Raymar – On the edge of a tall building, in a city teeming with motion and noise.
below, Nott sat as if he existed outside the timeline of humanity.
10:05 AM.
A cup of hot cocoa warmed his left hand, while the fingers of his right moved lightly over the pages of a small leather notebook, written in a neat, slightly right-leaning script.
Cold morning breezes passed over the rooftops, toying with his black hair. At times, a sudden gust would flip a page or lift the ends of his long coat, swaying on the edge as if ready to fly away.
"10:05 AM. I'm sipping cocoa atop a secondhand furniture shop. They say it's the best in the area, but Stray owns a couch from them, and it's a full-blown sanctuary for bedbugs."
He took a quiet sip. His eyes didn't leave the lines. "Is the problem with the store or with Stray's unhygienic environment? I don't know. But what I do know is that the cleaning lady… does filthy things with the owner in the old chair storage, then disappears for hours. What's more nauseating is that his wife works in the furniture section, just one wall away.
What makes people cheat with such shamelessness? A cheater isn't seeking something new… they're just running from the responsibility of what they already have.
Maybe because a cheater reveals the path they always intended to take from the beginning."
A faint sound suddenly buzzed in his ear... from a tiny, precisely-placed microphone.
"Get ready. It's time."
Automatically, he pressed the mic with his finger, while his eyes fixed on some distant point on the horizon without blinking.
Nott, calmly: "Alright."
Then he returned to the notebook, writing with a touch of biting sarcasm:
"It's now 10:09. The sky is clear. Nothing suspicious… except the boredom.
But here I am, sitting on top of this filthy building, watching a plane about to fall from the sky."
He gently placed the pen and notebook beside the cocoa cup, took one final sip... as if saying farewell.
Then he stood up. Lightly, like a dancer preparing to take the stage.
He slowly rolled his neck, ran his fingers over his joints, stretched his muscles as if his body were a machine preparing to enter a state of "calculated madness."
He walked steadily toward the edge. Stood. Looked up at the sky.
The plane was now passing above him. He leaned his body backward at a precise angle, testing his balance, aligning his line of sight with the trajectory... like an athlete about to make a leap from dozens of meters high...
But he didn't jump.
Instead... he vanished. In the blink of an eye.
Inside the Plane – Moments Before the Explosion
A man's short scream was abruptly cut off when Nott dropped from the ceiling... upside down... as if gravity didn't know him.
BOOM!
His foot came down like a sword on the head of a man in his thirties. The landing was silent, but the result was deafening.
The man collapsed unconscious, while Nott rolled quickly, using the momentum to leap onto the opposite seat.
The second man screamed in shock, "Who?!"
But he didn't finish... Nott beat him to it with a kick to the stomach that sent him flying into the window. He crashed into it hard, making the plane shudder for a moment.
Nott took a breath. He didn't rush. He didn't shout. He simply walked toward the door of the front cabin.
He stopped in front of the glass separating the front and rear sections. Behind him, faint lights flickered, dancing across his sharp features. In front of him, on the other side, five men in black stood as if expecting danger from every direction, while a man in a gray suit sat with fake calm beside a blonde girl with bound hands, her head bowed, her blue eyes lifeless.
Nott stared for a few moments. Then… he smiled. A faint smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He slowly reached for the metal handle, a whisper escaping his cracked lips.
Nott: "Let's see… who will bore me, and who will surprise me."
His exterior seemed still, nearly lifeless… but inside? A living machine operating with insane calm.
Every corner scanned. Every shadow read.
A twitch of a muscle, a foot's tilt, a thumb's placement on a trigger… all data in a mind calculating death as a mathematical probability.
Assess. Predict. Execute.
Suddenly... BOOM!
The wooden door exploded inward. Its hinges shrieked, the panel slammed into the metal wall with a loud screech that tore through the stillness of the cabin.
Heads turned.
Breaths held.
Eyes widened.
One of the men's voices cracked with confusion: "What's happening?!"
The man closest to the door, seated on the left side of the aisle, felt his heart lurch in his chest.
His fingers danced between panic and reaction, but he forced his body to stand.
His seat creaked faintly.
He took a single step forward, raised his right arm with clear tension.
