Kenji burst through the business center's revolving doors with the desperate energy of a man whose professional reputation hung in the balance. The marble lobby echoed with his hurried footsteps as he made a beeline for the elevator bank, joining what could only be described as the "Walk of Shame Express"—a collection of his fellow corporate warriors who'd also lost their morning battles.
What a sight we make, he thought with sardonic amusement, taking in the disheveled parade around him. Crooked neckties hung like surrendered flags, shirt collars jutted at odd angles like broken wings, and more than a few faces bore the telltale flush of people who'd sprinted the last three blocks. The entire group looked like extras from a movie about corporate disasters.
The elevator announced its arrival with a cheerful ding, completely at odds with the collective anxiety of its waiting passengers.
"Everybody make way for those getting out!" the elevator attendant barked, his voice carrying the weary authority of someone who'd witnessed this same morning disaster countless times.
The doors parted to reveal the previous batch of refugees from punctuality, and then began the carefully choreographed dance of urban survival. Bodies pressed together with the intimate urgency of strangers who shared a common goal: reaching their floor before the elevator reached capacity and abandoned them to their fate.
Kenji squeezed inside just as the doors sealed shut with another satisfied ding. The elevator began its ascent, accompanied by the kind of generic instrumental music that seemed scientifically designed to be as inoffensive and forgettable as possible.
Then the smell hit.
It materialized like a toxic cloud, an olfactory assault so potent it seemed to have physical weight. The confined space transformed into a gas chamber, and the reactions were immediate.
"Who the fuck farted in here? Do you have any decency?" someone demanded, their voice muffled by the hand they'd clamped over their nose.
"I'm suffocating! Someone help!" came another voice, dripping with theatrical despair.
Coughs erupted like a symphony of distress as people scrambled to cover their faces with whatever fabric they could find. The elevator had become a microcosm of human suffering, and the anonymous perpetrator would forever remain a mystery—too many suspects packed too tightly together for any hope of identification.
Kenji stood stoically in the chaos, his own hand pressed firmly over his nose and mouth. His enhanced senses, usually an advantage, now felt like a curse as the smell hit him with amplified intensity. The irony wasn't lost on him, but he endured it with the grim determination of someone who'd faced far worse situations in his awakened career.
Just another morning in paradise, he thought, watching his fellow passengers' faces contort in various stages of olfactory agony.
Later That Afternoon
The final bell of the day released Jiwoo from his classroom like a caged bird finding freedom. He packed his belongings with the methodical care of someone who'd learned to keep his possessions organized, sliding textbooks and notebooks into his backpack while the last stragglers filtered out around him.
The hallway buzzed with typical after-school energy—clusters of friends planning evening adventures, couples walking hand-in-hand toward the exit, study groups forming for tomorrow's assignments. Jiwoo watched them with the quiet observation of someone perpetually on the outside looking in.
It would be nice to have friends like that, he thought, the familiar pang of loneliness settling in his chest. But making friends required a kind of social confidence he'd never quite managed to develop, especially when he was constantly worried about accidentally revealing abilities that could put everyone around him in danger.
His phone's message tone cut through his melancholy with its cheerful chime. Expecting a text from his mother, he was pleasantly surprised to see Kenji's name on the screen instead.
"Hey kid, could you water my plants today? Will pay you for the trouble as usual."
Jiwoo's fingers flew across the keyboard in response: "Sure! That means I won't have to worry about my cat food budget running out."
The arrangement had become a comfortable routine over the past few months. Kenji traveled frequently for work and genuinely cared about his plants' wellbeing, while Jiwoo appreciated both the extra income and the responsibility. It was a perfect symbiosis—Kenji's green thumb ambitions stayed alive, and Jiwoo's stray cat feeding missions remained financially viable.
The school grounds spread before him as he made his way toward the exit—a tapestry of adolescent life in all its chaotic glory. Younger students chased each other around the playground equipment with boundless energy, their laughter carrying across the courtyard. Teachers gathered in small groups near the faculty building, probably planning lessons or commiserating about their day. As a twelfth-grader on the verge of graduation, Jiwoo felt caught between childhood and adulthood, observing it all with the bittersweet awareness that this phase of his life was nearly over.
The bus ride home provided its own form of meditation. Seoul's afternoon rhythm played out beyond the windows—office workers heading home with tired expressions, shop owners preparing for the evening rush, elderly couples taking slow walks through small parks. Street vendors were setting up for dinner service, their stalls radiating savory aromas that mixed with exhaust fumes and the general scent of urban life. Jiwoo watched it all with the quiet fascination of someone who'd learned to find entertainment in ordinary moments, his reflection occasionally visible in the glass as the bus swayed through traffic.
