Chapter Thirteen – Sasuke vs. The Villain The First Hand
He reached the forest.
The transition was abrupt. The last city bus had dropped him at the edge of a nondescript service road, the driver giving him a skeptical look before the doors hissed shut. (Sasuke Kiseki) had shouldered his small backpack—containing water, some basic rations, and the heavy-duty hatchet he'd "borrowed" from the academy's basic tool shed—and plunged into the treeline.
The air changed instantly. The cacophony of the city faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves, the distant call of crows, and the deep, earthy silence of a place largely untouched by human hands. The light filtered down in dappled, green-gold shafts through the dense canopy overhead.
A strange situation was revealed.
He had been walking for about twenty minutes, following the GPS coordinates on his smartwatch to the designated lumber-gathering zone, when he sensed it. Not a sound, but a lack of sound. The forest's ambient noise seemed to retreat, creating a pocket of unnatural stillness.
The young man with spiky black hair looked with his black eyes at the man who appeared to be in his twenties.
The man stood about fifteen meters ahead, leaning casually against the thick trunk of an ancient cedar. He hadn't been there a moment ago, or (Sasuke) had failed to notice him—both possibilities were alarming.
His body was slender and he wore formal, torn clothes.
The outfit was a parody of a suit—dark, pinstriped fabric, but ripped at the knees and elbows, stained with dirt and what looked like old blood. It was theatrical, like a stage costume for a deranged businessman.
In addition to a posture that made him seem like a super villain.
He stood with his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly, observing (Sasuke) with an air of bored amusement. It was a pose designed to intimidate, to declare I am not of your world.
His face was masked with a strange mask in the shape of a clenched hand wrapped around his face.
The mask was made of smooth, pale ceramic or polished bone. It covered the upper half of his face, the fingers of the sculpted hand curling over his forehead and down his temples, the thumb resting near his jaw. It was grotesque, artistic, and deeply unsettling.
Nevertheless, his eyes were sharp and clear from behind the mask.
Two dark, intelligent eyes gleamed from within the gaps between the ceramic fingers. They held no madness, only a cold, calculating interest.
The black-haired young man tried to move but felt the presence of something wrong.
A command from his brain to take a defensive stance didn't translate. His muscles refused to obey.
He could not move any muscle in his body.
It was as if his nervous system had been unplugged. He was standing, breathing, but utterly paralyzed. Not a twitch in his fingers, not a shift in his weight.
He seemed as if he had been frozen at this moment by the man's gaze.
The man's eyes were locked onto his. That was the source. The gaze itself was the weapon.
But not because of fear, but because of something the young man could only realize at the last moment.
The paralysis wasn't psychological. It wasn't terror locking his limbs. It was an external, invasive force holding him in place.
– This scoundrel has definitely used his special ability. I didn't expect to encounter such a problem.
The realization was a cold spike of anger and grudging respect. He'd been ambushed by a power user. A villain.
Even while frozen, the young man was still able to keep his mind working at full capacity to find a way out.
His thoughts raced, a torrent of analysis and strategy behind his paralyzed eyes. Panic was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had to think.
And while working on his idea, he couldn't help but think about how he got into this situation, and all of that happened three hours ago.
His mind, seeking context, rewound the tape.
---
(Sasuke Kiseki) had joined the International Academy after being an orphan all his life.
The memory of the orphanage was a dull, gray ache. A large, cold building filled with other children who had nothing. He had never known his parents.
He was raised in an orphanage, a special orphanage where he had to work even as a child.
Chores. Cleaning. Running errands for the stern caretakers. Childhood was a commodity he couldn't afford.
He always watched children's programs that showed heroes, people who gained the respect of many by saving people.
On the small, grainy television in the common room, he'd seen them: figures in colorful costumes soaring through the sky, punching monsters, being cheered by crowds.
But for (Sasuke), he did not focus on this matter.
The altruism, the applause—it seemed distant, abstract. A fairy tale.
He was focusing on the money.
That was the tangible part. The commercials that aired during those shows, the sponsorships, the merchandise. The heroes lived in penthouses. They had expensive gear, sleek vehicles, fame.
He realized that these heroes possessed a lot of resources, things he could never dream of.
A full stomach. New clothes. A warm bed that was his alone. These were the miracles he witnessed on screen.
Any child with him in this orphanage would not be able to imagine the things these heroes possess.