The gun trembled in his grip.
He aimed at the open door… where no one stood.
But that was the trick.
A shadow moved.
A void contracted.
Suddenly, and without a sound, Nott appeared behind him... as if born from nothing.
A precise kick with the sole of his foot struck the back of the man's right knee.
CRACK!
Cartilage tore, the joint gave out.
The man screamed, but his voice was cut off before it could fully escape.
Before he could fall, Nott spun around him with the speed of a blade.
The heel of his shoe struck the man's jaw from the side.
A blow that hammered his bones. His head whipped violently.
His eyes rolled like glass marbles. His body collapsed to the ground with a heavy silence.
Silence. For one second.
Then…
Everything ignites.
Four men rise at once, like cogs in a single machine... no orders needed.
Their eyes burn with the same flame. Their steps quicken in unison. A calculated, collective, deadly threat.
The plane shudders slightly from the sudden weight shift toward the rear, where the four bodies surge like a pack of predators,
each holding a deadly weapon:
The first, with a long black metal rod.
The second, holding a buzzing electric stun gun.
The third, twirling a curved knife as if dancing with it.
The fourth, a loaded pistol, finger clenched on the trigger.
The first strikes first... the rod crashes down like an axe on Nott's shoulder.
Thwack!
The blow lands on his left shoulder muscle. The sound of protesting bone is nearly audible.
Nott clenches his teeth, steps back twice, then bends at the waist at just the right moment....
dodging a knife thrust from the second man's hand.
But before he can rise, a brutal punch from the third hits his left rib... a fist crackling with electricity.
Jolt!
Nott coughs. Drops of blood escape his mouth, splattering against the metal floor with a soft patter.
But he doesn't fall.
His eyes glint. He lunges for the second attacker's arm. The stun gun doesn't quite touch his skin... it slides off the sleeve of his jacket, and then...
Crack!
A clean break at the elbow joint... an angle no arm should ever bend.
The man screams... a sound like the ripping of flesh... before Nott slams a brutal kick into his chest.
Boom!
The body is hurled backward, crashing into the cabin wall.
Unconscious instantly. The weapon falls.
The third advances!
His forehead launches like a hammer, slamming into Nott's forehead with crushing force.
Clack!
Skulls collide. A spark of pain flares behind his eyes. A ringing explodes in his right ear,
as if a bell burst inside his skull.
The world shivers. Lines blur. Sounds overlap.
His vision ripples. Light turns to liquid. Time stretches, fading for a moment.
Nott staggers, clutching his head… but his feet remain firm.
He falls to one knee. His hand trembles. Breathing slows.
His knee buckles.
The third man prepares to finish him.
Nott pushes off the floor with his injured hand, rises halfway.
At that moment, the third thrusts the knife to stab.
But Nott twists his body aside, slaps the man's wrist with his left hand. The knife drops.
Then, in a sudden and feral reaction, he bites into the attacker's neck... a savage bite... then drives his right knee upward in a crushing blow to the chin.
Crack!
The jaw snaps shut on itself. His teeth clamp down on his tongue, piercing it like a sprung trap.
A burst of blood erupts from the corner of his mouth. His face contorts...
and then goes still.
His eyes stay wide open, frozen in shock.
His body sways like a puppet whose strings were severed... then collapses soundlessly, as if his soul departed in utter silence.
The third has fallen… but there's no time to rest.
Before Nott can catch his breath, the fourth man pounces like a starving beast,
his knee slamming into Nott's chest. Air explodes from his lungs in a painful gasp.
A metallic sound...
Click.
The pistol's muzzle aimed at Nott's chest... cold as death's warning. The finger tightens on the trigger.
Nott can't see clearly... but he doesn't need to.
He hears… hears the resolve in the breath, the hesitation in the finger.
In a split second, Nott coils his right leg around the attacker's like a snake seizing its prey...
then yanks it backward.
The man stumbles, loses balance...
the shot fires upward, shattering the ceiling with a deafening bang before the pistol falls, rolling away.
Nott moves on instinct. He pushes his upper body up... his knee flashes up like lightning, smashing into the man's nose.
Crack!
A clear break... his nose distorts. Blood erupts in a red splash. The man screams, staggers back, collapses, writhing in pain.
