Somewhere far from the chaos,
Noel found himself in a place quieter than he remembered.
Soft rays of sunlight filtered through the branches above, scattering gold across his face. The air was still—too still. He sat beneath a tall tree, staring at nothing, feeling the gentle warmth of the breeze.
"So… this is what you are now,"
a voice murmured from the other side of the tree.
Noel didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew that voice.
"What if you had the ability to fight?" it asked again. "What if you were strong?"
Noel's voice came out faint, tired. "I just… wanted to live a normal life."
A soft, bitter chuckle echoed.
"You knew you can't. You never could. It's written into you, Noel. You can't live like them."
"But what if I don't want to?"
Noel whispered, his gaze dropping to his hands—scarred, trembling, stained.
"Then you'll be haunted," the voice said, calm yet sharp.
"Haunted by every moment you failed to stand. Just like before. You got a second chance… and you'll waste it again?"
Noel's hand brushed against the scar along his neck. Silence wrapped around him.
The voice softened, almost coaxing.
"What about this time? Just accept me, Noel. Once. Only this time. Let me handle it."
Noel closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
"Fine… only for this time. Then you leave my life. Got it?"
A quiet laugh came from behind the tree.
"It's never me forcing you, Noel. It's you who calls for me."
The footsteps drew closer—measured, deliberate, echoing against the silence.
"Fine," the voice continued, now closer, almost beside him.
"Let's leave it to fate… and see how long it takes before you truly accept me. You may sleep for now, Noel."
Noel didn't move. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, his breathing slow, steady.
"Remember," he whispered, voice almost trembling,
"only this time…"
The figure stopped just behind him, the sunlight bending
And then everything faded into white.
A mocking laugh tore through the room, loud and cruel. Vennrik's gaze stayed fixed on Noel.
"Looks like he's dead," one of the henchmen muttered, voice uncertain.
Eira's eyes widened in horror. She stumbled forward, tears spilling, screams ripping from her throat. She refused to accept the reality in front of her.
The henchman bent over Noel's limp body, gripping him by the hair.
"Boss, what should we do with him?" he asked, his voice tense.
Vennrik advanced toward Eira, a slow, deliberate smile curling across his face.
"Just throw that kid away. I'll deal with her," he said coldly.
As the henchman dragged Noel across the floor, his hand brushing the tiles, a knife strapped to his leg swung with him, untouched—until something impossible happened.
Noel's fingers twitched. Then his hand shot out, gripping the knife. The henchman froze, eyes wide in disbelief, as Noel forced himself upright.
In one fluid, savage motion, Noel struck. The knife pierced the henchman with surgical precision, entering through the center of the chin, slicing through, and exiting along the outer edge of his head. The movement was so clean, so shockingly fast, that the henchman didn't even have time to scream. Blood dripping, eyes wide in stunned silence.
Vennrik, moving toward Eira, froze mid-step. His eyes flicked toward Noel and the fallen henchman, disbelief cracking his composed facade. Even Eira's own gaze snapped to Noel, the shock mirrored in her tear-streaked face.
"How… how is he alive?" Vennrik whispered, voice tight with surprise
"Youuuuuu!"
Vennrik roared, rage and disbelief twisting his face.
Noel's hand released the knife, letting the henchman's body drop with a sickening thud to the floor. He turned slowly, facing Vennrik. His expression was unreadable, emotionless, and his eyes—pure white—stared like cold steel.
Vennrik froze. The sight of those eyes made his blood run cold.
"What…?" he hissed, before lunging forward, intent on grabbing Noel.
But Noel was ready. In a blur, he shifted his weight, slipping one hand beneath the killer's reach. The man's grip faltered, forcing him lower—and in that instant, Noel's hand shot up, gripping Vennrik's face with a force that sent a shockwave through his skull.
Dharammm!
Vennrik slammed into the ground, the impact rattling the hall. Pain and shock froze him as Noel moved, precise and unstoppable. He moved toward the knife lying nearby, stooping to pick it up — the blade gleaming faintly under the dim light.
Vennrik staggered to his feet. His gaze locked on Noel—same posture, same deadly energy, but something darker, something far more terrifying. His instincts screamed that this was no ordinary opponent.
Noel turned, the knife poised in his grip, a dangerous intent radiating from him.
Vennrik's knees nearly buckled. He took a cautious step back, eyes widening.
"Wait… he looks—" His voice trembled.
"Is it… you?"
The man who executed his tasks with cold, unflinching precision—every move flawless, every strike merciless. Brutality flowed through him like second nature, a predator honed to perfection. When he appeared, even the bravest faltered; fear clung to his name, whispered in the shadows. He was not just skilled—he was inevitability incarnate, a flawless storm of lethal intent that left no margin for mercy.
Silence hung for a heartbeat. Then, the tension snapped, the air thickening with imminent violence. Every second stretched. The hall seemed to shrink around them, two predators staring each other down, every muscle coiled, every breath shallow.
..Kaeler…?"
"No… no… you're dead! This can't be… you can't be him!"
Vennrik's voice cracked with shock and disbelief, eyes wide as his mind struggled to reconcile what he was seeing.
Noel's eyes didn't blink. The knife in his hand was steady, deadly. The energy around him crackled with intent—calm, precise, and utterly unstoppable.
And then, with a single, fluid motion, Noel advanced.
Noel—moved like a shadow brought to life. Vennrik charged at him, body coiling, stance shifting defensively with lethal precision, every muscle primed for attack. He swung a punch with brutal force.
In a heartbeat, Noel flicked the knife upward, intercepting the strike. The blade clashed against Vennrik's fist with a sharp clang, then, as if guided by instinct, Noel caught the knife mid-air.
