to sell, something to own. They didn't know it was more than armor. It was my soul. It could never be removed.
"You think you can take it?" I said softly. "Try."
The leader snarled and raised his gun again.
But my hand was already rising.
Golden light shimmered, spilling from my wrist, gathering into form. The Bow manifested, divine and radiant, its limbs gleaming like sunlight captured in metal. The string hummed faintly, thrumming with power as if it had always been waiting.
The men faltered, eyes wide at the sight. But the leader steadied himself with greed, leveling his weapon at my forehead.
"Die!"
Bang!
The bullet screamed toward my skull.
I pulled the string. Fire gathered at my fingertips, coiling into a blazing arrow—the Agni Astra. Heat shimmered in the narrow alley, suffocating, endless. I loosed.
The flaming arrow surged forward.
But my aim was still raw. Untrained. It veered wide, missing the bullet entirely.
The round struck my forehead—
—and folded instantly, crumpling against the unseen glow of the Kavach. It bounced away, harmless, falling to the ground like scrap.
At the same time, the arrow found its mark—not in flesh, not in bone, but in cloth.
The Astra kissed their black clothes, and fire bloomed.
"Ahhh—!"
"It burns—!"
Flames raced across fabric, eating sleeves, crawling up trousers, licking at masks. The five staggered, slapping at themselves desperately, panic breaking their unity. The heat was divine, refusing to fade, clinging like judgment.
The leader screamed, ripping his jacket off and throwing it to the ground. Another tore at his mask, coughing as smoke stung his eyes. One stumbled back into the wall, crashing against brick in a frenzy to smother the fire.
Chaos consumed them.
And then courage broke.
"Retreat!" one shouted hoarsely.
They didn't fight further.
They turned and ran.
Shoes pounded against concrete as they scattered, fleeing into the distance. Their curses and screams echoed for a few moments, then faded into silence, leaving only the smell of burnt cloth hanging heavy in the alley.
I lowered the bow slowly. The golden limbs dimmed, dissolving back into light until only the faint mark at my wrist remained.
The suited man still lay unconscious on the ground, completely unaware of what had unfolded.
I looked at the folded bullets lying on the pavement—one flattened from my chest, another from my forehead. Both powerless against the Kavach.
My chest rose and fell steadily. But inside, I was unsettled.
I had been too impulsive. My arrow hadn't hit its true mark. My control was weak. Worse still, I hadn't covered my face. Anyone watching would have seen everything: the bow, the flames, the divine armor.
I glanced at the unconscious man once more. Whatever sins he carried, whatever deals he had made, it wasn't my concern tonight. He would wake, shaken but alive.
I turned and left the alley, my steps heavy, my mood darker.
The burger I'd been holding lay on the ground, half-squashed, stained with dirt and smoke. I didn't bother picking it up. The hunger I'd felt earlier had long since burned away, replaced by the heavy taste of ash in my mouth.
By the time I reached my car, the thought weighed heavy in me:
I had shown myself too soon.
And I hated how careless it felt.
I started the engine, pulling into the road, heading back home with the weight of flame still burning in my chest.
The city roared around me as if nothing had happened. But I knew better.