Nott, barely holding himself together, drags his body across the floor, rolls onto his side,
extends a trembling hand… and grabs the pistol.
No time to think.
In the corner... one of the men tries to get up, crawling on his elbow, his face dripping with rage.
Nott raises the gun, steadies his breath, pulls the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet pierces the man's head from the side. Time halts. Then the body crashes down like a slab of meat... no resistance.
Silence.
The plane's air whirls in the background. A faint light flickers.
Nott slowly stands. He sways.
Blood drips from his left brow. His nose is bent. His lip is split.
Each breath feels like climbing a mountain...
his chest rises and falls slowly, as if life is returning to him, inhale after exhale.
His eyes scan... unrested, uneasy.
He looks in every direction, as if the world might turn on him at any moment.
As if time can no longer be trusted.
Then…
A faint click behind him.
A footstep.
Nott turns his head slowly... and standing there is a man in a gray uniform... the same one who had been calmly sitting next to the girl.
But now he's finally risen.
His arm is wrapped around her neck. The weapon pressed against her left temple. His finger on the trigger. His eyes locked on Nott.
The man, in a trembling voice trying to sound firm: "Stop!... Drop the gun! Don't move… or I swear I'll blow her head off!"
The girl trembles violently, her eyes brimming with tears, her mouth gagged with a faded cloth.
The man inches backward with cautious steps, pushing her ahead as a human shield.
His breath is ragged... as if he knows what he's doing won't end peacefully.
Nott stands motionless, his weapon raised, finger on the trigger... but he doesn't fire.
Then he smiles. Slowly. With sleepless eyes.
Nott, in a cold voice carrying a dormant evil: "Tell me... do you know what the real flaw is in using hostages?"
The man stares at him, face tight, breath shallow.
Nott steps forward half a step, voice lowering further, as if whispering an ancient secret:
"It doesn't stop the bullet... it only delays it."
Confusion casts shadows across the man's face, but Nott... He looks like he just walked out of hell. His face stained with blood,
his breath ragged, fingers trembling in pain...
Yet his expression? Clear. Solid. Unshaken.
The man trembles, shouting: "I told you to drop the weapon, now!!"
Nott glances at the girl, then looks straight into the man's eyes. Then... he suddenly raises both hands in the air, wearing a mocking smile, and chuckles lightly.
Nott, as if it's all just a casual outing: "Alright, alright... no need to get so tense!
You're losing your cool, and that's bad for someone in your position."
He slowly moves his right hand, then points the muzzle of the gun to his own head this time.
Nott, still smiling: "Is this better for you?"
The man's eyes widen, as if witnessing a nightmare take form. He steps back unconsciously, breath shaking, sweat soaking his forehead despite the cold.
The man screams, panicked: "You're insane!! Completely insane, you bastard!"
Nott tosses the gun to the ground, hands still raised, his tone slicing through the air with confidence: "Just calm down... This isn't a movie. And to be honest, I don't care about that girl... All I want... is that little bag, sitting there by the back seat."
Nott gestures with his eyes toward the right corner, where a sleek black bag glints under dim light.
The man frowns, his eyes drifting unconsciously to the bag... Just for a second. No more.
But it was enough.
Disappearance.
Like the light had swallowed Nott whole.
Then... a soft sound behind the man, and a hand clasps his wrist like a predator's jaw.
A scream.
A violent shove.
The man stumbles back, the girl falls to the floor.
Nott leaps onto him, the two clash violently.
Weapons fly, kicks are exchanged, the plane howls with the engines' roar as if it too is screaming.
Bullets fly from the gun in the man's hand... wild, uncontrollable shots. One pierces a window, another scorches the back of a seat, the third and fourth blast through the plane's walls. But the fifth and sixth...
Without warning, two bullets fly straight toward the cockpit.
The first shatters the front glass, the second penetrates the control systems, unleashing total chaos.
The pilot shudders, turns around at the sound of breaking glass... only to see the next bullet strike the main control panel.
Electronic buzzing. Sparks. Red lights.
The plane starts shaking violently.
Pilot, terrified: "Damn it! We've lost the system! We've lost control!"
