Some time later, the trio had left the city far behind. Their destination wasn't some fancy training hall or hidden base—it was a rusted, half-forgotten junkyard sprawled across the outskirts. Broken cars, twisted metal, and heaps of shattered appliances stretched as far as Charles could see, jagged silhouettes rising against the pale evening sky.
It smelled of oil and rust, and every crunch of gravel underfoot echoed like they were trespassers in a graveyard of machines.
Charles tugged at the heavy bracelet clamped tightly around his wrist, its cold surface digging into his skin. "What the hell is this thing, anyway?" he muttered.
Mimosa, leaning casually against a rusted fridge, flicked her bangs out of her face. "That's a suppressor. Lowers your Zenith Energy signature. Right now, you leak energy like a busted faucet—makes you easy to track. With that on, you're invisible to most sensors."
Charles frowned, flexing his fingers. "Feels like a shackle."
"That's because it is one," Mimosa shot back without sympathy. "Until you've got control, it stays on."
Meanwhile, Loid stood silently across from Charles, his mask's eternal grin reflecting the dull orange light of the setting sun. He hadn't moved since they arrived—just stood there, waiting, still as a statue.
Charles's stomach knotted. He already knew what this meant.
Mimosa pushed herself off the fridge, stretching like a coach about to blow the whistle. "Alright, newbie, here's the deal. Zenith Energy reacts to emotion—fear, anger, determination. Combat is one of the fastest ways to trigger it. That's why we brought you here."
Charles's eyes widened. "Wait—you mean I'm fighting him?" He pointed at Loid, his voice cracking.
Mimosa smirked. "Bingo. Loid doesn't talk much, but don't let that fool you—he'll wipe the floor with you if you slack. Your job isn't to win. Your job is to wake something up."
Charles's pulse quickened, sweat dampening his palms. "That's insane. I don't even know what my Zenith does yet!"
"Exactly." Mimosa's voice was sharp, cutting through his panic. "That's why you need this. You're not going to figure out what 'Bubble' means sitting around whining. Sometimes abilities awaken when your back's against the wall. Sink or swim, kid."
Loid finally shifted, his movements precise, deliberate. He raised his arms into a loose combat stance—not aggressive, not rushed, but patient, like a predator waiting for prey to make the first mistake.
Charles took an uneasy step back, his heart hammering in his chest. The silence of the junkyard pressed down on him, broken only by the sound of metal groaning in the breeze.
Mimosa clapped her hands once, her tone almost playful. "Alright, Charles. Lesson one: don't die. Lesson two: keep moving. Lesson three…" Her smirk widened. "…try not to embarrass yourself."
The air grew tense, heavy with anticipation.
Loid's masked gaze locked onto Charles, and in that moment, Charles knew—this wasn't just training. This was a trial by combat.
Loid didn't waste time. The instant Mimosa gave the signal, he blurred forward like a shadow springing to life. His right fist swung in a clean, brutal arc—a textbook hook, except this one wasn't normal.
As the blow closed in, Charles's eyes widened in horror. Loid's knuckles shimmered, wrapped in a faint yellow glow. Energy radiated off the strike like heat from an open flame.
"W–wait—!" Charles barely had time to raise his arms in defense.
The punch connected with the side of his torso, and the world exploded.
Charles felt the impact tear through him like a sledgehammer, the shockwave rattling his bones. His feet left the ground, and in the blink of an eye, he was airborne—slammed backwards across the junkyard before crashing into a pile of broken metal with a thunderous clang!
Dust rose into the air, and for a moment, the only sound was Charles's ragged coughing. He tasted iron in his mouth, every nerve in his body screaming.
Mimosa's voice cut sharp through the silence. "Loid! What the hell did I just say? No Zenith Reinforcement!"
Loid paused, lowering his glowing fist. He tilted his head as though acknowledging the scolding, then raised his phone to type a quick response. The robotic voice echoed:
"Understood."
But just as he moved to step back, something caught his attention.
Loid froze, staring at his own hand. His brows—though hidden behind the mask—must have furrowed, because he lifted it closer to examine.
