Darren wandered the streets with no destination, hands buried in his pockets. His clothes were still worn and blood-stained, drawing curious glances from civilians—but he didn't care.
He'd faced death. Their stares didn't matter.
What did bother him, though, was the lingering feeling he was being watched. Not by civilians. But by something colder.
Well he just had to keep going. But to where? Well he hadn't thought of where to live though. He looked around and noticed an abandoned building. That was a perfect place to stay without being disturbed by anyone.
A chill breeze swept across the rooftop as Darren entered an abandoned building behind a warehouse. The place felt too quiet. No cars. No night workers. Not even vagrants. That's when he heard the footsteps.
He turned sharply. His eyes sharpened in an instant and before him were five figures all identical.
They stepped out of the shadows, all dressed in matching black suits with fur-lined collars. Fubuki's Blizzard Group.
A mix of psychics and martial artists. Each of them strong enough to beat a C-Class hero without breaking a sweat.
They spread out in a half-circle, boxing him in. Darren raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. This is her idea of a friendly welcome?"
A man with a jagged scar across his lip stepped forward. "Orders are orders. No hard feelings." Darren rolled his neck.
"No feelings at all. Huh?"
The first punch came fast. A telekinetic shoved aimed at slamming him into a wall—Darren planted his feet and resisted it completely, like a mountain unmoved by wind. The man gasped in shock at the might of their opponent.
The second attacker darted in with a steel baton crackling with electricity. Darren caught the weapon mid-swing and snapped it in half with one hand. Another gasp. Damn! He was too strong but they would not give up.
Then it escalated. Three at once. One launched a psychic wave. Another charged with reinforced gloves. The last tried to bind Darren's legs with telekinetic chains.
Darren exhaled. Then exploded into motion.
BAM!
He ducked low, shoulder-checking the gloved fighter with enough force to send him sailing through a rusted van.
CRUNCH!
With a twist of his body, Darren shattered the psychic chains binding his legs, then hurled a steel pipe like a javelin at the caster—it stabbed through his chest and pinned him against a crate, knocking the wind from his lungs.
The last tried to retreat—but Darren appeared behind her with terrifying speed and tapped her forehead with a single finger.
"Sorry pretty." She dropped, unconscious.
The building was still again. It was once again silent.
Darren cracked his knuckles and turned around to face the woman who had just stepped out of the shadows.
Fubuki.
She clapped softly, the sound echoing.
"Well done," she said, her tone smooth like silk on ice. "You didn't kill any of them. Impressive. I thought you'd be more... brutal."
Darren's eyes narrowed. "You set me up."
"I needed to see for myself. Anyone can say they killed Claw Man. I don't trust rumors. I trust results."
She stepped closer. Her heels clicked against the pavement.
"I have to admit…" Her eyes roamed him from head to toe. "You're stronger than I expected. But not just that—you think in combat. That's rare for someone with raw strength."
"I'm not interested in joining your group," Darren replied flatly.
"I'm not offering," she said, stopping in front of him. "Not yet."
Fubuki reached out—and without warning, raised her hand and unleashed a telekinetic burst straight into his chest.
BOOM!
The concrete cratered beneath him as he slid back two meters—but he stayed on his feet. Not even bruised.
She blinked, visibly surprised.
Then… she smiled.
"A test. You passed."
Darren exhaled slowly. "Do you always flirt by throwing people into the dirt?"
Fubuki smirked. "Only the interesting ones."
She turned to leave but paused, glancing over her shoulder.
"You've made enemies by killing Claw Man. Higher-ups in the Association don't like unregistered heroes. You're off-grid. Dangerous."
Darren stepped past the unconscious bodies. "Good. Let them come."
"I'm serious," she said. "They'll test you. Just like I did—but with less restraint. And fewer morals." Darren didn't look at her, her boobs were already bouncing.
"I didn't save A2 for fame."
Fubuki nodded slowly. "I know. That's why you might be worth helping." She tossed a card onto the ground near his feet.
"Call me when you realize you can't do it alone."
And then she vanished in a swirl of wind and snow. Darren clenched the card and looked at the nothingness of his environment. He smirked widely and turned back to check on the bodies but they were all gone.
"What the..." he muttered in amazement.