He glances behind him... but all he sees is absolute chaos.
Nott shoves the man backward, slamming him against the wall of the plane. But he can't focus; the red light blinds him, sirens shriek all around, the floor tilts under his feet.
The pilot jumps from his seat in panic, runs down the aisle, opens the rear door of the plane. Air rushes in like a storm, luggage flies, cabin pressure collapses.
The pilot, screaming while strapping on a parachute: "To hell with all of you!"
Then he jumps.
The air swallows him in a heartbeat, the door swings like a hungry jaw, the wind screams.
Nott grips a metal pillar, yelling at the man: "Give me the damn bag or we all go down with it!!"
The man screams, trying to stand against the murderous wind. The girl crawls toward one of the beams.
The scene turns into utter chaos; A falling plane, dead men, savage winds, and secrets in a single bag...
The air whistles through the plane like the roar of a mad beast, the wind shoves everything with irresistible force. Seats sway, papers fly, and bodies fight to resist a merciless storm.
The plane tumbles like a body shot in the heart, swaying hard, spinning violently as if seeking death.
Nott and the man roll across the metallic floor, slamming into anything their bodies can hit.
A blow, a crash, a scream, blood smearing a shattered window.
As they wrestled amid the violent tilting, the man's body slammed into one of the iron seats. His gun slipped from his grip, clattered to the ground, and slid away in the chaos.
Suddenly, the plane pitched harder, like it was breathing its final breath. Both were hurled by wind and gravity. Nott slammed into the back wall, the man hit a seat and slid down its side, gripping it tightly. His breath short, eyes dazed and terrified, he turned his head to the right.
There, just a few steps away, was the girl clinging to a worn-out seat near the open door, her hair flying wildly, her face soaked with tears and fear.
She was screaming silently, as if begging the whole world to save her.
The man, his voice choked between panic and curses: "You want the damn bag?! Save this precious girl first!!"
Then without warning, he kicked her in the stomach... hard.
She gasped, thrown back, and screamed a torn cry as she lost her grip on the metal beam.
Her body rolled... then slid out, as if the sky had swallowed her.
Nott, screaming her name with a soul-tearing rage: "No!!!"
His voice came not from his mouth, but from within...broken, hollow, charged with everything he couldn't say.
He tried to rise, hands searching for grip on the slippery floor, but the plane pitched again, slamming him against the interior wall.
The man wasted no time... he grabbed a parachute bag. One last glance at Nott... then he jumped.
Just like that... he fled.
Left behind wreckage, a girl in the sky, and a silence that screamed.
Nott was now alone.
Amid a whirlwind of metal, air, blood, and noise, he stood with difficulty.
The walls spun, the floor refused to hold still, everything betrayed him.
His mind raced...
But his thoughts were scrambled...
The echo of her scream still rang in his ears.
His lungs tightened, like oxygen had turned into weight.
He looked through the open door... saw the ground approaching like a hell waiting to embrace him.
And in his eyes... something ignited. Something between guilt and fury. Something he could no longer run from.
He clung to a metal beam near the rear door of the cabin. His fingers clenched tight, his hand burning from the grip, sweat mixing with blood on his face.
The black bag... the one he came for... was still stuck in the cockpit.
The wind nudged it slowly, but it hadn't fallen.
The distance was short... just a few steps.
Nott slowly released his grip, his body swaying with the wind, but he didn't fall.
He crawled across the plane's interior like walking a tightrope over a cliff.
But suddenly... he stopped.
His eyes weren't on the bag.
He looked behind him... to the void where the girl had fallen.
A void with no sound... and no end.
A cold sigh escapes his chest. His hand trembles.
His inner voice.
Nott: "Just the bag... that's what matters. It's a simple truth. No need to think!!"
But his heart is pounding.
One beat...
Two beats...
A silent explosion in his chest. The image of the girl falling doesn't leave his eyes. He clenches his teeth tightly, his jaw trembling, his face expressing a terrifying internal struggle.
He can't ignore it. He mutters harshly.
Nott: "Damn it... damn everything!."
Then, as if lightning shot through him... he moves.
He runs through the plane, which is now tilting violently. He reaches out, snatches the parachute bag, and wraps it around his arm. No time to secure it, no time to even check its condition.
