November 6th. Three months have passed since the battle against the Directory's sergeant. Guarly has managed to return to "normality." It is night, and on the highway only a few vehicles are circulating. A truck drives down toward the city center. At that moment, four shadows leap from a building onto it.
Plata signals Topacio and Lapis Lazuli to take the sides. Both cling to the vehicle while the remaining two jump to the cargo door. A sword pierces the metal; Emily reacts just in time, driving her blade into the door to hold herself and avoid being wounded. Another sword follows with a sweeping horizontal cut—the door flies open.
Plata is left hanging from the open door, on a collision course with a lamppost. The sergeants move to attack when a light-blue blur bursts in, landing a kick that sends one reeling while clashing blades with the other. Seeing the yellow-clad fighter, a soldier pulls an assault rifle through the window and fires a burst. The brown-haired boy jumps, clearing the line of fire; the bullets head toward Emily, but she grips her weapon's hilt and vaults with her katana onto the roof. Mid-jump, Tyron flashes his blade—before the shooter can aim, Tyron lands, slicing the rifle in half, then grabs the side mirror and delivers a powerful kick that slams the soldier into the driver, sending the truck swerving out of control. Blows and ringing steel echo, along with Alexa's shout: "KEEP THIS THING UNDER CONTROL!"
The blue-clad girl yanks open the driver's door, dragging both soldiers out and smashing them into a post, knocking them unconscious. Tyron takes the driver's seat, trying to figure out how to stop the truck. Still at speed, they're meters from crashing into a house when Francesca points to the brake lever. Tyron pulls it—tires screech and black skid marks scar the pavement. The truck stops just short of impact.
A heavy crash sounds behind them. Alexa sweeps a sergeant's legs, dropping him. He raises his weapon to strike—Plata grabs his wrist, steps in, and slams him into the ground. Disarmed, he tries to rise; a semicircular kick smashes him into the truck wall, knocking him out. The last soldier jumps up and aims at Sapphire. Without hesitation, Plata pins the flat of her blade against the opponent's weapon and wrenches it free. Before the woman can react, a wind sphere hurls her into a street hydrant. Topacio gathers the enemies' swords while Lapis Lazuli grabs one of the crates. Emily notices neighbors waking to the noise and warns the team. Before leaping to a rooftop, they alert the detective.
Later, at the quiet waterfall, the last to remove her scarf and hood is Alexa. Francesca and Emily chat about something while Tyron yawns and checks his phone. The dark-haired girl approaches.
"Why don't we open it already?"
Emily (alarmed): "No!" She swallows. "It could be dangerous. This is the third truck we've stopped in three months—it could be a trap."
Francesca (serious): "Maybe. But then nothing else makes sense. Most likely it's weapons, like the other times."
Tyron (approaching): "Nya says to open it." He opens the crate.
The brunette and the blonde try to stop him, but they're too slow. Alexa shields herself in case of an explosion. Tyron just laughs—inside are weapons and ammunition. His laughter dies when Francesca fixes him with a murderous glare for risking their lives.
Francesca crouches to inspect the contents more closely. She picks up a weapon to verify it. The brunette swallows, still fearing a bomb. The blonde exhales and sets the weapon back.
"Good news: no bomb."
Tyron (raising an eyebrow): "And the bad?"
Francesca: "This is the third truck we've intercepted. Assuming there are only three would be foolish. The lack of a trap suggests the Director is preparing something large-scale for the city."
Emily (swallowing): "That means he's building an army."
Tyron (serious): "No problem. We handled fifty last time. We'll handle many more now that we're stronger."
Alexa (serious): "Exactly. The Liz Tower incident—and the fact that each of us can take at least two sergeants—proves we've improved."
Emily (looking down, clenching her fists): "You're right… if they plan the same thing."
Francesca (pensive): "Last time we knew they wouldn't attack civilians unless they detected us. But if they decide to seize the city by force—street by street—then it's police and us in a war with unavoidable casualties. Either way, we don't have enough information. Guessing would be stupid."
She walks off. Alexa heads the opposite way. Emily lifts a hand as if to hold them back, but it's useless—she can only watch them disappear in different directions. Tears spill. Tyron pats her back.
"Hey—at least they've improved a little. Maybe they don't talk much, but they can still be in the same place."
Emily smiles faintly, says goodbye, and heads home.
Hours later, in a modern house, all lights are off except an office. A fit, bronze-skinned man with dark-brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a white shirt, dress pants, and black shoes, removes his glasses after stamping the last seal on a stack of papers. He rubs his eyes. Footsteps approach; he doesn't react. The door opens abruptly—he immediately turns off the light, still rubbing his eyes.
A short, middle-aged officer with black hair at the temples, in military dress with a sword at his side, salutes.
"Captain Maxwell, three trucks have arrived as in previous months. The vigilantes intercepted one again!"
