Neo York's night was alive with distant sirens, flickering streetlights, and the hum of cars sliding over rain-slick asphalt. John Tan walked briskly through the alleyways behind the clinic, the black envelope clutched tightly in his hand. His mind raced, turning over every detail from the morning—the poisoned girl, the mysterious man in black, and the sudden weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
He had no choice but to follow the instructions. The envelope contained a small map leading to a location marked simply: The Edge of Night. There were no street numbers, only coordinates. John frowned. The streets here were unfamiliar, narrow passages where neon lights struggled to penetrate the darkness.
A sudden sound of footsteps echoed behind him. He froze, straining to listen. Too fast… too deliberate. He turned his head slowly. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall, dressed in black, face obscured by a hood.
"You're John Tan?" the figure asked, voice low and deliberate.
John instinctively tightened his grip on the envelope. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
The figure stepped closer, revealing piercing gray eyes. "I know enough. And you need to understand something—the gift you carry is dangerous. People will come for it. People who kill without hesitation."
John swallowed hard. His pulse quickened. Danger? This… is just the beginning?
"Why me?" he asked. "I'm nobody. I barely survived college. I run a clinic that barely covers rent. Why am I suddenly… this important?"
The figure's lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. "It's not about who you were. It's about what you are capable of becoming. That book you possess… it doesn't choose ordinary men. And once you've touched its power, the world changes its view of you—sometimes violently."
John's mind flashed back to the morning—the poisoned girl, her father collapsing in gratitude, the whispers of nurses and paramedics. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't sought attention. Yet, the reality was undeniable: the moment he healed beyond expectation, he became a target.
A sudden movement to his left startled him. A young man in a leather jacket leapt from the shadows, throwing a punch. John barely dodged, the force of the attack rattling his shoulder.
"Who—" John began, but the figure in black's voice cut through the tension: "Focus. Fight with your mind. Not just your fists."
John's hands shook, but he took a deep breath. In that split second, he remembered a technique from the book—an acupressure maneuver to redirect physical energy, subtly off-balancing his attacker. He moved quickly, striking a nerve point on the man's arm. The assailant yelped and staggered back, allowing John to escape down a side alley.
He ran until his lungs burned, until he could see the faint glow of a neon sign from a 24-hour diner. Panting, he slid against the wall, chest heaving. This is real. People are after me… already.
The man in black appeared behind him almost silently. "Well done," he said. "You have instinct, but instinct alone won't save you. You must learn control, precision, and timing. That is what the book teaches—and more importantly, what it tests."
John's gaze fell on the envelope in his hand. "So this… this test, the one with the girl… it's not the end?"
"End?" the man chuckled darkly. "No, John. The girl was a beginning. Consider her survival your first trial. There will be many more. People who understand your potential will challenge you—some to help, most to exploit, and some… to destroy."
John felt a cold dread in his chest. He had spent his life struggling with mediocrity, now thrust into a world where failure could mean death. But beneath the fear, a fire burned. He had survived college, survived debt, and survived hopeless nights in a clinic barely keeping afloat. He wouldn't run now.
"What do I need to do next?" he asked, voice steady despite the tension curling in his stomach.
The man in black reached into his coat, pulling out a small device—an ornate compass-like instrument that seemed to hum faintly. "This will guide you to your next trial. Follow it carefully. And remember—every step you take is being watched. By allies… and by enemies. You must discern who is who, John Tan. Fail to read them, and you may not survive."
John nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing on him. He tucked the device into his coat pocket and glanced back at the dark alley. Somewhere in the shadows, eyes were undoubtedly watching him, analyzing, waiting.
As he walked toward the coordinates, the city around him seemed simultaneously larger and smaller—every alley a potential threat, every light a potential guide. He couldn't shake the feeling that this night would change everything.
Cliffhanger: From the highest rooftop, a pair of glinting eyes followed him. A voice whispered into the wind: "So, the heir awakens. Let's see if he survives the night."