The wind blasts against his face, and every step feels like pushing through a giant glass wall shoving him back. But he doesn't stop.
One step... then a leap... the current pulls him.
The sky swallows him. Blinding light floods his face...
His body spins in the air, tumbling, being torn by the raging winds.
He appears as a small shadow falling toward the earth. His eyes snap open mid-fall, scanning the void.
Then... he sees her.
The girl's body tumbles through the air. She's still alive, but flailing like a doll dropped from a high shelf.
Nott gasps, his body surging with adrenaline, blood drying on his forehead under the scorching sun.
He pulls in his arms and legs, tightens every muscle, making himself an arrow shooting downward.
His eyes see only one thing; her body spinning, vanishing for moments into scattered clouds.
The pressure increases, his ears ring, his vision wavers... but he doesn't stop.
Only a few seconds. No more.
If he doesn't reach her now... she'll be crushed.
Her scream...
The Girl: "Nooo!!... Please!... I don't want to die!!!"
Her voice split his heart more than the wind did.
Then...
Their hands meet.
His hand grabs hers.
Her body shakes like a doll caught in a storm. Her terrified eyes meet his... a mix of desperation, shock, and disbelief.
Nott: "Hold on tight!"
He says it while lifting her slightly, positioning her above him.
He pulls the parachute around her trembling body, starting to fasten it.
But she screams: "No! I don't know how!!"
Nott: "Shut up!"
He tightens the straps firmly, securing the parachute to her shoulders and chest. Then he pulls her into him, holding her with one arm, and with the other...
He pulls the cord.
The parachute bursts open in the sky like a flower of salvation. The air finally holds them.
The two bodies, once plummeting at the speed of death, now sway gently in the air, as if the sky itself decided to forgive them.
A moment of silence.
The girl sobs, her breaths short and broken, her head resting on his chest, clutching his shirt like she's afraid he'll disappear.
Nott breathes heavily, his eyes on the horizon, but he feels the heat of her tears on his neck.
The Girl: "... Thank you..."
Her whisper was closer to a shiver, but he didn't respond. He was still in his other half... the half that doesn't trust survival, doesn't trust anything.
Suddenly, a voice in his ear... clear and heavy.
Stray: "Hey, kid!!"
His eyes widen. The voice comes from the earpiece, calm as usual, but there's something different...
The blue sky is pierced by a slowly descending parachute. A girl crying quietly, gripping the cords tightly. A voice yells into Nott's ear...
Stray, sharply and anxiously: "What's happening!!? Are you two okay!?"
Nott grips the cords tightly, steering the parachute downward, his eyes half-closed, exhausted.
Nott, with a weary sigh: "Yeah... she's okay. But I lost the bag... it's still in the plane."
Silence in the ether, as if time itself paused.
A hollow moment before the storm.
Stray, in a quiet voice sharp as a blade: "Kid... listen to me carefully."
Nott lifts his head, a focused look in his eyes that begin to burn with doubt.
Stray, firmly: "You need to return to the plane. Now."
Nott is stunned. He glances at the burning aircraft, falling like a blazing meteor.
Time froze in his mind for a moment. Stray's words weren't just orders... they were lightning bolts that shattered his inner balance. "The plane?!" The echo rang in his head like heavy knocks on the walls of his consciousness. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, and his chest tightened as if his heart were trying to escape its cage. He could no longer hear anything clearly... only the violent pounding of his heartbeat, and distant voices fading into a spiral of shock and denial.
Nott, agitated: "W-what?! Are you nuts?! You bastard, I'm not going back for that bag!! The plane could explode any second!!"
Stray, louder, angry, trying to maintain control: "I know!! That's why you need to hurry!! Do you realize the damage if that plane crashes into the city?! Hundreds of innocent lives will be lost, kid! And it'll be... because of you!!"
Nott trembles. The weight of the words feels like knives slicing through his ribs from the inside.
Nott, hesitant, distraught: "B-but I can't!! I'm in the air right now! I need a medium!"
Stray, sharply: "The damn girl is a medium! Use her!!"
