Silence enveloped the Director's office, a heavy silence broken only by the scratching sound of a fountain pen on paper.

  The large wooden desk before him was like an intellectual battlefield; stacks of old books piled up, threatening to collapse at any moment, alongside scattered papers bearing complex diagrams and timelines. On the floor beside his chair, other books lay strewn about, open, as if someone had been frantically searching for a specific piece of information and then abandoned them.

  To the left, a massive wooden bookcase stood like a silent sentinel, its shelves groaning under the weight of thick tomes. To the right, a large window let in the bright afternoon light, revealing dust motes dancing slowly in the still air.

  Gerhard Eisenhardt sat behind the desk, his pale golden hair falling slightly over his eyes as he signed the last paper in the stack before him.

  He didn’t lift his head when a computer screen in the corner of his wooden desk flashed, emitting a faint sound.

  (Incoming Notification: Aurora Medica Hospital) (General Services Island - Emergency Student Case)

  The pen stopped mid-word.

  Gerhard raised his green eyes slowly toward the screen. There was no worry, only a cold curiosity.

  "A student..." Gerhard read in a low, calm voice, leaning back in his leather chair. "Proto Star... Stabilization Phase."

  He tapped his finger on the wooden desktop once as he read the name.

  "In intensive care?"

  He looked out the large window overlooking the currently empty academy courtyard.

  "Well..." Gerhard said, as if addressing the dust drifting in the light. "At least he is a Proto Star."

  Gerhard reclined against the back of the chair.

  "But intensive care for someone who uses free-falling from island to island for transportation... Did this boy get involved in something? ...Expected."

  At the same time, on the Central Island. Inside the Epsilon Building.

  Voltex was reviewing files piled up on his desk.

  "A fight on Entertainment Island due to a racer losing the last car race. Injuries reached 60, with one losing an eye." He set the file aside and picked up another.

  "45 injuries due to attempting to use abilities to transit from one island to another... I thought this hobby stopped after the new train tunnel opened." He placed the file on top of the previous one and took the next.

  "Stampede injuries due to a restaurant closing... This is a trivial reason... and..." He stopped when he read the restaurant's name. "This is logical." He pushed the file away.

  He looked at the remaining files.

  A voice came from near the desk.

  "Out of three security organizations, why does Epsilon alone shoulder this volume of cases?"

  "We are an organization modernized after the fall of the previous leader of Arcadia, and updated by the person assuming new command... We also have more history than the others. But the question is, why do most of them request you specifically, Ryder?"

  Voltex looked at the young man with light brown skin and black eyes, who was applying an ice pack to his head.

  "I have no idea. What kind of requests?" Ryder placed the ice on the table.

  "Your same former client," Voltex answered.

  Ryder put the ice back on his head.

  "Perhaps they believe I follow the organization's previous policy."

  Voltex shook his head, opened a file for a moment, then threw it in the trash bin.

  "Another trivial case?" Ryder asked, eyeing the pile of failed files.

  "Another complaint about her latest invention," Voltex opened another file. "I don't know which is worse: that doctors still buy her inventions, or that she intentionally includes flaws."

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  "She can invent and include flaws as she pleases," Ryder replied, watching the melting ice.

  "Three inventors. One wants to build the best killer robots, the other invents whatever crosses his mind in the moment, and the third invents because she has free time." Voltex pushed the file away. "The city benefits from all of them in general, but each has their downsides."

  The door opened, and a boy entered. His skin was slightly pale, his hair short and black. He wore a long black coat and a white shirt that was clearly ironed with precision. He entered with a faint smile, keeping one hand in the pocket of his dark jeans.

  "I have good news and bad news," he spoke in a calm, polite voice.

  Ryder looked at him, lifting a long nail from under his chair.

  "Good," Voltex answered, reading the files.

  "More work." The boy was still smiling that faint, indifferent smile.

  "Bad." Voltex put down another file.

  "More work," the boy answered, looking at Ryder, smiling at him with those half-open eyes.

  Voltex tapped on the table.

  "And what is the work? ...If it's a complaint..."

  "A fight in a restaurant," the boy answered nonchalantly.

  "We already have a case like that," Voltex replied, returning to the files.

  "Does it involve a Ranker?" The boy asked. "If that's the case, then I'll see you later."

  He started to leave, but his path was obstructed by a nail that embedded itself in the floor right before his toes. He looked at Ryder, who was smiling while looking at the ice.

  "Which Ranker do you mean?" Voltex asked.

  "From witness descriptions and security cameras... Zane," the boy answered.

  "Negative Ranked... and class Gamma too. Did Zane kill anyone?" Voltex asked, pushing the files away.

  "Cameras showed him hitting some students, but only two cases showed damage. A young man between 17 and 18; he beat him until he caused multiple fractures. And a student between 16 and 17, who has many injuries, but the analysis says they are internal injuries caused by himself... likely during the fight."

  "If that's so, why is it bad news?" Voltex raised an eyebrow.

  "He has parents of the HV (High Vigilance) type." The boy shrugged.

  "So that's it... How is his condition?" Voltex leaned back, looking at the boy.

  "Intensive care. Surgery," the boy answered.

  "Inform the hospital. If he dies, notify Epsilon first, before his parents," Voltex ordered.

  The boy shrugged and left.

  "Hyper-Vigilant parents..." Ryder muttered. "The worst category for the city... But for a son of that category to blow himself up in a fight? Not all sons are pampered." Ryder looked at Voltex, smiling. "Do you want to get rid of them?"

  "We don't follow the Old Policy, but the New Policy is still the same thing. If it's a family known to many citizens and the son dies and demands for an explanation arise... ensure a charge is fabricated, then get rid of them." Voltex looked at the surface of his desk. "But as long as he is still alive, let's say the Old Policy and the New Policy remain unfulfilled. At least for us, for now."