The gap was so vast it was almost comical. Their problems were saving the world; his were finding an extra bread roll at dinner.
What are the things their children possess?
The thought was a twist of the knife. He imagined hero kids with toys, with tutors, with futures guaranteed by their parents' fame and power.
Therefore, since that time, (Sasuke) trained day and night.
He had nothing but his body and his will. While other kids slept or played, he ran laps in the tiny, weed-choked yard. He did push-ups until his arms trembled. He practiced makeshift martial arts from library books, his movements clumsy but determined.
He had heard about special abilities, those abilities that people acquire which allow them to become superheroes.
The rumors, the news reports, the whispered stories of other orphans who had "awakened" and been taken away to special schools. It was the lottery ticket out of poverty.
He realized that the only way out of poverty was only through possessing a superpower.
It was a brutal, simple equation. In this world, power was currency. Superpower was supreme currency.
So by working and continuous training about doing anything he could reach, whether from magazines that talked about heroes or even conspiracy theories about methods of releasing the human genetic special ability, he was trying anything he could.
He became a scavenger of knowledge. He read discarded tabloids, old scientific journals in the library dumpster, forums on public library computers. He tried meditation, extreme fasting, self-hypnosis—anything that promised to "unlock latent potential."
In the end, he was able to awaken it. He knew that because one day, while he heard children bullying a person who had awakened a weak ability, he looked at him.
The memory was crystal clear. He was ten. A group of older boys were circling a chubby kid in the yard, laughing and shoving him.
That person was just a child who could turn his fingers into suction cups that could suck air.
The boy, tearful and red-faced, held up his hands. His fingertips had transformed into small, pink, rubbery suction cups, like those on a bathroom plunger. He could stick them to walls and make faint pop sounds.
It was a ridiculous ability. Even (Sasuke), who was 10 years old at that time, could only think that.
The bullies' laughter was cruel and relentless.
But his desire to possess an ability made him feel envy at that moment.
He watched, hidden behind a corner, his small fists clenched. That boy had something. Something special, even if it was stupid. And he had done nothing to earn it. He was just… lucky.
He was looking at the hands of that boy, who was a fat boy. That boy seemed disgusted by his power.
The chubby boy was crying, trying to hide his transformed fingers, ashamed of the very thing (Sasuke) would have killed for.
And unlike (Sasuke), he seemed as if he did not appreciate this power.
The injustice of it burned in (Sasuke)'s small chest.
(Sasuke) felt jealous because he knew that this boy had not exerted half the effort he had exerted to obtain a special ability.
He had trained until he bled. This kid had just… been born different.
But at the same time, he felt a strange feeling in his body when he was looking at the child.
As he stared, fixated on those stupid suction-cup fingers, a peculiar sensation bloomed in his own chest. It was a warmth, then a tingling, like static electricity gathering under his skin, focused in his own hands.
Little by little, he began to feel as if he could understand that ability that the child possessed.
It was as if a blueprint was being downloaded directly into his brain.
The special ability – Suction Hand – Effect of the ability – This hand can absorb the surrounding air. It can stick to solid places and also release air outward.
He didn't know why, but this information, as if it had entered his head.
The knowledge arrived not as a guess, but as a certainty. He knew the ability's name, its mechanics, its limitations.
His body shook. (Sasuke) and his hair as if he was choking and his energy was low.
The process was violently draining. The tingling became a painful surge, a spiritual vacuum cleaner attached to his soul. He felt lightheaded, nauseous.
He lost consciousness.
The world faded to black, the bullies' laughter and the chubby boy's sobs the last things he heard.
And the next day, he was in the hospital.
He woke in a sterile white room, an IV in his arm. A kind-looking nurse told him he'd collapsed from exhaustion and malnutrition.
He looked at his hand.
His hand, which had belonged to a ten-year-old child, had turned into things resembling suction cups.
He stared. His right hand, resting on the crisp hospital sheet, was transformed. The fingertips were pink, rubbery, exactly like the boy's from the orphanage yard. He flexed them. They stuck to the sheet with a soft plick sound.
At that moment, (Sasuke) understood his ability. He was able to imitate the ability of another person.
The understanding was instant and profound. He hadn't just copied the appearance; he felt the potential energy coiled within those transformed fingertips. He could use it.
Not only this, but he could even use it.
He focused, and with a thought, he released the suction. A tiny puff of air shot from his fingertip, rustling the sheet.