Nott floats in the air, his mind swirling between the chaos around him and the words that Stray is shouting in his ear. The air slaps his face, but he feels as if the weight of the sky itself is pressing down on him. His mission had seemed simple at first, but now he is at a point of no return. His eyes widen as he increasingly understands what the task demands.
Nott, repeating in a broken voice, trying to comprehend what Stray said: "But... how?! The plane... it's falling! What if I can't change its course?!"
Thoughts rain down on his mind like a storm, hundreds of scenarios battling in his head, all leading to the same result: catastrophe. If he makes a mistake, if he is unable to fully control his abilities, if he fails to stop the plane at the right moment, the plane will crash over the city, and many innocent lives will be lost. The responsibility will be on him, and he can't escape it.
Stray, in his ear, his voice firm: "There's no time to think! If you don't act now, they'll all die!"
Nott, his hands trembling as he looks at the girl holding his hand carefully, the sunlight reflecting fear in her eyes.
His mind screams at him: "Think clearly!" But everything around him is spiraling out of control. If he can't use the girl as a medium, he won't be able to teleport to the plane. He is now in the air, floating in the void, and the plane is approaching rapidly, gravity unforgiving. He could escape, but this time, he can't run.
A feeling of being lost overwhelms him, as if his body is trying to flee from this painful reality. The pressure builds, and every choice feels like the wrong one. But he knows he has no time to hesitate, no time to be afraid. Time is moving fast, and he is about to make a life-altering decision.
Nott looks around, his world fading, everything in his mind slowing down. His eyes shift between the sky, the girl, and the approaching plane. He can't close his eyes, he can't escape this reality. He must bear the responsibility. He must trust himself, trust his abilities. He is the only one who can save everyone.
Blood races through his veins, but he can't back out. He won't sacrifice anyone's life. He alone will risk everything.
Then, holding his breath, he extends his hand towards the girl and carefully closes his grip around her arm. His mind is now consumed with the details. Is he ready for this moment? He doesn't know. But he knows one thing for sure: he has no other choice.
He turns to her. Her wide eyes gleam with fear, her body still shaking.
Nott, whispers: "I'm sorry..."
He grabs her shoulders, facing her directly. The fear in her eyes turns into terror.
The Girl, screaming in panic: "What are you doing!? Don't leave me!!"
Nott, firmly, with a calmness that defies the fall: "Don't panic. Focus... There's a small farm over there. Land in it."
Then, in a single moment, he lets go of her shoulders, steps onto her toes, and then... vanishes.
Inside the Plane – Darkness, fire, smoke, and the faint roar of engines.
Nott appears suddenly, but is thrown violently, slamming into the cockpit wall. A cracking sound is heard from within. Blood trickles down from his head.
The wind whistles, sound distorted, everything shaking. But one voice cuts through the pain.
Stray shouts through the mic: "Kid!! Wake up! You have to pull the plane up now!! Steer it toward the river!! Hurry!!"
The roar of the dead engines rises like the scream of a dying beast. The windshield reflects the ground approaching at terrifying speed.
Nott bleeds from his forehead, crawling across the tilted metal floor, gasping, his expression blurred between pain and determination.
He crawls, half-conscious, eyes locking onto the worn-out control panel... cracked glass, broken instruments. He reaches out... grabs the yoke.
Nott, in a hoarse, angry, pleading whisper: "Get up... shut up and get up..."
His trembling hand pulls the yoke with all the strength left in his body. The plane shudders, groans... resists... then dips again, as if mocking his effort.
Nott, with a blood-curdling scream that tears his throat: "GET UUUUUP!!!"
Every muscle in his body tightens, his eyes bulge... as if his very soul is screaming with him.
The plane finally begins to level... slowly... ferociously.
It skims just meters above rooftops, nearly touching them, then dips smoothly toward the river as if choosing its grave.
Nott turns, sees the black bag on the floor. He stumbles toward it, grabs it, and approaches the open emergency door, his eyes locked on the rushing water like it's fate itself.
He hurls the bag forward, then plants his hand firmly on the metal floor... balancing the contact point... and teleports, swapping the bag's position with his own in a flash.
In an instant, he finds himself in the air.
His body spins through the void above the river, the wind tearing at his clothes... but he doesn't resist. He opens his arms, as if embracing the end.