A translucent shimmer clung stubbornly to his knuckles. At first it looked like a trick of the light, but no—the more he turned his wrist, the clearer it became. A bubble.
It clung to him like gum stuck to skin, refusing to budge.
Loid flicked his hand sharply, then tried wiping it against his pants. Nothing. The small sphere wobbled but didn't pop, anchored to him by some invisible force.
For the first time, Loid's posture shifted from composed calm to visible hesitation. He stared at the bubble, then slowly lifted his masked face toward Charles.
Charles groaned as he pulled himself out of the scrap heap, holding his ribs. His body ached, but his eyes locked on Loid's confusion.
"…Wait," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Did… did I do that?"
The bubble pulsed faintly, catching the sunlight, like proof of something impossibly fragile—and impossibly real.
Loid tilted his head again, the permanent grin of his mask aimed at Charles. There was no way to see his expression, but Charles swore he could feel it—an unspoken question radiating from the silent fighter.
Mimosa's eyes widened, her usual cocky smirk slipping into something sharper, more serious. She pushed herself off her perch and took a step forward.
"Well, well…" she muttered. "Looks like the brat's finally showing signs of his Zenith."
Charles's heart pounded, his mind reeling. The word echoed in his skull louder than ever before:
Bubble.
And now… it was real.
The bubble clinging to Loid's hand suddenly began to distort. Its smooth, fragile surface rippled unnaturally, stretching and warping as though some unseen force was building inside.
Then—
POP!
The bubble burst with a deafening crack, releasing a shockwave that rattled the junkyard. Loid staggered back several steps, his arm flung to the side by the unexpected blast. Dust swirled around his boots as he dug in, regaining balance, his masked face tilted in what could only be confusion.
Charles's jaw dropped. His heart raced in disbelief. Did I… just knock him back?
Mimosa raised an eyebrow, smirking despite herself. "Hoh? That actually packed a punch."
Charles, still clutching his ribs, stared at his trembling hands. "I… I don't even know how I did that…"
But his body seemed to know what his mind didn't. Almost instinctively, more bubbles began forming around him—small, translucent orbs of energy hovering in the air like fragile glass marbles. They shimmered faintly, pulsing with life.
Charles looked at Loid, then glanced at one of the bubbles near his hand. A thought struck him, half-desperate, half-experimental. Slowly, he raised his hand, shaping his fingers into the crude mimic of a pistol.
"...Bang," he whispered under his breath.
At the tip of his finger, a bubble materialized instantly. Without hesitation, he snapped his hand forward like he was firing an invisible gun.
The bubble shot out with startling speed, whistling through the air before slamming into Loid's chest.
Loid's body jerked back slightly at the impact. His aura flared gold as he instinctively reinforced his body with Zenith Energy—but something was off. The bubble didn't simply pop against his barrier.
It clung.
The bubble spun wildly against him, whining with an eerie hum. Not like a bullet piercing flesh… but like a blade grinding against armor. Sparks of friction danced in Loid's peripheral vision as the sphere screeched with pressure.
Mimosa's smirk faded into genuine intrigue. "Not bad… it doesn't pierce, but it shreds. That's dangerous."
Loid, ever silent, lowered his gaze to the bubble. His hand slipped into his coat, pulling out his phone. With quick taps, he triggered the text-to-speech.
"Observation: Bubble projectile spins at high velocity. Edge effect—similar to miniature buzzsaw."
Charles's eyes widened. "Wait… you're saying I just—"
The bubble finally dissipated with a faint hiss, but the marks it left behind on Loid's reinforced aura were clear: thin, hairline scratches, proof that the energy had actually cut at his defense.
Charles's throat went dry. He could barely process it. My Zenith… my word… Bubble… it's not useless. It's… a weapon?
Mimosa stepped closer, her grin returning, sharper than ever. "Looks like the joke's on you, Charles. 'Bubble' might not sound flashy, but with the right interpretation…"
She jabbed a thumb toward Loid's chest, where the faint scratches still lingered.
"…you've got something that can chew through defenses most rookies wouldn't even dent."
Charles stared down at his hands, his pulse hammering in his ears. The once meaningless word—Bubble—suddenly didn't feel so meaningless anymore.