“Who are you?”

  Fahim stared at Johan, stunned by the sudden steel in the boy’s voice. The corridor air seemed to thin around them.

  Shahryel’s eyes snapped to Johan. “What did you say?”

  Johan’s face remained dark, the aura around him a cold shimmer. “Who are you? And whom did you call pig just now?”

  Shahryel barked a bitter laugh, irritation hardening his tone. “Kid, you’re still behaving arrogantly.” He took a step forward, impatience and menace coiling in his stance. “Do you wanna die?”

  Fahim glanced between them, alarm and confusion on his face. “Hey. What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?” he asked.

  Johan didn’t answer Fahim. His eyes flared, fury lighting every feature as he fixed Shahryel with a hard glare. “I said who are you?”

  Shahryel’s smile snapped away. “I see — you didn’t get enough beating. This time you’ll really die.” His voice carried the promise of violence.

  Johan drew a breath — then threw the name like a blade. “Johan Navraan!”

  The single name hit Shahryel like a thrown stone. He blinked, surprise cracking his composure. “What?”

  “How do you know Johan Navraan? Who sent you?” Johan demanded, every syllable edged.

  For a heartbeat Shahryel looked unsettled. “How do you know? No, it doesn’t matter even if you know something. Because—”

  He didn’t finish. Instead, with a motion smooth and practiced, Shahryel withdrew a slender ring from his finger. A blade slid from the ring with a humming whisper — a stored weapon for the awakened. Clink. The sword caught the dim light and sent a thin flash across the corridor.

  Shahryel’s aura deepened, folding outward in layers of pressure that made the tiles sing underfoot. The temperature in the stairwell dropped; distant beeps in the ward warped as if reality itself strained under the force.

  His voice went cold and final. “I’m gonna kill you guys for real this time.”

  The three stood opposite one another — a boy who had taken a name for himself, a terrified old retainer, and a man who smiled like a storm breaking. The corridor held its breath.

  Shahryel lunged, the sword in his hand wreathed in his aura. The blade sang through the air, a thin, lethal note as it sliced toward Johan’s throat.

  SWISH—

  “Watch out!” Fahim screamed.

  The sword should have cut clean through—except Johan was gone. In the space of a heartbeat, impossibly fast, Johan was no longer in front of the blade. He vanished from sight — and reappeared behind Shahryel, as if the air itself had folded.

  “Hey.” Johan’s voice was cold and flat.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Shahryel’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. Before he could turn, Johan’s fist thundered into the side of his head—BAM!—a blow that sounded like a drumstrike. Shahryel’s body became a blur and then a wrecking impact against the left-side wall; tiles exploded outward with a CRACK! and dust rained down. For a moment, he didn’t move. The wall cracked under his weight.

  Johan finished, words sharp and without mercy. “I asked you something, didn’t I? Answer me or you’ll die.”

  Fahim stared, frozen. The image of the boy he had known a minute ago—the scared teen who flinched at shadows—did not match the man who had just moved with impossible speed and struck like a battering ram. Is he really the boy from earlier? Fahim thought, breath shallow. How could a low-tier D rank awakener become a top-tier D rank so suddenly? No — his rank feels even higher than top-tier D. Otherwise, how could a top-tier D like that man be overpowered so easily?

  He could not believe his eyes. The corridor smelled of dust and blood; Johan stood calm, aura still humming faintly. Fahim’s mind scrambled for an explanation and found none.

  Shahryel stared at Johan in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how that single punch had put him in this state. His body trembled, not from pain, but from pure shock.

  Johan crouched down to face him, his expression unreadable — eyes calm, mouth neither smiling nor frowning, his voice low and even. Fahim stood a few steps away, still frozen.

  “Who are you? And who sent you?” Johan asked quietly. His tone was so steady it was almost more terrifying than anger. “How do you know Johan Navraan? Is it Logan?”

  Shahryel’s dazed look slowly twisted into a grin. Then he laughed — rough, broken laughter that echoed through the silent corridor. “Ha… Ha-Ha-Ha…”

  Johan tilted his head slightly, his face still blank. “Why are you laughing? Did I say something funny?”

  “I don’t know who you are, kid,” Shahryel said between breaths, his grin widening. “But here’s a little advice. Stay out of this, or you’ll die for real. If you get involved in this matter, the people you’ll face will be far beyond your imagination.”

  “That’s for me to decide,” Johan said. His eyes sharpened slightly, though his tone stayed calm. “Now answer me.”

  Shahryel sneered, raising his middle finger with a smirk. “Nope, I don’t wanna.”

  Johan’s expression didn’t change. He reached down, picked up the sword that had fallen from Shahryel’s hand, and slowly stood. “I see,” he said, brushing the dust from the blade. “So, you won’t tell me?”

  He turned away, his voice calm — almost casual. “Okay. You can go now.”

  Both Shahryel and Fahim stared at him, stunned.

  “Huh?” they said at once.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Fahim stammered. “Are you kidding me? How can you release him so easily? He was going to kill us a moment ago!”

  Johan didn’t look back. “Nope. I’m not kidding. He can go.”

  Shahryel’s eyes lit up with disbelief and desperate hope. “Really? Are you seriously letting me go?”

  Johan turned to him again. His face was still completely emotionless. “Yeah. Why would I lie? You can go now.”

  Shahryel didn’t waste a second. He turned and ran.

  A quiet voice followed him. “Did you really believe that?”

  Shahryel froze mid-step. “W-Wha—”

  Before he could finish, Johan moved. The sound of the sword cut through the silence — one sharp, final motion. The corridor went still. Shahryel’s body stopped moving, his expression frozen in shock before falling motionless to the floor.

  The ringing echo of metal faded away.

  Johan stood there, the same blank expression on his face, eyes calm, breathing steady — as if nothing had happened.

  Fahim could only stare. His lips trembled. That… that boy… He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. The same kid who had been trembling in fear not long ago now looked like something else entirely — quiet, composed, and colder than anyone he had ever met.

  Johan stared at the lifeless body in silence for a long moment, his hand still gripping the sword. Then, finally, he exhaled and spoke softly in his mind.

  So this is what it takes… to survive.

  I didn’t want this.

  But if the world keeps coming for me… then I’ll have no choice but to keep cutting back.

  He loosened his grip on the sword, letting it fall with a dull clang against the floor.

  The sound lingered in the empty hall — a quiet requiem for what he’d become.

  Without another word, he turned and started walking down the corridor, his shadow stretching long behind him.

  MORPHORCE