Alia wasn't used to this kind of attention. She stood awkwardly under the flash of cameras, overwhelmed by the reporters crowding around them. Her words stumbled out as she tried to answer a question with a nervous smile.
"Uhm... it was really exciting. We learned a lot… and… and yeah, it was fun too…"
She blushed, unsure of what else to say.
Sensing her discomfort, Justin and Venessa stepped forward like seasoned pros, taking control of the situation. They addressed the reporters with confidence, answering the flood of questions while keeping their expressions calm and composed.
By the time the sun began to set, everyone had returned to the Academy. The day's chaos finally gave way to silence.
Inside his dorm room, Gilbert sat with the lights dimmed, watching the news unfold on his tablet. Every major channel was talking about the museum incident.
"Seven Asuras attacked the Central City Museum today…"
"Three were taken down by Academy students—Justin, Alia, and Venessa."
"The remaining three were neutralized by an elite squad of licensed heroes."
Gilbert raised an eyebrow as he read through the headlines. Meanwhile, a few doors down, Daniel was sprawled across his bed, arms behind his head, watching the same news feed on his phone.
His lips twisted into a mildly irritated pout.
"Tch. These heroes totally stole my credit. Not even a mention of the legendary Evil Ronin. Come on, at least say something..."
He tossed the phone aside with a sigh, then glanced at the bracelet on his wrist—the same one that now held the combat suit he'd used to defeat multiple Asuras with ease.
Then again, he thought, Ronin was still considered a vigilante by the government. Publicly praising him would've meant endorsing rebellion… and probably risked stirring up talk of revolution again.
He exhaled sharply. "Whatever. They can keep the credit."
Because honestly? Daniel didn't care much about fame.
What truly mattered was the reward.
From this mission, he'd gained two things far more valuable than recognition—
A powerful suit that could turn the tide in any future battle...
And a rare, stolen artifact humming with ancient energy, safely tucked away in his bag.
He glanced at it now, glowing faintly from within the shadows of the room.
"Guess I'm luckier than most heroes."
---
Daniel whispered under his breath,
"Ronin Mode."
And in the very next moment, a faint glow erupted from his bracelet. Within seconds, he stood there—transformed.
A sleek, jet-black suit clung perfectly to his frame. It was crafted with numerous slots and pockets, designed for weapons and utility. Over it, a long coat flowed like a shadow behind him, and in both hands, he now wielded a pair of obsidian daggers. They weren't just for show—C-tier weapons, cool to look at and deadly in the right hands.
Daniel examined his new gear, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
"This equipment's pretty good," he murmured, flexing his fingers inside the gloves. "But something about this whole thing feels... off."
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
"The museum never said a word about the suit being stolen. Or the artifact."
He tilted his head, frowning.
"And what's stranger is—they used three low-level Asuras as part of the attraction? Last time there was only one. Did they somehow know Justin and Alia would be there to stop them?"
He paused.
"But even if someone did know about the plot… they didn't try to stop the theft. Which means—maybe they weren't aware of the plan… they just knew someone was going to interfere."
He scratched his head, clearly agitated.
"Ugh. Why am I even thinking this hard about it?"
"Maybe there's a mole inside the museum," he muttered, almost dismissively.
His gaze drifted to the stolen artifact—a small, jagged piece of parchment shaped like a slice of pizza. It looked almost ridiculous in form, but what made it valuable was what was written on it: strange inscriptions in ancient Chinese.
A language so obscure that only a handful of scholars in the present day could actually understand it.
He took a breath and whispered again,
"Ronin Mode Off."
With a soft pulse of light, the suit dissolved back into his bracelet, disappearing without a trace.
Daniel leaned back, smirking slightly.
"Honestly, I didn't want to get involved in this plot again… but then I figured, why not keep it for myself?"
He chuckled, as if trying to justify his decision to no one in particular.
"After all, it's not like it'll mess with the plot too much. And technically, I am helping save the world. That counts for something, right?"
He turned the artifact in his hand one last time before slipping it into a hidden compartment in his bag.
"And besides… I left that Asura leader alive," he muttered. "He'll come back stronger, eventually. He'll want revenge."
He exhaled, lowering his voice as he remembered the name.
"Zon. That's what he called himself. He'll rise again… as a powerful Asura warrior. And his only target will be Justin—his self-declared soul enemy and eternal rival."
Daniel shrugged, almost casually.
"Well… not my problem."
Whistling a soft, carefree tune, he walked toward the bathroom.
The water began to run. The steam rose.
And by the time the night fully settled in, Daniel was fast asleep—
Unaware of the chain of events he had just set into motion.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Zon—the Asura who had escaped—had taken refuge in an illegal gambling den. But this wasn't just a hideout.
He owned the place.
Now seated in a dark, richly furnished office lit only by the blue glow of neon signs outside and the flickering screen in front of him, Zon was on a video call. The man on the other side wasn't fully visible—his face was hidden in shadow—but his voice was deep and commanding.
"So you're telling me…"
The man's tone was slow, heavy, and chilling.
"…that you completely failed your mission?"
Zon lowered his head, ashamed.
"I'm really sorry, sir…"
The voice on the other end didn't shout. That made it worse.
"It's alright. What could you have done against those heroes anyway?" he said coldly. "But are you telling me… that three kids managed to stop all seven of you?"
Zon hesitated before replying, "No, boss… it wasn't them."
He swallowed hard.
"It was a boy. Just one. He had his face covered, but from the shape of his body, he couldn't have been more than sixteen. He… he killed three of our fighters. Alone."
There was silence on the line.
Zon continued, nervously, "Before I could figure out who he was, the heroes showed up… I had no choice but to run."
The man's voice turned even quieter—but every word hit like a blade.
"So what you're telling me… is that a sixteen-year-old boy—likely newly awakened—took down three of your fighters, escaped with the artifact, and you don't even know what he looks like?"
Zon stiffened. His boss didn't need to yell for him to feel the threat.
He could sense it. Death was only one mistake away.
He bowed his head lower, voice trembling.
"Sir… give me one last chance. I'll find him. I'll beat the shit out of him. And I'll recover the artifact."
There was a long pause.
And then that chilling voice spoke again.
"And if you fail…"
The tone dropped to something cold, inhuman.
"…your fate will be a cruel death."
With that, the screen went black.
Zon slumped back in his chair for a moment, exhaling shakily. Then his eyes gleamed red with rage. His fingers curled into fists.
Wherever you are…
Whoever you are…
You humiliated me.
"I'll find you," he growled, his voice dripping with venom.
"I'll make you regret not taking me seriously."
And with that, he threw his head back and burst into maniacal laughter—echoing through the smoky walls of the gambling house, as the scene faded to black.