June stood still.
The wind whipped his hair in wild directions, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were tangled, more restless than the breeze. He ran a hand through his hair for the fifth time, frustration mounting beneath a calm exterior.
Maybe he had done what was necessary today. Maybe.
But then—
That conversation.
The well-dressed stranger named Jean.
"Neavu Ritual School," he had said. Like it was some kind of prestigious academy. But the way he said it—it carried weight, even if the words didn't make sense.
June shook his head and brushed it away. No need to dwell on the words of a lunatic.
The partially ruined college loomed behind him, broken glass catching the last glimmers of sunlight. A monument to confusion. And failure.
He exhaled deeply and slipped off his blazer, revealing a white long-sleeved shirt beneath, its sleeves tugged slightly at the elbows. The wind calmed. The trees swayed gently, the world breathing slower for a moment.
Then—
The air shifted.
It came like a pressure drop. He felt it before he saw it.
His spine stiffened. His nostrils flared. The hairs on the back of his neck stood like warning sirens.
He turned sharply.
Behind him: the cemetery. Still. Silent. Empty.
Nothing.
His shoulders relaxed—until he caught it.
A flicker.
An ember sparked from nowhere, glowing in the fading dusk.
It pulsed once. Then twice.
June squinted at it, confused—then panic took over.
The ember exploded.
The world ignited. Fire erupted like a roar from a dragon's mouth, engulfing tombstones, swallowing silence. He was flung backward, the force cracking the air. Smoke, ash, and heat collided into chaos.
From the center of the inferno, a man emerged.
His face was obscured with ink-like markings that moved slightly as if breathing. His navy-blue cloak fluttered behind him like a banner of war. A narrow cap cast shadows over his eyes, though they glimmered faintly underneath.
"It seems my work here is done..." he murmured, almost bored. "Didn't expect this one to slip through."
He removed his cap, wiping sweat from his brow with the weariness of someone used to blood. "The ritual is complete. They can move to the next stage."
He turned to walk—
"Whoa!"
The man froze, his breath catching.
From above, a voice rang out like casual thunder.
"So you're the one behind these incidents, huh?"
He snapped his head up.
Hovering in midair, Jean stood with a lopsided grin, one hand clutching a dazed June like he weighed nothing.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"And you are?"
"I'm Jean," he said, as if the name carried universal weight.
June, flailing a little in the air, blinked rapidly. "HOW are we 20 feet in the air!?"
"Because of me," Jean replied, nonchalantly.
The marked man didn't humor their banter. He snapped his fingers into a gun-like gesture and pointed—
Only for Jean to vanish.
A breath later, he reappeared behind him.
June fell to the ground with a gentle thump, catching himself.
The man turned with wide eyes.
Jean lifted his hand. Blood dripped from the end of it.
The man looked at his own arm. It was gone.
"You use sigils, right?" Jean tilted his head. "And this arm... held your essence."
The man stumbled backward, clutching the stump. "Damn you—!"
Jean was already moving. His next step closed the gap, too fast to track.
Darkness.
The essence user's vision blurred, faded to black.
When it returned, Jean stood before him, grinning beneath his hoodie.
"Wow," Jean laughed, "you're lucky I didn't go for your spine. You'd be nothing but a red puddle."
The essence user coughed, slowly rising to one knee.
This guy... he's different.
Faster. Stronger. But it wasn't just physical. There was something natural about it. Like gravity.
"If that's the case... I'll flush all my essence."
The air warped.
Jean's smile dimmed. He felt it too—an unnatural heat crawling up his skin.
The man gritted his teeth, throwing out his hand.
"Natural Art: ATMOSPHERIC COMBUSTION!"
The world exploded again—but not with fire.
The heat intensified, warping space itself. An orb of ignition formed above them, expanding rapidly like a sun being born.
Jean looked to June, then raised a hand.
"Spiritual Art: MULTIPLICATION."
The space between them and the explosion stretched like elastic. June gasped as the world around him distorted, the bomb's impact zone now 500 feet away.
The orb detonated—harmlessly far from them.
The essence user stared, sweat pouring down his face.
"What... what kind of art is that...?"
Jean didn't answer. He pressed his palms together, whispering a strange mantra.
"Palpable... eyes weary of everything and every movement... crush under your weight."
The pressure in the air shifted.
The essence user fell, clutching his chest. Something unseen wrapped around him—a weight not physical, but perceptual. As if existence itself was pressing down on him.
He tried to crawl.
The clouds above spiraled, folding inward.
His arm twisted. Bones cracked and screamed.
"SPLAT!!"
Blood. Flesh. Silence.
What was left of him scattered across the pavement in a pastel horror show.
June stared, mouth open, mind numb.
Jean dusted off his hands, casual.
"Wh–What the hell was that!?"
Jean chuckled and rubbed his eyes under the hoodie. "An essence user. Also the one who caused the destruction at your college."
June tried to speak, but no words came.
"If you want to understand any of this," Jean said, suddenly serious, "you're coming with me."
"Why not explain now—?"
"Because this isn't a lecture. It's a life you're about to step into. And it'll take years to understand."
June hesitated. Jean leaned forward, eyes sharp now.
"You're a target. A religious group called Gundam wants people like you. That ritual at your college? It wasn't about mass murder. It was about you."
Jean reached forward and tapped June's forehead.
Right there—barely visible—was a mark. An eye, etched into his skin like a curse.
"You were the final piece," Jean said. "And now that it's complete... you don't get to go back to normal."
June stepped back. The wind had stilled. His thoughts hadn't.
Why me?
Jean saw the question in his eyes but didn't answer it.
Instead, June remembered something.
A rooftop. A conversation with Fyodor.
"Live a good life."
He clenched his fists.
If I have this power… maybe I can use it to protect people.
Yeah. That's the life I want.
He looked at Jean, then nodded.
"Fine. I agree."
---