The stop near his neighborhood arrived with a hydraulic hiss, and Jiwoo stepped off into the familiar comfort of home territory. The walk to Kenji's house took only a few minutes, muscle memory guiding him through streets he'd traversed countless times.
Kenji's front garden was a testament to dedicated cultivation—carefully arranged plots showcasing traditional Japanese plants that thrived in their climate. Hostas unfurled their broad leaves in shaded corners, while delicate Japanese maples provided elegant structure with their graceful branching. Camellia bushes promised future blooms, and ornamental grasses swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. Near the house, bamboo plants created a natural privacy screen, their hollow stems rustling with whispered secrets.
"It's my hobby," Kenji had explained once. "Kind of like you with your cats—except instead of feeding strays, I nurture plants."
The comparison had stuck with Jiwoo. Both pursuits required patience, consistency, and genuine care for living things that depended on human kindness for survival.
He connected the hose to the outdoor faucet and began his careful routine, ensuring each plant received appropriate attention. The water sparkled in the late afternoon sun as it arced across leaves and soil, creating small rainbows in the mist.
Task completed, he sent Kenji a quick update text and checked the time: 5:03 PM. Perfect timing.
Kayden waited on his front porch in full cat mode, orange fur catching the golden hour light as he sat with that peculiar dignity that somehow made his current form seem less ridiculous.
"I was watering Kenji's plants," Jiwoo explained as he approached.
"Yeah, I know. I sensed your presence at your neighbor's house." Kayden began grooming his paw with automatic feline instinct before catching himself mid-lick. "What the hell am I doing licking my paws?"
The moment of vulnerability was so uncharacteristic that Jiwoo had to suppress a smile as they headed inside together.
His other cats—the permanent residents of his small household—greeted him with typical feline enthusiasm, rubbing against his legs and purring their demands for attention and dinner. Jiwoo crouched to pet each one, his smile genuine and relaxed as he distributed affection with practiced ease.
Rising, he grabbed the familiar sack of cat food and began portioning it into five bowls, the routine so automatic he could have done it blindfolded.
"Has he woken up?" Jiwoo asked, glancing toward the sofa where they'd left the injured black cat.
"No, he hasn't," Kayden replied, shaking his head. But even as he spoke, something changed in his expression—a subtle shift that spoke of heightened alertness.
What's this aether? Kayden's internal alarm bells began ringing as he detected something that shouldn't be there. I didn't notice it earlier because my powers are weakened, but it's spreading around the house. This isn't normal.
The dark red aura that only his trained senses could perceive was seeping through the walls like invisible fog, carrying intentions that made his fur stand on end.
The black cat's eyes snapped open.
What followed was pure chaos. The previously unconscious feline exploded into motion, crashing through the living room like a furry tornado of destruction. Picture frames tumbled from shelves, pillows flew through the air, and the coffee table suffered a direct assault before the cat streaked toward the door and vanished into the evening.
"Kayden, the cat got away!" Jiwoo barely had time to process the destruction before his protective instincts kicked in.
"It's the owner's aether," Kayden explained with urgent authority, his casual demeanor replaced by the sharp focus of a seasoned agent. "The cat reacted to its master's call."
Jiwoo was already moving, grabbing a black cap from his room and pulling it low over his distinctive features.
"What are you doing?" Kayden demanded, though he already knew the answer and dreaded it.
"I have to go find him. He could attack someone innocent."
"You gonna save the day, Mr. Hero?" The sarcasm in Kayden's voice carried equal parts admiration and exasperation. "And didn't you hear what I said about the owner being nearby? This could get dangerous—seriously dangerous."
"I know, but I'm worried about other people. And about him too." Jiwoo's voice carried that stubborn compassion that was both his greatest strength and most dangerous weakness.
Kayden stared at him for a long moment, golden eyes reflecting an internal debate between self-preservation and responsibility. The kid was going whether he helped or not—that much was written in every line of Jiwoo's determined posture.
"Tsk." The sound carried years of frustrated acceptance. "Alright, I'll come with you."
The relief that flooded Jiwoo's face was immediate and heartwarming. "Really?"
"Yeah, kid." Despite everything—his weakened state, the danger they were walking into, the sheer insanity of the situation—Kayden found himself grinning. "Can't let you stumble into trouble all by yourself."