A man stood at the edge of the building, dressed in plain black clothes. A simple black mask covered his face, leaving only his eyes visible. The wind tugged at his jacket as he gazed down at the shimmering city lights below.
Nova took a deep breath. He was a mixture of excitement and nervousness. After all, this was his first time stepping into the world of hero work.
Yes — wearing this mask and clad in black, Nova had decided to test his strength, to see what he was truly capable of.
It had been a month since he regained the memories of his past life. Aside from attending school, spending time with his friends, and hanging around with May, he had devoted the rest of his time trying to master his modified, reality-altering energy.
But the results had been disappointing.
There were two reasons for this. The first was that his energy reserves had been permanently depleted by Soulless when it modified his mutant ability. Because of this, he couldn't gather enough energy to cast even the low-ranked spells he had created.
These spells were the result of his Soul-Sight — an ability that allowed him to perceive the basic, underlying mechanisms of various phenomena. It let him glimpse the structure of the world in a way no ordinary person could.
However, his understanding was limited. Not because he was illiterate, but because, in his past life, he had been a below-average student — the kind who scraped by with the bare minimum passing marks. So even with Soul-Sight, it took him time to truly comprehend what he was seeing and why it behaved the way it did.
That was the second reason for his slow progress.
Even so, he had managed to create a few simple spells: Fireball, Water Ball, Ice Lance, and a light spell that functioned similarly to Lumos from Harry Potter.
But once again, due to his low energy reserves, he could only cast Fireball six times before completely draining what little energy he had.
It would've been downright foolish to go out hunting criminals and playing hero with such a limitation. Fortunately, there was a silver lining — his physical stats were already at the peak of the Enhanced Realm. That alone gave him a significant edge.
Nova was confident that, as long as he stayed cautious and avoided reckless fights, he could easily handle petty gangsters and low-level thugs without relying too much on his spells. As long as he played it smart, he could be both effective and safe.
Suddenly, Nova snapped out of his thoughts as a sharp, desperate scream echoed from a nearby alley.
His eyes narrowed. Without a second's hesitation, he leapt down from the rooftop, landing smoothly in a crouch on a lower ledge before dropping to the ground below. The dim streetlights barely reached the mouth of the alley, but he didn't need much light to see what was happening.
Four men, rough-looking and armed with rusted pipes and cheap knives, had cornered a skinny, middle-aged man against the wall. His face was bruised, one eye already swelling shut as he clutched a torn wallet to his chest.
"I told you—I don't have it!" the man cried, voice shaking.
One of the gangsters punched him in the gut, sending him collapsing to the ground with a wheeze.
"You better cough it up, old man," one of them sneered. "Nobody dodges a payment."
Nova stepped forward, his footsteps light but deliberate. The faint clink of his boots against the concrete drew the gangsters' attention. Four pairs of bloodshot, unfriendly eyes turned to him.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" the largest one barked, brandishing his pipe.
Nova didn't answer. He simply adjusted his stance — a low, steady posture, arms loose and ready, the way he'd practiced since childhood under his uncle's relentless martial arts training.
The first thug lunged without warning, swinging the pipe at Nova's head.
Too slow.
Nova sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing, and drove his elbow into the thug's stomach. The man doubled over, wheezing, and Nova followed it up with a sharp knee to the jaw that sent him sprawling unconscious to the ground.
The second came at him with a knife. Nova caught the thug's wrist before the blade got close, twisting it sharply until the man screamed and dropped the weapon. A quick palm strike to the throat left him coughing and gasping for air as he crumpled to his knees.
The other two hesitated — clearly realizing this wasn't the easy mugging they'd expected.
Big mistake.
Nova dashed forward. One tried to swing, but Nova ducked under it, landed a hook to the ribs, and sent the thug crashing into the alley wall. The last one turned to run, but Nova was already on him. A solid kick to the back of the knee dropped him, and a quick jab to the temple finished it.
Within less than thirty seconds, all four were down — groaning, unconscious, or too hurt to move.
Nova straightened, breathing steady. Not a scratch on him.
He glanced at the trembling man still sitting against the wall. "You okay?" Nova asked, his voice slightly muffled by the mask.
