The morning light was too bright, too harsh for my tired eyes. I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by a truck, my body aching in places I didn't even know could hurt. The memories from last night were foggy, blurred by the alcohol that had been coursing through my veins, but the pain was a very sober reminder that it wasn't just a bad dream.
"Ouch!" The word escaped me as I tried to rise, only to fall back down. My legs felt like jelly, refusing to cooperate. With a groan, I managed to pull myself up.
Using a chair as his anchor in the unsteady sea of his kitchen. He reached for his toothbrush, the mundane act of brushing his teeth a stark contrast to the recollections that began to surface. The night had been punctuated by screams — a sound that had drawn him out into the unknown.
I picked up my toothbrush, the bristles cool against my swollen gums. As I brushed, the events of the previous night started to come back to me in flashes. The screams that had drawn me out, the cold knife against my throat, the terror in the children's eyes... And her, the girl from under the cherry blossom tree, her face a beacon of innocence in the midst of chaos.
It was all coming back to me now, the danger, the fight, the fear. And amidst it all, a glimmer of something else—hope? Maybe. But first, I had to deal with the hangover.
A cold blade at his throat, the sharp promise of danger, and the faces of four children — their eyes wide with a mix of fear and something darker. Among them, a familiar face: the girl from beneath the cherry blossom tree. The connection was a puzzle piece that didn't fit, a dissonant note in the melody of his life.
As he spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, Lucas couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The encounter had been too close, too real. And now, in the harsh light of day, he was left to ponder the implications of a night that had almost slipped through the cracks of his memory.
And then it suddenly clicked inside him.
It all clicked into place with a rush of clarity that was almost painful. The flashback hit me like a wave, relentless and unforgiving. The three men I had taken down were back on their feet, their faces twisted with rage. They kicked, they swung their bats with a fury that was almost inhuman, each hit a brutal punctuation to their anger. I was their outlet, the object of their vengeance, and they didn't hold back.
I could feel the blood, warm and sticky, trickling down my face, the taste of iron on my lips. My vision swam, each blow to my head making the world spin a little faster. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. They stepped back, their breaths heaving, leaving me there—broken, bloody, and bruised.
The children's eyes were wide with horror, their small bodies trembling. They had seen too much, too soon. And me? I was furious. This day had already taken everything from me—my job, my last bit of money, my dignity. And now, it had taken my safety, leaving me with nothing but pain and a burning anger that threatened to consume me.
Lucas lay on the ground, the taste of iron in his mouth and the world a blur of pain and noise.
And in that moment, his anger surged like a tidal wave. This day had already stripped him of his job, his last yen spent on a momentary escape in the form of drinks, and now this—this senseless brutality....
Lying there, each bruise a testament to the night's brutality, my mind raced back to a different time—a time when I was just a child, pushing my body to its limits, only to be met with the harsh truth of my own limitations. The anger I felt then was a fire that had never really died; it had only been smoldering, waiting for a breath to ignite it once more.
And now, it roared to life.
I didn't care about techniques, about form, about the consequences. I just wanted to hit back, to release the storm of emotions that had been building up inside me for years.
With a shaky breath, I pushed myself up, my left arm hanging limply at my side. An invisible pressure seemed to build around me, the air charged with my unspoken rage. And then, with all the strength I could muster, I let it all go. My fist flew forward, not just a part of me, but all of me—every bit of anger, frustration, and suppressed emotion—channeled into that one, defining punch.
In that pivotal moment, the protagonist's world narrowed to a singular point of focus. The pain of his bruises and the copper and iron taste of blood in his mouth faded into the background.
The anger that had simmered within him since that day — an anger he thought he had mastered — now roared to life, eclipsing all else.
It was a emotion he had suppressed, a torrent of emotion that demanded release. He no longer cared for the finesse of techniques or the grace of controlled movements. All that mattered was the urge to punch with all his being the need to.
"Punch the hardest I could. "
It was more than just a physical act; it was the embodiment of his anger, his frustration, his disappointment. The punch cut through the silence, a declaration of his existence, a rebellion against the disappointments that had tried to define him.
---
The protagonist's punch transcended the realm of the ordinary, unleashing a force that reverberated through the very foundations of the building. The shockwave rippled outwards, its power undeniable and indiscriminate.
The assailants were thrown back, their bodies colliding with the wall with such ferocity that the sound of cracking bones was almost lost amidst the cacophony of destruction.
The aftermath was a scene of devastation. The floor lay in ruins, its once solid surface now a spiderweb of fractures that spread like tendrils.
The walls, too, bore the scars of the impact, chunks of plaster and brick scattered across the room as if they were mere shards of glass. The ground itself seemed to have borne the brunt of the protagonist's unleashed fury, with large cracks that spoke of an earthquake's wrath.
In the silence that followed, the gravity of what had transpired began to sink in. Lucas stood amidst the wreckage, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The power he had sought — the limitless potential promised by the mysterious app — had manifested in a way he could never have anticipated. It was both a gift and a curse, a revelation of potential that can cause someone to be powerful.
I collapsed, the world fading to black.
Now, as I stood brushing my teeth, a sense of disorientation washed over me. This place... it wasn't my home. The realization was like a splash of cold water. What was I doing here?
A knock at the door jolted me. I approached cautiously, opening it to reveal a man in a crisp suit. "We saved you," he said, his voice calm and authoritative. "But you must come with us and get your body tested."
"Who are you? And where am I?" I asked, my confusion mounting.
"You are currently within the boundaries of the first Academy for superhumans," he replied, a statement that should have sounded absurd, but in the light of recent events, felt disturbingly plausible
"Ok wait a minute first. "
Lucas examined his reflection, the frosted image in the mirror slowly clearing as he finished brushing his teeth. He leaned in closer, a grin spreading across his face, and with a flick of the wrist, he sent the toothbrush spinning back into its holder.
"Well, now that I remember it," he said, his voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls, "I feel cool as fuck." The words hung in the air, a fitting soundtrack to the swagger in his step as he turned away from the mirror, ready to take on the day with newfound bravado.
After some time.
This is the best outfit I got.
He stood in front of the mirror He had Black almost raven like hair and white eyes and Wore dark black flexible pants and a white t shirt with a gray hoodie on and classic black sneakers.
"Hmm lookin good."he said.
"Yeah I'm ready now, let's go."