Laughter fills the room. Sergeant Bouler glares toward a corner as a third figure emerges: wild white hair, a small mustache, dark skin, wide dark-brown pants, and a white tank top stained red.
Maxwell (yawning): "What's so funny, mercenary?"
Reyik (grinning): "Easy, Cap. You're having trouble with teenagers because you won't let me do what's necessary."
Bouler (angry): "How dare you speak to a Captain like that, you animal!"
Reyik immediately points a machete at the sergeant, smiling as he advances. Bouler retreats; the blade stops inches from his forehead. Bouler grabs his hilt—Reyik spits in his eye and kicks him into the corridor wall. Maxwell stands.
"Clean that up, filthy mercenary. Bouler, stay sharp—soon we'll confirm where the next sergeant is."
Reyik laughs; he and Maxwell face the door.
Maxwell (flat): "Why so cheerful?"
Reyik: "The stupidity of keeping a rabid dog on a leash."
Maxwell: "That dog better not trouble his master—or the master will put him down."
Reyik sheaths one machete, bows theatrically, and strolls away. Bouler looks to his superior, who yawns toward his room.
"What time should I wake you, sir?"
"Seven-thirty. I need to be at court early."
Morning breaks in Guarly. The city bustles. At Forte School, first-years run laps; the teacher watches the most athletic complete their seventh lap and pass. Minutes later, Tyron finishes his seventh lap. The teacher hands out grades to Class 1-A.
"Elkin—seven," the teacher says sternly. "I expect more from you. I need you sharp for the basketball team. You pass—for now. Don't repeat this."
Tyron leaves smiling. If he knew what I could do when I'm serious…
In Class 1-B, the teacher returns exams. Emily exhales to calm her nerves and flips the page—10 in chemistry. Classmates congratulate her one by one; she blushes, realizing they're the classmates she helped study. Elsewhere, Alexa, Leslie, and Tamara wait for history results. The teacher appears, removes her glasses.
"Congratulations—you passed. Enjoy your vacation; you're free of my subject!"
Cheers erupt on the football field. The crowd goes wild as Celeritas's number ten dribbles from midfield, dodging two midfielders, nutmegs a defender, feints left, slips past another, and faces the keeper alone. With a bright smile, he curls a shot; the keeper bites—the ball rolls in. Goal! He kisses the badge and points skyward.
At the same time, in Class 1-A, a pink-haired girl and a blonde submit their exams together. The teacher tries to congratulate them, but they're already gone, the door slamming. They sprint down the stairs toward the back exit. Outside, the leather-jacketed girl pants,
"Wait, blonde! How can you act like nothing happened?!"
"That's what you get for never moving," Francesca fires back. "See you later."
She heads for the pitch, followed by a breathless Nya muttering, "Damn mutant."
They arrive as the teams shake hands. Number ten peels off to high-five his friends.
"Glad you came for the applause."
"We'd be earlier if someone with dyed hair didn't take so long," Francesca teases. Gregorio laughs at Nya's state and moves on.
Guarly's spirit endures. The hours pass peacefully. At 2 p.m., the four protagonists spar slowly on the combat platform. Francesca thrusts; Tyron slips and counters at her neck—she blocks, closes, and sweeps his left leg. He hops back and clashes again. Nearby, Alexa presses Emily's defense to no avail; she retreats and fires a wind sphere. Emily dodges in, Alexa cuts high—Emily blocks one-handed and grabs Alexa's foot to topple her, but Alexa scissoring-sweeps, ending in a draw. The master sets down his tea.
"Enough. Tyron—don't lose your opponent's rhythm; that's risk. Francesca—capitalize correctly on mistakes; a quick stab to the abdomen would have stopped him. Remember: when damaged, only deep focus prevents reflex—combat is guiding your rival to a desired outcome. Emily—press with a solid strike; don't give freedom. Alexa—if you retreat, bombard with attacks; don't pause. One second matters."
They nod.
Tyron (grinning): "So—what now?"
Jayden (pointing): "You, Emily, and Francesca—follow me."
Emily: "Why not Alexa?"
Alexa: "Yeah—why not me?"
Jayden (sighing): "Because I already know the element synced to her Fiu."
Francesca: "Wait—we're going to practice Fiu already? We barely know anything."
Jayden arches a brow. "Anyone else worried?"
Both brown-haired students raise their hands. He sits them in a circle.
"What's your biggest question about Fiu?"
Francesca: "Where does it come from? What is it?"
Jayden (serious): "Fiu is the primordial energy that birthed existence. It has poles—luminous and opaque, positive and negative, life and death. Their collisions over eons accidentally formed the universe, planets, stars, life. Fiu is in everything—and nothing."
Francesca: "Then isn't manipulating it dangerous?"
Jayden (looking skyward): "It takes immense skill and quantity to do that. For centuries, masters refined techniques and, above all, a philosophy so practitioners wouldn't lose themselves to madness."
Emily: "Then why doesn't humanity use it? It would benefit everyone."