Ffft.
But how he knew it, he had no idea.
The "how" remained a mystery. It was instinctive, like knowing how to breathe.
The matter was as if information entered his head and his ability told him about the things it could do.
It was an internal dialogue, a user manual written directly into his consciousness upon copying.
The matter was unexpected and strange to the extent that a ten-year-old child could not understand it.
It was terrifying and wonderful. He had become a thief of powers.
But at the same time… (Sasuke) exploded laughing.
A wild, uncontrollable laugh burst from him there in the hospital bed. It was a laugh of triumph, of vindication, of sheer, dizzying joy. The nurses thought he was hysterical.
He had done it. He had a power. A real power. And not just any power—one that could grow, could adapt, could become anything.
---
Six years later.
Finally, he joined the International Academy. He will begin his path towards success.
The grind had been immense. Honing his body, secretly testing his ability on low-level thugs and minor villains he sought out, always careful to avoid attention. He'd copied a handful of minor abilities: a weak pyrokinesis that could light a cigarette, a minor toughness enhancement, the Suction Hand.
He had obtained the information he wanted. He became a student in this International Academy for training superheroes.
The acceptance letter had felt like a coronation. The first real step on the ladder he was destined to climb.
(Sasuke) heard all the things that (Genos), one of the strong heroes in Tokyo city, said and knew that he had become Rank D.
The A-Rank hero's speech had been background noise. The rank was meaningless. A label. He would shed it as quickly as a snake sheds its skin.
But he did not care about the matter because it was just a beginning.
The next day, he had made his decision to obtain a mission that would allow him to rise.
He scoured the mission board, not for the safe, pathetic D-Rank chores, but for something with a higher yield, something that hinted at potential conflict, potential targets.
He found a mission.
– Go to the southern forest and collect ten different and heavy wooden pieces.
–Reward – 500 points.
It was a very high reward for missions of Rank D.
The point value was an anomaly. It suggested the work was physically demanding, perhaps in a hazardous zone, or that the materials were somehow special. Perfect.
Therefore, he did not think much and decided to take it.
He accepted it immediately, the digital stamp flashing on his watch.
He went directly and crossed the city using transportation.
The bus ride was long and monotonous. He spent it mentally reviewing the abilities he currently held: Suction Hand, Minor Pyrokinesis, Low-Grade Toughness Enhancement. He needed more. Stronger ones.
And finally, after arriving at the forest, he was about to begin work.
He hefted the hatchet, feeling its solid weight. The mission was a pretext. The real goal was to test himself, to maybe find a rogue ability user in the wild to copy.
Even he activated his special ability (Skillful Replicator).
He didn't name his ability. It was as if it was imprinted in his heart. He was able to know the name the moment he activated this ability.
A soft, internal hum, a sense of a door opening within his mind. It was always active on a low level, a scanner waiting for a signal.
He activated his ability and began thinking about an ability he had seen before.
He focused, recalling the feeling, the metaphysical "signature" of a power he'd copied from a minor enforcer he'd ambushed months ago.
The Sharpening Enhancement.
This ability allowed him to enhance any sharp weapon he held.
It was a simple but effective support power. It made blades keener, points sharper.
He had brought a hatchet with him to use it to cut these trees.
The tool was just a means to an end, but now it could be a weapon.
At the same time, before he began work, he felt a strange feeling.
It was a primal itch at the base of his skull, a tightening of the skin. A sensation a human can feel when facing mortal danger.
His instincts, honed by years of street fights and cautious living, screamed.
But at the same time, his reaction was fast enough to jump away.
He didn't think; he moved. His legs coiled and he launched himself sideways, a desperate, graceless dive.
Whoosh. Thud.
The place where he was had been subjected to a hidden strike, and in one moment, a crack appeared on the earthen ground.
Where he had been standing a half-second before, the forest floor erupted. Dirt, leaves, and small stones flew into the air as if an invisible fist had slammed down from above. A shallow crater, about a meter wide, was now gouged into the earth.
CRACK-BOOM.
He looked at the direction from which that attack came and his black eyes became sharper.
Rolling to his feet, hatchet still in hand, he locked his gaze on the treeline from where the attack had originated. His eyes, dark and intense, narrowed, searching for movement in the shadows.
"Who are you? Show yourself immediately!"
He said that in a loud voice. He was waiting for the attacker to appear or at least to know why he was attacking me.
