"Help…" A gentle woman's voice echoed inside the young man's mind.
The young man blinked, but still couldn't see who was speaking. Everything in his vision was swallowed by darkness.
"Help… us. I…" The voice wavered, as if it had traveled through an endless distance.
The young man strained, yet the figure remained hidden.
"…Who are you?" he asked.
"I… believe… in you."
A single point of white light began to pierce the blackness. The glow widened, revealing the silhouette of a woman standing before him—beautiful, with long blonde hair. Her large blue eyes held his gaze, unwavering. She wore a sky-blue gown, and her pink lips parted again, forcing out words that sounded like a vow.
"I… believe in your strength… Sir Kira. Speak… my name… and then…"
"…Name?" Kira froze, caught between confusion and the staggering beauty of the stranger.
"…I will… become your partner…."
He only caught fragments of her sentence. Curiosity gnawed at him so sharply that he nearly begged her to say it clearly.
"My name…"
"KIRA!"
A harsh shout—sharp enough to split the air—blasted right beside his ear.
Kira jolted awake. Plates—dirty and clean—came into focus. The sink. His hands covered in soap foam. And his boss, Vahn, staring him down.
"You're daydreaming while washing dishes? Impressive. Orders are piling up—leave the dishwashing to Donny and help me cook. Now!" Vahn barked.
The chef uniform suited him, even at thirty-two. His slicked-back hair and thin mustache gave him the look of a tough, capable man.
"…O-oh, okay." Kira quickly rinsed his arms, tied on a proper apron, and grabbed the ingredients Vahn had prepared.
"Order for table two—one special capcay. You can handle that already, right?"
"Yes, Boss."
This was Kira's life. Even though he was officially contracted as the café's cleaning staff, he was constantly pulled into the kitchen. It helped that he could cook—and Vahn openly admitted Kira's food was good.
At twenty-one, Kira often thought it was time to find a permanent job, or even start a small business. Unfortunately, his savings were thin. His father was gone. It was just Kira and his mother, surviving on the severance money his late father had left behind. That was why Kira took extra work—to support her.
"Oh, right," Vahn said, glancing up. "Your mom asked you to pick her up at Malaya Bank at 14:10."
"14:10…?!" Kira snapped his head toward the clock. "That's thirty minutes from now! Why didn't she just call me?"
"She did. Repeatedly," Vahn said flatly. "But you were spacing out like you were possessed. So she left the message with me."
"…Boss is right. So… can I go?"
"Finish orders for tables two, three, and five—then you can leave."
"…Alright."
That was the first time Kira had ever cooked three different dishes at once.
The last plate finally went out.
Kira hurried into the staff room and threw on his fur jacket. A two-meter mirror stood against the wall. He caught his own reflection: a young man, 172 centimeters tall, long black hair, sharp nose. White T-shirt, blue jeans, fur jacket.
And eyes the color of blood-red glass—so vivid they looked like flashy contact lenses, except they weren't.
They were real.
Yes. This was him.
Kira Rainhard.
"Okay… I'm heading out, Sir! Thanks for today!" Kira said quickly as he adjusted his jacket. He rushed out of the café the moment he saw five missed calls from his mother.
"Anytime. Be careful on the road, Kira," Vahn replied, as calm as ever.
Malaya Bank, 14:10. Right on time.
Kira stopped just outside the entrance to steady his breathing. Riding three kilometers in ten minutes at top speed was insane. But as long as his mother didn't have to wait, it didn't matter.
The first floor of Malaya Bank was enormous—around a hundred square meters. Ten security officers patrolled the corners, batons and compact handguns visible on their belts. CCTV cameras clung to the walls at strategic angles, watching everything.
It made sense. This was the second-largest bank after the national bank.
Kira spotted a gentle-looking woman in her fifties talking to a bank teller.
His mother.
Something about her softness—something in her expression—dragged his mind back to the woman he had seen in that strange haze earlier. The mysterious blonde. The voice.
Who was she?
His mother noticed him immediately and lifted her hand in a small wave. Kira forced a faint smile and walked over.
"Ah, sorry, Sir… our system suddenly went offline—"
"Offline? In a bank like this? I don't believe it."
Kira only caught part of the conversation, but it was enough: there was a system disruption.
Then—without warning—several security guards began to panic, whispering urgently to one another.
"The administration system is suddenly offline… and the security system too… the CCTV isn't active."
"This is bad! If there's an attack, we can't automatically contact the police!"
Something was wrong. A cold sensation crawled up Kira's chest. He quickened his pace toward his mother, already planning to get her out.
"…What is it, honey? You look worried," his mother asked.
"It's nothing, Mom. We should go home quickly and—"
"CRASH!"
A Ranger truck with a reinforced front bumper slammed into the glass entrance of Malaya Bank—glass nearly seven millimeters thick—shattering it in a violent explosion of shards. The vehicle skidded and stopped in the middle of the first floor.
Six men jumped out wearing bulletproof vests and clown masks.
They carried machine guns.
In seconds, they opened fire—executing the security guards with ruthless precision.
Everyone inside the bank dropped to the floor. Screams erupted everywhere.
"EVERYONE DOWN! ANYONE WHO RESISTS GETS SHOT DEAD!" one of the masked men roared. His clown mask wore an angry expression. He fired a handgun once into the ceiling as a warning.
An armed robbery… in broad daylight?
Kira clenched his teeth, forcing his thoughts to stay rational through the chaos. The police would come—sooner or later. The safest choice was to wait and not do anything stupid.
Holding his mother close, Kira lowered his head and scanned the room. His eyes snagged on a teenage girl sitting far too calmly in the waiting area.
Long red hair, tied back. School uniform, blazer neat. She looked like a student.
And yet… she was relaxed.
Too relaxed.
"…Three minutes," said the leader—the clown mask with a blank expression. "You two, go to the vault. You three stay with me for the second mission."
Two of the masked men—one with a sad clown face, one with a smiling one—headed toward the basement.
The red-haired girl checked her watch like she was waiting for a bus. She took several capsules from her blazer pocket and swallowed them.
"HEY! YOU! GET DOWN, YOU BRATTY KID!" the angry-masked man snapped, aiming his machine gun at her.
"One more minute," the girl said, rising to her feet. Her stare was sharp enough to cut. "You feel it too, don't you? Come on—let's fight fairly…."
Kira's body trembled. A strange sensation stabbed down his spine.
He glanced outside the bank—
And saw something that made his blood turn thin.
A black dome, about the size of a car, had appeared. White symbols spiraled around it. The dome expanded—swallowing obstacles as if they didn't exist.
It kept growing.
It swallowed Malaya Bank.
And then—like a living shadow—it reached Kira.
The world seemed to collapse.
Instinct took over. Kira shut his eyes and hugged his mother tighter.
Then he felt it—like stepping through an unseen wall.
When he dared to open his eyes again, his breath caught.
He was inside the dome.
No—everyone was inside it. Everyone in the bank, and possibly everyone outside as well.
The dome was massive. Its height rose beyond the nearby skyscraper—Alto Tower—standing beside Malaya Bank. The same white symbols covered its surface like a foreign scripture.
CRACK!
A crack split open on the dome's surface. The crack widened, tearing into a hole large enough to see through.
And behind that hole—
A single colossal eyeball slid and rolled, watching the people trapped below.
Kira felt like a chick locked inside a dark cage, while a farmer peered through a hole in the roof—deciding which one to pluck.
Cold.
Kira's hands—still gripping his mother—went numb. Slowly, he looked down.
His mother was stiff.
Like a statue.
Her skin was cold.