The echo of Logan's laughter still lingered in the training hall—low, rough, edged with disbelief.
"Bullshit," he had said.
But even as the word hung in the air, something had shifted.
Because no matter how much he joked, how casually he dismissed it… Logan Vance wasn't a fool.
Not even close.
The air in the martial hall had grown warmer, thick with the smell of sweat, leather, and worn canvas. The muted hum of air conditioning struggled against the heat generated by bodies in motion. Around them, the spectators hadn't dispersed yet—some leaned against padded walls, others whispered in low tones, their eyes still fixed on Adrian.
Not admiration.
Not quite fear.
Something in between.
Logan rolled his shoulders once more, his breathing finally evening out. His gaze locked onto Adrian again—this time sharper, more serious.
It wasn't curiosity anymore.
It was confirmation.
No matter how fast he moved… no matter how hard he struck…
Adrian had blocked everything.
Effortlessly.
That alone said more than any words ever could.
Adrian tilted his head slightly, calm as ever.
"Does it really matter?" he asked, his tone even. "Whether I used my full strength or not."
Logan's expression hardened.
"Yeah," he said, voice dropping. "It does."
There was no humor in it now.
Only intent.
Adrian gave a small shrug, as if the question itself wasn't worth much thought.
"Then I'll be honest," he said. "I don't know."
That answer lingered in the space between them—strange, almost absurd.
Logan's brow twitched.
"You don't know?" he repeated, incredulous.
Adrian met his gaze without flinching.
"I improved recently. Still getting used to it."
That part, at least, was true.
Not a lie.
Just… incomplete.
Logan exhaled slowly, then cracked his neck, a grin tugging at his lips again—but this time, it carried something sharper underneath.
"Good," he said. "Then let's test it properly."
Adrian's eyes narrowed just a fraction.
"Properly?"
"Yeah," Logan said, stepping back toward the center of the platform. "We're both still geared up."
He spread his arms slightly.
"No holding back this time."
A beat of silence.
Adrian studied him.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
There was something almost… off about his expression. Not arrogance. Not hesitation.
Just certainty.
Logan waved a hand impatiently.
"Stop talking."
His voice hardened.
"Come at me."
The air shifted.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
They took their positions again—seven meters apart. The distance wasn't much… but in a fight, it was enough for a heartbeat. Enough for a decision.
The room grew quiet.
Even the whispers died.
There was a tension now—thin, sharp, like a wire stretched too tight.
Victor, standing at the edge of the platform, felt it immediately.
Something wasn't right.
"Start."
The word had barely left Logan's mouth—
When Adrian moved.
He didn't step forward.
He vanished.
To the onlookers, it felt like their vision had glitched—as if a frame had been skipped in reality itself.
One moment he stood still.
The next—
He was already there.
A gust of wind followed in his wake, brushing against faces, stirring loose strands of hair.
Logan's pupils shrank.
Too fast—
He didn't even have time to react.
A fist appeared before his face—
Five centimeters away.
Stopped.
Perfectly still.
Silence.
Absolute.
Then—
"Holy—!"
"What the hell was that?!"
"That speed—!"
Voices erupted all at once, the tension snapping like a broken thread.
Shock rippled through the room.
Seven meters.
Closed in less than a blink.
It wasn't just fast.
It was unnatural.
Like something pulled straight out of myth.
Adrian lowered his hand slowly, stepping back as if nothing had happened.
Logan didn't move.
For a moment, he couldn't.
His heart pounded heavily against his ribs, each beat loud in his ears. A thin layer of sweat formed along his spine—not from exertion… but instinct.
That punch—
If it had landed—
He exhaled sharply, then let out a bitter laugh.
"Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. "So that's how it is."
His gaze lifted again, meeting Adrian's.
"Be honest," he said. "Fighting me before… was it frustrating?"
Adrian blinked once, then smiled faintly.
"No," he said. "I only broke through recently."
Victor stepped forward slightly, his eyes burning with something far more intense than surprise.
"Adrian," he said, voice low. "Have you… reached it?"
There was a weight behind the question.
Something almost reverent.
Adrian hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then nodded.
"I think so."
Victor inhaled sharply.
"Unbelievable…" he murmured.
Four years.
That was all it had taken.
From nothing—
To this.
Even prodigies didn't grow like that.
This wasn't talent anymore.
It was something else entirely.
Adrian stepped off the platform, the cool floor beneath his feet grounding him again. The tension slowly dissipated, replaced by the normal rhythm of the gym.
But the looks he received had changed.
Subtly.
Permanently.
Victor led them to his office.
The space was quieter, insulated from the noise outside. The faint aroma of tea leaves filled the room, warm and calming. Steam curled gently from freshly poured cups, carrying a soft bitterness in the air.
A television mounted on the wall was already on—volume low, but not muted.
Flashes of red and blue light flickered across the screen, reflecting faintly on the glass table.
A news anchor's urgent voice cut through the calm.
"—once again, Grayhart City was brought to the brink of disaster earlier tonight—"
The footage shifted.
Collapsed buildings.
Shattered streets.
Smoke rising in thick, choking plumes.
Sirens wailed in the background.
Then—
A figure streaked across the screen.
Fast.
Blindingly so.
A man—no, something more than that—cut through the chaos, intercepting a massive chunk of falling concrete mid-air, shattering it before it could crush the civilians below.
Another clip followed—
A clash.
Brutal.