His voice echoed slightly in the silent clearing, swallowed by the trees.
At the same time, he prepared his special ability to use it. I am still retaining the ability (The Sharpening Enhancement) while holding the hatchet I brought with me.
He focused, channeling the energy. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer ran along the hatchet's blade, the edge seeming to grow impossibly keen, humming with a subtle, dangerous energy.
Hmmmm…
I did not expect that I would use it for self-defense, but after holding it, I felt a little relieved.
The familiar weight of the enhanced weapon was a comfort. It was something he could control.
In the next second, he heard a sound resembling the movement of trees from the western direction.
Rustle. Crack.
Not the wind. Something heavier, moving with purpose.
I turned to that direction and raised the hatchet precisely.
His body moved with a trained economy of motion. He hadn't had a teacher, but he had practiced these stances in the orphanage yard a thousand times.
I had trained my body until I could perform these movements easily. I did not have a teacher, but I was able to train my combat skills to a good level and my reactions.
"Your reaction speed is surprisingly good. But you're still slow."
He heard the voice coming from behind him.
The voice was calm, mocking, and it originated from a point directly where his own shadow would fall.
And in the next moment, he could only try to turn to use the hatchet to cut the target he had not yet seen.
He spun, a fast, horizontal slash aimed at waist level, the enhanced hatchet blade cutting the air with a sharp swish.
But before that could happen, a hand extended and grabbed his shoulder.
It appeared from his blind spot. A pale, slender hand in a torn suit sleeve.
At that moment, he felt that his body was very light.
A tremendous, effortless force lifted him. His feet left the ground.
He was carried with his entire weight and thrown a distance of five meters in the air.
The world became a disorienting blur of sky and trees. The grip on his shoulder was like a steel clamp.
Whoosh—!
– Does he possess an enhancement ability? What the hell? And why is he attacking me?
The questions flashed through his mind even as he sailed through the air.
Even with this confused question, (Sasuke) did not hesitate.
Mid-air, with the ground rushing up to meet him, he activated his ability (Skillful Replicator) and activated a different ability (Suction Hands).
The transformation was instantaneous. His hands, still gripping the hatchet, morphed. The skin turned a faint pink, the fingers flattening slightly, developing concentric circles on the pads.
He concentrated the suction power in his hand onto one of the trees.
Focusing on a thick oak trunk he was flying past, he slapped his transformed palm against it.
In one moment, the air was compressed and his hand stuck to the tree.
THWAP-PLICK!
A loud, rubbery sound echoed. The suction held fast, arresting his flight violently. His arm wrenched in its socket with a painful pop, but he grit his teeth and held on.
He held onto the tree and looked down.
He was dangling about three meters off the ground, stuck to the trunk like a bizarre, human-sized insect.
At the same moment, (The First Hand) opened his eyes and said, amazed:
"What is this ability you have? I expected you to have a strength-enhancing ability, not the ability to transform your body!"
The villain stood where he had been, looking up at (Sasuke) with genuine curiosity. The earlier boredom was gone, replaced by the keen interest of a collector finding an unexpected specimen.
(Sasuke) was not going to waste time and said in an angry voice:
"Who are you, you scoundrel? And why are you attacking me?"
(The First Hand) did not answer this question, but he smiled behind the mask that resembled a clenched hand.
The ceramic mask couldn't show a smile, but the crinkling around his eyes and the tilt of his head conveyed amusement.
He took out two knives in his hand and looked at (Sasuke) and said in a malicious tone:
"Nothing. I just like playing with little kids. And you are interesting. So I will see what you have."
He twirled the twin blades, their edges catching dappled sunlight. The game, it seemed, was just beginning. The frozen paralysis from earlier had been an opening move. Now, the villain was ready to play in earnest.
(Sasuke), dangling from the tree, his shoulder throbbing, his mind racing through his small arsenal of copied abilities, glared down at his masked opponent. The mission for lumber was forgotten. A new, more dangerous mission had presented itself: survive, and if possible, copy the power that could freeze a person with a glance.
The forest, once silent, now thrummed with the tension of a burgeoning duel between a replicator and a stasis-wielder.
---
──────────────────────
End of Chapter.
──────────────────────
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading this flashback/action interlude,witnessing the protagonist's first canonical clash. Your engagement is the enhancement ability that sharpens this story's edge. ❤️ :)
──────────────────────