Jayden: "To even feel Fiu requires years of harsh training. But the biggest problem traces back to a conflict at Earth's dawn."
Tyron: "Conflict?"
Jayden: "…Yes—something that prevented all beings from learning this energy. You've heard of Homo sapiens, right?"
Francesca (smiling): "Of course—human evolution."
Jayden (laughing): "A logical term—and a cover. You likely don't know Homo Fiusen."
Tyron: "What does that have to do with a conflict?"
Jayden: "A war between two brothers—two factions: those who could manifest Fiu and those who couldn't." He stands. "Too long for now. Follow me."
They move to a clearing with four water cubes. Jayden seats them a meter away.
"This identifies the element your Fiu resonates with. Humans have elemental affinities. Before practice, we must know them."
He turns each cube to reveal a symbol of three horizontal lines. From the same distance, he opens his palm—his symbol glows bright cyan; the water boils, showing fire affinity.
Emily (nervous): "You want us to do that? I can't manipulate it."
Jayden: "That's training. Begin by showing general control; later we'll refine internal types."
They extend open palms. Francesca feels the familiar burn; recalling her negative-pole surge, she releases power—her symbol fills halfway. Emily lets the energy guide her into calm; her symbol nearly completes, a cold sensation spreading. Tyron releases Fiu, but his symbol barely fills; he strains to keep up. An hour passes before all three succeed.
Jayden checks the left cube—Francesca's—now frozen solid: ice. Emily's shows solid earth: earth. Tyron's crackles with sparks: lightning.
Tyron (panting): "How did they finish before me?"
Francesca: "We're better."
Jayden: "Males often hold more Fiu and waste it; females, with less, have finer control."
Tyron (smirking): "Ha! I have more Fiu than you."
Jayden: "Actually, for a man, you have little."
Tyron blushes; the girls laugh. Alexa asks what's next.
Jayden: "That's enough today. Go."
Alexa: "That's it? We barely did anything."
Jayden: "After combat, knowledge must settle in the body. Consider it a gift."
They take the gift and head for the bus stop. In the city, a woman opens the door to her red-haired son.
"Welcome. I'll take your things—after months of therapy you must feel better."
Antonio (smiling): "Yeah, Mom. Like new." He glances at the city, irritated.
At sunset, a summer breeze rustles leaves around the cabin. Three green portals open; three golden envelopes fly toward the cabin. Jayden snaps awake and catches them with two fingers. The first plays a woman's voice: "Happy birthday, son. Come see me sometime." He smiles. The second: "Have a great day, Master. See you again—Gastón!" The third, exuberant: "HAVE A FANTASTIC DAY! I'll visit soon! —José!" He chuckles. "For all their differences, they're equally uncreative."
A fourth envelope rockets from a smaller portal toward his neck; Jayden steps back and snatches it. A young man's voice laughs: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD! Stay sharp—PS: if I'm not with you when this arrives, I got lost."
Jayden smiles. "That big idiot… It's 7:15—time for tea."
Deep in the forest, beneath a giant tree, two graves. A short, curly-blond youth in a red shirt, yellow shorts, and sandals lays tulips on Yoana, bows, then places weights on Carlos. "Greetings, my brothers." Smiling, he heads for the cabin.
Jayden pours tea into handleless cups, sets purple cookies with green lines, and meditates on the porch. The blond arrives, stops, breathes, and says softly, "Good to be back, right, Master?" He waves eagerly. Jayden opens his eyes and smiles faintly.
Dwayne: "Happy birthday, Dad!"
Jayden (bowing): "Welcome, my son."
Dwayne hugs him. Jayden gently pushes him to sit before the tea cools. Dwayne bows and sits, fishes out a wooden box. Jayden opens it—eyes widen.
"You shouldn't have! Twenty thousand kinds of tea?"
"It's nothing. You love it," Dwayne says, sipping.
Jayden bows. "Thank you, Master Dwayne." They laugh and talk into the night, finishing a second pot.
"How was the tea?"
"Perfect. So—do I really have new siblings?"
"By your zero-rule analogy—yes."
"Fantastic!"
Jayden looks up. "Enough talk. Exercise?"
"Gladly!"
"Remember the Oscillating style?"
"Of course—the grandfather's style."
"Don't call him that. Platform."
They face each other, relaxed. They sprint, throw right punches, evade gracefully, spin, clash left kicks—shockwaves slice the night clouds. They spin opposite, clash again, recoil. Dwayne throws a right lateral kick.
"By the way—still mad at my brother?"
Jayden sidesteps, palms strikes. "Yes. He must pay for his actions."
Dwayne meets it with his left palm; both flip back. "True—but he's stubborn."
Jayden leaps with a guillotine kick. "That's not stealing candy. Focus."
Their exchange continues. Elsewhere, under a midnight sky over a noon-bright desert, a red-cloaked figure walks away without looking back.