For a long moment, no one moved.
Every gaze in the truck was locked on Ratty.
The speed was unreal.
Cores didn't drain like that.
They couldn't.
Marcus broke the silence first, voice low and measured.
"The faster the drain, the higher the conversion rate." He let the words hang in the air. "He didn't just take the energy—he used it."
Noah leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"First time touching a core… and he absorbed a full one completely?"
Ethan let out a shaky laugh. "You mean that was his first? Damn."
The implication settled heavily in the cab.
Every one of them knew what it meant.
The human body was a vessel.
Only a vessel of immense capacity could hold and process that much raw power so efficiently.
Noah exhaled slowly, the sound loud in the quiet.
"Base-wide, maybe one in a thousand. Awakening with that capacity means all he needs now is refinement and control."
The others exchanged glances. They were all field-born fighters—rough, self-taught, living on instinct.
They'd heard that the great families used detailed tests to measure an Esper's potential, but none of them had ever been evaluated.
Even so, they could tell: whatever that scale was, Ratty's talent would rank far above theirs.
He was the most gifted fighter any of them had ever seen.
Caleb whistled low. "So he's the real deal."
Marcus nodded once. "And young. That makes him even more valuable."
Damian wasn't surprised.
Not really.
He looked at the silver-haired figure slumped in the seat, chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
Of course, he thought. He's the one. The future Overlord. The man who once ruled the Absolute Death Domain.
Ratty stirred, eyelids fluttering open.
When his gray eyes focused and saw everyone staring, he froze—then pressed himself back against the seat, a cornered animal assessing its captors.
Damian grinned and caught his shoulder.
"Do you know what you are?" Damian's voice was bright with fierce excitement. "You're a damn genius."
The body under his hand jerked, muscles locking tight in instinctive defense—then, after a heartbeat, slowly relaxed.
Ratty's gaze flicked toward him, complicated and unreadable. His mind raced, a torrent of calculation and ingrained suspicion.
Life had never been kind.
From the day he was born, he had grown up like a wild thing—scavenging, fighting, enduring.
Born a bastard of the Ashbourne family, thrown out the moment they saw no Esper signs.
They hadn't just forgotten him; they'd made sure he stayed forgotten.
He had survived by luck, by tooth and nail, and by nothing more.
And now this man—this soldier—had pulled him out of the gutter.
Fed him.
Given him a chance to awaken.
He didn't trust it.
No one gave something for nothing.
This Damian Cross must have his own reasons—his own plans. Maybe even bad ones.
But the food was real.
The awakening was real.
The power humming under his skin was real.
And for now, that was enough.
If the man had ulterior motives, so be it.
Ratty decided he would endure it.
Marcus and Noah exchanged a look.
This wasn't just luck.
Damian had brought back something extraordinary.
"How old are you?" Noah asked, pulling a half-glowing core from his pack.
"Take it. You might be the youngest A-rank I've ever seen."
Ratty accepted it carefully.
The moment his fingers closed around the crystal, the light went out—turning gray, then collapsing into dust.
A deeper silence followed.
Heavy. Awed. A little afraid.
"Eighteen," Ratty whispered, staring at the ash in his palm.
Caleb blinked. "Eighteen? No wonder you're built like a scarecrow."
Then it clicked. "You probably haven't eaten a full meal in years."
Marcus leaned forward, voice steady. "What's your name?"
Ratty hesitated, then looked at Damian—the man who had given him food, power, and danger in equal measure.
He didn't owe him honesty, but he needed something to hold onto, something the world couldn't take away the next morning.
"My name is Adrian," he said quietly, his voice steadying as the words took shape.
"Adrian Cross."Just a name he was borrowing—for now.
At least until he made it back alive.