"Wait..this style is …?!" Vennrik gasped, eyes widening.
Before he could react further, Noel's movements blurred. The knife slashed across his arm in a clean, surgical strike. Yet he didn't lose his grip. Noel pivoted, slashing again. Vennrik staggered back instinctively, disbelief written all over his face.
"No… no way… his style… it's the same as his…"
Noel's strikes didn't pause. Every motion was calculated, yet merciless, almost instinctive—one hand controlling the knife, the other disarming, striking, crippling. With a single, fluid motion, the knife slammed down across the man's arm again—bone shattering, tendons severed—and blood sprayed, red against the cold floor. Vennrik's scream cut off abruptly as he collapsed, writhing, utterly helpless.
His eyes, wide with horror, darted to Noel.
"It's… it's you… you… damned… how can you be…?
Noel's gaze was ice-cold, focused, emotionless. Every move radiated the same terrifying perfection, the same brutality the man remembered—the same force that had left countless lives in ruin without hesitation. Fear gripped him like a vice. Vennrik knew, in that instant, this was the same merciless killer he had once whispered about in dread.
The radio buzzed frantically in the background, adding to the chaos. Vennrik staggered forward, clutching his injured arm, nearly fainting.
"Marco! Marcooo!" Vennrik cried, voice trembling. "You… you didn't kill him!"
Vennrik's knees shook as he saw Noel standing over the carnage.
"Stay… away from me…"
"Marccoo"
Then voice shouted in the radio. "What's happening?"
Vennrik's voice came through, low and shaken
"He's not… dead,"
"He's not… dead,"
"The danger… it's K—K—"
BANG—!
A single gunshot tore through the chaos.
Eira froze. Her eyes darted toward Noel—standing there, motionless, facing the killer. But the man before him… was already dead.
Blood trickled down from a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. The lifeless body dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Eira turned her head in disbelief—
And there he was.
Fenric.
Standing in the corridor's shadow, smoke still curling from the barrel of a pistol he'd picked up off the floor.
"Wanna ruin all the suspense, huh?"
Fenric muttered with a crooked grin, lowering the gun.
He sighed, brushing dust off his jacket. "I guess I'm kind of late… sorry about that."
He started walking forward, eyes scanning the wreck of the hall. Blood. Silence. Noel.
But then—Fenric's expression shifted. Something off.
Noel's body twitched.
Though unconscious, he moved—slowly, stiffly—turning his head toward Fenric.
His blank white eyes caught the faint light.
"…You've got to be kidding me," Fenric muttered.
"You still want to go another round?"
Noel's body lunged forward without hesitation.
Fenric exhaled, calm, sliding into motion. Noel's strike came fast—too fast—but Fenric ducked under it, sweeping his leg in a low arc.
Thud—
Noel hit the ground, hard.
Fenric straightened, glancing toward Eira. "He should be out cold now."
He began walking toward her—
—but a sharp scrape behind him froze him in place.
He turned—too late.
Noel was already on his feet again, screaming—raw, guttural—and charging full speed.
Fenric's eyes widened.
"Dammit—"
Before he could react, Noel's hand shot out, grabbing him by the neck, lifting him with terrifying strength.
For a brief moment, their eyes met—one with calmness, the other dead white, unblinking.
Fenric's grip shifted. He pressed two fingers against Noel's neck and, with one precise strike, jabbed hard into the nerve cluster.
The effect was instant.
Noel's body went limp, his grip loosening.
Fenric caught him before he hit the ground.
"You're done, kid."
He laid Noel gently on the floor, checking his pulse—still breathing, though shallow. Relief flickered across Fenric's face.
He looked up at Eira and gestured with one hand. "He's fine."
Then, standing, he gave a short nod.
"Take care of him, Eira. He's taken some real damage."
In the distance, faint sirens began to grow louder—ambulances, police, chaos converging.
Fenric's expression hardened. "Guess that's my cue."
He turned toward the exit, footsteps echoing as he disappeared into the corridor's shadows—
Leaving Eira kneeling beside the injured Noel, sirens wailing through the blood-soaked silence.
The white ceiling above him was still, humming faintly with the rhythm of machines. Tubes ran into his arm, monitors blinked, and his chest rose and fell as if clinging to a fragile thread of existence. Noel lay there, unconscious, his body broken from the fight no student should have survived. To anyone who walked past the room, he was nothing more than another casualty of senseless violence—an unlucky boy in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But Whispers spread fast. They always did. Some said the way he fought wasn't normal, that he moved like someone trained, someone deadly. Others swore they had heard that kind of name before, a shadowed one—Kaeler. A name tied to blood and steel, a phantom in the underworld who vanished years ago.
Noel lay in a hospital bed, unmoving sleep. For a while, there was nothing but silence.
.......
...…
....
.....
…..
"Achoo!"
"Tch. Someone must be thinking about me."
Water splashed against tiles, steam curling from a shower where a young man ran a hand through his short, damp hair. A calm voice broke the silence outside the door.
"Master Kael, your breakfast is ready."
Minutes later, sunlight cut across a long dining table. The butler poured tea, precise in every movement. Kael leaned back in his chair, staring at the tableware with an absent look.
"Strange," he muttered under his breath.
"Last night, I dreamed I was fighting… but it didn't feel like a dream."
The clock on the wall ticked once, then skipped. The silence stretched, heavy. Kael's eyes narrowed.
"…It felt real."
And far away, in the stillness of a hospital room, Noel's monitor spiked. His hand twitched against the sheets. A faint sound slipped from his lips, barely a whisper
….
…
..
"…Kael."