The man nodded quickly, his eyes wide. "Y-yeah… thank you… thank you, kid…"
Nova gave him a small nod before turning and disappearing into the night, the city lights flickering above as the wind carried away the last echoes of the fight.
-----
Late that night, Nova collapsed onto his bed, the warmth of a fresh shower doing little to ease the lingering ache in his shoulder. The faint scent of blood and antiseptic still clung to the room, no matter how hard he'd scrubbed.
Who would've thought a fifteen-year-old kid would be carrying a gun?
The incident had played out almost exactly like the first one. He'd stumbled across two teenagers roughing up another skinny, terrified boy in a dark alley. Being a hero — or at least trying to be one — Nova hadn't hesitated. He stepped in and made quick work of the two bullies, his martial arts and enhanced strength making it no contest.
But just as he was helping the trembling victim to his feet, a deafening gunshot shattered the night.
The world seemed to freeze for a split second, then white-hot pain exploded in his right shoulder. The force of the bullet spun him slightly, sending him stumbling back against the wall. His vision blurred, and for a moment, all he could hear was the thudding of his own heartbeat in his ears.
Nova gritted his teeth and glanced toward the shooter. It was one of the punks — a pale, wide-eyed kid barely older than him, holding a cheap handgun with shaking hands.
Maybe the kid's aim had been bad. Maybe he hadn't intended to kill Nova outright. Or maybe, somewhere in that fear-flooded brain, he knew that killing someone would land him in prison for life.
Didn't matter.
The kid panicked, dropped the gun, and bolted. Nova was too focused on the searing pain in his shoulder to chase after him.
He managed to patch himself up at home, gritting through the pain as he cleaned and dressed the wound. No hospitals — no cops. He couldn't afford the questions.
Fortunately, his self-healing ability had grown stronger alongside his physique, thanks to the effects of Formula X — and perhaps also due to the passive energy absorption ability constantly working within him. The wound, while painful, wasn't life-threatening.
It hadn't taken long for him to grit his teeth, clean away the blood, and carefully extract the bullet with a pair of sterilized tweezers that his parents kept for emergencies. The moment the slug was out, he could already feel the tissue beginning to knit itself back together, the bleeding slowing as his body worked to seal the damage.
It wasn't perfect — it still hurt like hell, and the muscles around the injury throbbed with every movement — but he wouldn't be bedridden for long. Another day or two, and it would be like it never happened.
Small blessings.
Now, lying on his bed with the dull throb of pain as his only companion, Nova stared at the ceiling.
This isn't a game.
That night had driven the lesson home. Real fights weren't like the stories. People didn't hesitate to pull a trigger. One second you're saving someone, and the next you're a heartbeat away from bleeding out in a filthy alley.
This encounter reminded Nova of something he'd once read — a phrase some grizzled old wizard from another magical world would shout at his students, over and over:
" CONSTANT VIGILANCE."
Back then, it had sounded like one of those cheesy lines characters threw around before dramatic battles. Now? Now it made perfect sense. You didn't get to lower your guard, not even for a second. The streets didn't care if you were a teenager or a would-be hero. All it took was one bad call, one missed threat, and you were either dead or bleeding out in some forgotten alley.
Nova let out a slow breath, his good hand absently rubbing the bandaged shoulder. The pain had dulled to a persistent ache, manageable but impossible to ignore. And yet, beneath that discomfort, there was something else too — a flicker of pride.
He hadn't run.
He hadn't backed down.
He'd taken a bullet and still walked away.
Clumsy, reckless, and still green as hell — but alive.
Afterall getting shot and surving can be a matter of pride for young adult.
Nova's lips twitched into a faint, tired grin.
Lesson learned.
Tomorrow, he'd move smarter. He'd scout better, watch for threats from every angle, and never assume a fight was over just because a few punks hit the ground.
He wasn't doing this to play hero. He was doing this because it would help him gain experience, combat experience.
Afterall strength without control, is a very glaring weakness. Someone weaker but with high combat experience can defeat someone with more powerful strength but little experience and control.
Like that rabbit ancestors of those ninjas.
Anyway, he is doing it for gaining combat experience because the worlds he got access using World Travel Card, are not safe.
x------x
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