Splash.
His body plunges into the icy water, a massive spray rising and fading quickly.
Seconds pass...
The plane crashes into the river behind him, diving like a crazed beast chasing its prey.
Then... A deafening explosion.
Water rises like a liquid wall, shaking the banks, yet trapping the disaster in its embrace.
From a distance, Stray stands beside his parked car near the edge of the farmland. His eyes remain fixed, watching the smoke rising from the river.
He lifts the microphone, attempts contact.
Silence.
Heavy seconds pass.
Then, a faint, broken voice crackles through the mic.
Nott, hoarse, barely audible: "...I'm okay."
Stray closes his eyes, exhales slowly, as if his chest had been locked the entire time.
He raises his head to the sky, speaking to the clouds:
Stray, quietly: "Well done, kid... Rest now. I'll take it from here."
Gate of a countryside manor – Just after sunset.
The orange light of the sun slips between the branches of surrounding trees, while the air still carries the damp scent left by the explosion near the river.
Stray stands firmly, his eyes... as always... reveal nothing.
An elegant old man approaches from the manor gates. He appears to be the family patriarch, his eyes heavy with the fatigue of years and the fear that hasn't yet left him.
The old man, hoarse, extending his hand: "You saved her life... I don't know how to thank you."
Stray shakes his hand with a cold grip... firm, but indifferent. He replies in a low, flat voice, devoid of pride:
Stray: "Keep your thanks, 'Marquess Alexander Starkov'... We don't work for gratitude."
A short silence.
Alexander, after gripping Stray's hand tightly, his eyes trembling behind his glasses:
"I'm not the kind of man who forgets a debt, Mr. Stray... We've prepared a small token of appreciation. You're entitled to-..."
Stray interrupts him without looking up, his tone sharp but not hostile: "I'll say it again... we don't trade lives for rewards."
The marquis swallows hard, averts his gaze slightly, then offers a bitter smile: "Then at least let us host you at the manor tonight... You and the young man who saved my granddaughter. As guests, not as debtors."
He stares at Stray, wanting to say more, but something in Stray's expression tells him there's no need.
From behind them... hesitant footsteps.
The girl appears at the manor entrance, wrapped in a light blanket, her lips trembling from the lingering shock.
She walks forward slowly, her breath shaky, as if in a dream.
The girl, in a quiet yearning voice: "That boy... where is he?"
Stray turns to her, his tone calm as always, but this time touched with a faint reassurance: "He's fine. He regained consciousness just a while ago..."
The girl lowers her eyes for a moment, then whispers so softly it's barely audible: "I want... to thank him myself."
She pauses, then raises her gaze with shy resolve: "If he can't come here, I'll go to him. His name is Nott, right?"
Stray stares at her for a moment, then nods silently before turning his gaze to the horizon.
The girl stares after him, confused, but doesn't press further.
Stray turns away, walking slowly toward his car parked outside the manor gates.
The air carries soft breaths, and the sky is painted in a pale hue of dusk.
The girl remains where she is, looking to where he disappeared, placing her trembling hand over her chest... where the feeling of that embrace still lingers in her heart...
She closes her eyes, and they glisten with a strange mix of fear, gratitude, and something else... nameless.
The faint sound of a car engine fades quietly.
In the City – A crowded street full of life.
People walk, shop, talk. Children chase a ball, an old woman sells flowers by the sidewalk.
Laughter echoes, car horns blend with the pulse of life.
In the middle of the noise, Nott walks calmly, head slightly lowered. He holds a cup of cocoa in his left hand... long since cold... and a medium black bag hangs from his shoulder.
Stray's voice comes through the earpiece... calm as usual, but with a hidden note of amusement:
Stray: "I took the credit instead of you.
Hope you don't mind."
Nott pauses for a moment in front of a toy store, staring through the glass.
A little girl laughs as she tries on glowing goggles.
He takes a small sip from the cup, frowns in disgust:
Nott: "Damn... the cocoa's cold. But yeah, it's fine... Like I told you, I don't care for grateful tears or applause."
He falls silent for a few seconds, taking in the scene around him. Laughter, color, life that waits for no one.
Stray's voice returns: "Is the bag with you?"