A villain—armored, towering—slammed into the ground with enough force to crack the street open like glass.
Cars overturned.
Windows exploded outward.
People ran in every direction.
And yet—
That same figure stood at the center of it all.
Unmoving.
Unbreakable.
"—if not for the intervention of the superheroes, casualties would have been catastrophic—"
The screen flickered back to the anchor.
"Authorities have confirmed that the threat level had reached Tier-4 before being contained—"
Logan leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the screen.
"…Damn," he muttered.
For once—
There was no sarcasm in his voice.
Victor exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
"Every time it gets worse," he said quietly.
Adrian said nothing.
His gaze lingered on the screen a moment longer—watching the aftermath, the destruction, the sheer scale of it.
Then he looked away.
Logan scoffed lightly, though it lacked its usual edge.
"You know," he said, "when I was a kid… I wanted to be one of them."
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"You?" he said.
Logan smirked faintly.
"Yeah. Don't look so surprised."
He nodded toward the screen.
"Strong. Untouchable. People look at you like you're the answer to everything."
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"Thought that was what power was."
Victor folded his arms.
"And now?"
Logan's smile thinned.
"Now I know better."
His fingers tapped once against the armrest.
"Power like that?" he said. "It doesn't come free."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Adrian.
"Everything has a cost."
Adrian met his gaze—but said nothing.
Logan looked back at the screen, where the hero stood surrounded by destruction.
"…Still," he added, almost under his breath, "would've been nice."
The room fell quiet again.
Then Logan straightened slightly, as if shaking off the thought.
"You're wasted here," he said suddenly, looking at Adrian. "Come work with me."
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
"I'm serious," Logan continued. "one million a year."
A pause.
"Plus ten percent equity."
Victor's hand froze mid-air.
That wasn't an offer.
That was a statement of value.
Adrian took a slow sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through him.
Then he set the cup down.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm starting something of my own."
Victor's expression changed immediately.
"You're leaving?" he asked.
Adrian nodded.
"I'm twenty-six," he said quietly. "If I don't try now… I never will."
The room fell silent.
Victor studied him for a long moment—then sighed softly.
"I knew this day would come," he said. "Just didn't expect it this late."
He gestured vaguely.
"You were never meant to stay in one place."
Adrian said nothing.
He didn't need to.
"Where?" Victor asked.
Adrian's gaze sharpened.
"Grayhart City."
The name carried weight.
Five years ago—
That was where everything had collapsed.
Now—
It would be where everything began again.
"I fell there once," Adrian said. "This time… I rise."
Logan leaned back, arms crossed.
"Starting a business isn't cheap," he said. "I can loan you three million."
Adrian looked at him—genuinely surprised.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Thanks," he said. "If I need it… I won't hesitate."
He paused.
Then added—
"The future's shifting. Fast."
Both men looked at him.
"AI. Networks. Systems that replace people before they even realize it," Adrian continued. "The old ways won't last."
His gaze lingered on Logan.
"You should plan ahead."
Logan chuckled—but there was no humor in it.
"You think I don't know?" he said quietly.
His fingers tapped once against the table.
"I just don't have the luxury of walking away."
A shadow passed through his eyes.
"Once you're in… you're in."
Adrian understood.
Power came with chains.
Sometimes invisible.
Sometimes not.
"Then I'll change that," Adrian said suddenly.
Both men looked at him.
"When I succeed," he continued, voice steady, "I'll make sure you can walk away clean."
Logan blinked.
Then laughed.
Loudly.
"Alright," he said, shaking his head. "I'll hold you to that."
But deep down—
He didn't believe it.
Not really.
Promises like that?
They rarely survived success.
The moment settled.
Then—
Adrian's phone rang.
The sound cut through the calm like a blade.
He glanced at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Adrian Cole. Who is this?"
A woman's voice came through.
Soft.
Clear.
But strained.
"My name is Elena Simone."
Adrian frowned slightly.
The name meant nothing.
"Do we know each other?" he asked.
A pause.
Then—
"No," she said. "But… we have a daughter."
Silence.
Then—
A faint smile tugged at Adrian's lips.
Not amused.
Just… tired.
"I'm listening," he said.
"She's been in an accident," the woman continued, her voice tightening. "She needs blood urgently. Rare type. She inherited it from you."
Adrian leaned back slightly.
Analyzing.
Dissecting.
Every word.
"Let me guess," he said calmly. "Rare blood type. Urgent situation. Emotional leverage."
He shook his head.
"You should at least make the story believable."
A beat.
"We've never met," he continued. "How exactly do we have a child?"
There was a flicker of frustration on the other end.
"Wait, I—"
Adrian ended the call.
Victor chuckled softly.
"Scammers are getting sloppy," he said, pouring more tea.
Logan smirked.
"Not even trying anymore."
The phone rang again.
Adrian glanced at it.
Same number.
Persistent.
He answered, irritation slipping into his voice.
"Listen," he said, "if you're going to run scams, at least—"
"Four years ago," the woman cut in.
Her voice was different now.
Quieter.
Heavier.
"You worked at the Grand Harbor Hotel."
Adrian froze.
Something shifted.
"You helped me," she continued. "That night."
The room went silent.
Completely.
A face surfaced in his memory—
Beautiful.
Fragile.
Desperate.
His expression changed.
Slowly.
"...And after that," he said, standing up abruptly, his voice tightening—
"You got pregnant?"