Two days had passed since Queens became a slaughterhouse gallery.
Max walked the evening streets of lower Manhattan, hoodie up, hands buried in pockets, the familiar paper bag folded and tucked inside his spatial ring like a guilty secret.
Midnight had come and gone twice.
Two more AP.
Two thousand stat points.
Evenly distributed, as always.
**[Name: Max Morgan]**
**Strength: 1000**
**Vitality: 1000**
**Mana: 1000**
**Endurance: 1000**
**Agility: 1000**
A thousand in every stat.
Numbers that would make S-rank guild aces look like children.
Numbers he still hid behind slouched shoulders and downcast eyes.
He felt the difference in every breath. The air itself seemed slower, thicker. A falling leaf drifted past like it was suspended in syrup. He could hear individual heartbeats in the crowd if he listened.
And he hated it.
Because none of it filled the hollow space behind his ribs.
A voice cut through the sidewalk noise, bright and unmistakable.
"Hey, Paper Face."
Max stopped dead.
Lila Voss leaned against a lamppost ten feet ahead, arms folded, grease-stained overalls swapped for a clean denim jacket and cargo pants. Her curly hair was pulled back, freckles sharp in the orange streetlight. She lifted a hand in a lazy wave, as if greeting an old friend instead of an urban legend who'd decorated Queens with forty meters of frozen snake.
Max's first instinct was to vanish—rooftop leap, blur into the crowd, gone.
He didn't.
Something in her eyes (curious, not afraid, not greedy) held him in place.
"I'm not here to scream your name or call the news drones," she said quickly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. "Promise. I just… wanted to talk."
Max's voice came out low, rough. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Bullshit." She smiled, small and crooked. "You saved my ass, saved a whole family, then turned a 4-star boss into modern art. That's a lot of something."
He glanced around. No one paying attention. Yet.
"Why are you here, Lila?"
She shrugged. "Because you looked lonely as hell out there. And because I'm not planning to rat you out, sell you out, or betray you. Scout's honor." She held up three fingers in mock salute.
Max almost laughed. Almost.
"You don't even know me."
"I know you could've let me die and no one would've blamed you. Instead you dropped in like a meteor and punched a snake-man's head into paste. That counts."
He stared at her, searching for the lie, the angle, the knife behind the smile.
Alex's memories whispered: *They always sound sincere right before the betrayal.*
"How can I trust you?" he asked, voice flat.
Lila's smile faded into something serious. "You can't. Not yet. Trust isn't a switch, it's a muscle. You flex it or it atrophies. I get why yours is shriveled." She gestured at the city around them. "But I'm not asking for blind faith. I'm asking for a chance to prove I'm not an asshole."
Max was quiet so long she started to fidget.
Finally: "How exactly do you plan to help me? You're weak."
The words weren't cruel; they were simple fact. She'd barely survived trash mobs.
Lila's cheeks colored, but she didn't deny it. "Yeah. I am. Right now. That's why I want to get stronger—with or without you. Preferably with, because you're terrifying and I'd rather be on your side than in your way."
Max studied her for another heartbeat.
Then he moved—faster than human eyes could track—grabbing her wrist and pulling her into a narrow service alley between two buildings. The world blurred; one moment sidewalk, the next shadowed brick and the distant hum of traffic.
Lila stumbled, caught herself against the wall, eyes wide. "Holy—"
Max released her instantly. From his spatial ring he produced a fist-sized crystal pulsing with sickly green light—the Naga boss core, unabsorbed, raw power condensed into a gem worth a fortune on the open market.
He pressed it into her hand.
Lila stared at it, then at him. "This is…"
"4-star boss core. Absorb it. Break your limits. Evolve your skills. Grind until you stop being a liability." His voice was cold steel. "When you can stand in the same room as me without shaking, then talk to me about helping."
She closed her fingers around the core like it was made of glass and dreams. "Max…"
He was already turning away. "Don't follow me. Don't look for me. Get strong. That's the only way this conversation ever happens again."
Lila opened her mouth—thanks, protest, something—but he was gone, a flicker of motion vanishing around the corner.
She stood alone in the alley, clutching the core to her chest, heartbeat hammering loud enough to drown out the city.
Max emerged onto his street minutes later, hood still up, hands in pockets, every step measured to look normal.
He stopped.
Leaning against the lobby door of his apartment building was a familiar figure in Vanguard tactical gear—tall, auburn hair tied back, Inferno Spear collapsed and clipped to her belt.
Elena Morgan turned as he approached, and her face broke into the brightest smile he'd seen in months.
"Hey, squirt," she said, voice cracking just a little. "I'm home."
Max's carefully constructed mask—the loner, the unawakened little brother, the boy who needed protecting—wavered for the first time in years.
Because Elena was here.
And the city already reeked of blood and frost that hadn't been there when she left.