Nott glances at the bag, then smirks with dry sarcasm: "Heh... Be honest... did those innocent lives really matter to you?
Or was all this just for the bag?"
A moment of silence.
Then Stray replies, with a soft chuckle, as if enjoying the game: "...You could say... both."
Nott chuckles lightly, then wipes his sweaty forehead with his sleeve.
Stray, now with a businesslike tone: "The pilot and the traitor have been captured.
The mission's over. Don't strain yourself any further. Come straight back here."
Then adds, with a mocking tone: "Oh, and by the way... When you return to the apartment, bring coffee. Not that disgusting cocoa you drink."
The voice cuts off.
Nott stands amidst the crowd, raising his head to the sky. Light filters through the clouds, and for a moment, the sounds fade,
as if time has stopped.
In front of him, a small child runs to his father and hugs him tightly. A girl laughs as she snaps a photo of an old man dancing in the street.
Nott whispers softly, as if speaking to his own heart: "...Maybe it was worth it.
No one should be denied laughter...
Like I was."
He walks on, through the crowd,
with calm steps...
Four days later, at the 87th match.
Raymar – August 21, 2017. In a beginner-level street combat tournament.
Nott stood alert at the center of the ring, slightly taller and larger than before, dressed in simple clothes, his body covered with bruises and scars.
Across from him stood Stray, staring at him, wearing casual clothes without his heavy gear.
The arena was shaped like a giant cage in the middle of the hall, with loud, eager fans filling the surrounding stands.
About four meters high, a woman stood on a narrow iron platform attached to the central wall. A black microphone in hand, her face lit up under the glare of the spotlights... like a star on stage.
Referee, with fiery excitement: "Here we go! Are you ready?! Are you excited?!"
The crowd erupted. Cheers, whistles, screams of thrill, the pounding of feet... the entire cage trembled in place.
Referee, raising her voice: "The final match of the Beginner Street League is about to begin!!"
The noise escalated. Voices merged into one massive wave of sound.
Referee, looking up at the ceiling camera: "[They've made this league more popular than ever…
It used to barely attract twenty viewers…
But now? Over 4,996 are watching the livestream!!]"
In the stands, among the hundreds of fans, a heated exchange unfolded:
Spectator 1, with nervous excitement: "Stray has to win! I bet everything I have on him!!"
Spectator 2, shaking his head: "Are you stupid? Don't you know that kid? He crushed every other fighter. His last match with Stray was insane!"
Spectator 3, smirking: "Heh, they've fought plenty of times… And Stray won every single one."
In the center of the ring, under the harsh white light, Stray stood tall.
Stray stood firm, his eyes fixed only on Nott, eagerly anticipating the start of the match, his gaze was blazing. He cracked his knuckles slowly... deliberately. The sound echoed faintly in the steel cage that surrounded them like a looming beast with no way out.
Sweat glistened on his brow, not from fear, but from anticipation.
Stray, grinning wide: "Oi… Kid, I feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins!!
Don't disappoint me, alright?!"
Nott didn't move. Didn't blink. His eyes were cold... unshaken. He stood perfectly still in the center of the ring, as if he'd been waiting for this moment all his life.
Nott, quietly, like a whisper laced with venom: "Enjoy your racing heartbeat… Because it won't last long."
A hush fell.
The crowd was roaring... but inside the cage, time seemed to pause.
Above them, the referee stood tall on the platform, microphone in hand, voice booming like thunder across the hall.
Referee, with electric energy: "The rules of this match… are simple."
A heartbeat passed.
Referee: "Leaving the ring... forbidden!
Killing... forbidden!
But everything else… Everything else inside this cage… is allowed!!!"
The crowd exploded with noise... shouting, stomping, screaming names.
Yet Nott and Stray heard none of it.
In their minds, there was only one sound now; The silence… before a storm.
Referee, raising a fist: "One!... Two!!... THREE!!!"
Referee, screaming: "BEGIN!!!"
In that instant, faster than a thought...
a faint red flicker flashed in the air.
Like a spark of anger... or blood.
Then... shing!... a dagger suddenly appeared in Nott's hand, its metal glinting under the cage lights…
As if it had been plucked from the air itself.