  In a forgotten corner of "Service Island," far from the noise of ambulances and the blue and red police lights that were still staining the walls of the destroyed restaurant, there was a completely different world.

  A convenience store operating around the clock.

  Inside, silence was the master, broken only by the monotonous, continuous hum of refrigerator condensers and the low sound of a radio playing an old pop song. The young employee behind the counter was fighting off sleep, staring at his phone with deadly boredom, waiting for his shift to end.

  Ding-dong.

  The electronic bell at the door chimed, announcing a customer.

  The employee raised his head lazily to welcome the customer, but the words froze in his throat. The cold, sterile air inside the store was suddenly polluted. It wasn't the smell of sweat or cigarette smoke; it was a heavy, metallic, nauseating scent... the smell of fresh blood mixed with something burning.

  Zane entered.

  It wasn't his appearance that terrified the employee first; scars and strange eyes aren't rare in Neomera. What made him shiver was the aura surrounding him. A light steam was emanating from the boy's body, as if he were a furnace walking on two legs, or a car engine run at maximum capacity for hours without cooling. His shirt was torn, and his pale skin was covered in a layer of soot and clotted blood.

  Zane didn't turn to the employee. His yellow eyes, resembling those of a hungry wolf, scanned the place with robotic speed, ignoring the bright colors of the advertisements, restricted only by the search for one thing: Calories.

  He walked toward the food aisle with heavy steps, his shoes leaving faint red tracks on the shiny white tiles.

  He didn't read the ingredients. He didn't care about the brands. His hand moved with lightning speed, sweeping the shelves. Four bars of high-energy dark chocolate, a carton of whole milk (a full liter), and three cold chicken sandwiches wrapped in plastic.

  He grabbed the first sandwich. His hand was trembling slightly—not from fear, but from hunger. "Hunger" for Zane wasn't just a feeling of emptiness in the stomach; it was a red alert screaming in every cell of his body that "the system is collapsing."

  Before tearing the wrapper, his hand stopped at his neck.

  There was a hole... a deep, bloody wound in the larynx exposing internal tissues. He placed his hand over it, eyes closed in intense focus.

  "Tssss..."

  The employee heard a sound like meat touching a hot pan. The muscle fibers in Zane's neck began to move on their own, twisting and interlacing to close the hole temporarily, preventing food from leaking out.

  Once the breach was sealed, Zane devoured the sandwich. He didn't chew to enjoy the taste. It was just two savage bites, swallowing the plastic, bread, and meat in seconds.

  "Gurgle..."

  The sound that filled the small store wasn't the sound of normal digestion. It was a wet, mechanical sound, akin to grinding bones.

  The employee watched in horror as the hideous black and blue bruises covering the boy's neck began to fade. It was like watching a video in fast-forward. The purple turned to yellow, then faded to become the color of natural pale skin. The torn tissues were being "knitted" from the inside at visible speed, and steam rose more densely from the neck area as the metabolic heat spiked.

  He opened the milk carton and poured the entire liter into his mouth at once. The white liquid ran down his chin, washing away the dried blood, but Zane didn't care.

  "Chocolate isn't enough..." His voice was hoarse, rough, as if his vocal cords were sandpaper rubbing together, but it was working again. "Calories... insufficient..."

  Zane moved toward the frozen meat freezer in the back.

  He opened the glass door, and the cold hit him, but his burning body didn't feel it. He took out a family-sized bag of raw frozen steak slices.

  With his long black fingernails, which looked like contaminated surgical knives, he tore the strong plastic bag as if it were thin paper.

  He grabbed a piece of meat, hard and covered in a layer of frost, and bit into it.

  Craaack!

  The sound of frozen meat fibers snapping was clearly audible in the silent store.

  As soon as he swallowed the first piece, Zane's body convulsed. He leaned forward slightly, placing his hand on his stomach.

  "Goooorrrr..."

  His insides were moving. It wasn't just digestion. It was restructuring.

  "So... this is how it happens..." Zane whispered to himself, indifferent to the employee watching the scene with eyes popping out of their sockets. "To eat raw and frozen meat... the stomach increases its acidity... the intestines shorten to reduce bacterial absorption... and the gut bacteria changes."

  He wiped the blood from his mouth.

  At that moment, the employee's trembling hand moved slowly under the counter, trying to reach the silent alarm button.

  Zane stopped chewing.

  He didn't turn quickly. He turned his head very slowly, his yellow eyes locking onto the employee's eyes. In that moment, the employee felt like a small rabbit standing before an Alpha wolf.

  "Don't," Zane said. The voice was quiet, but it carried a terrifying weight. "I am a customer. I will pay."

  He pulled a wad of banknotes from the pocket of his torn pants. He threw them carelessly onto the counter. The amount was more than what he had taken. The employee quickly started counting, then placed nearly half the amount back on the table for Zane... he didn't know if this amount was right or wrong. Zane took it.

  "The body needs fuel..." Zane said, rotating his shoulder in a circular motion, a loud crack heard as the collarbone snapped back into place. "That fight... consumed 4000 calories for rapid repair... a cheap price, but adapting the stomach for raw meat? That is costly and inefficient."

  He carried the remaining food in his hands and kicked the glass door with his foot to exit, leaving behind an employee gasping for air as if he had survived drowning.

  Zane stood on the dark sidewalk, the cold air hitting his face as he devoured the last piece of raw meat.

  "Next time..." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt his neck. The skin was completely smooth now; no trace of the hole, no trace of the bruises. He was back to full efficiency. "...I will need better food."

  Zane moved away into the darkness, his steps steady and strong. He didn't look back at the destroyed restaurant, nor at the distant sirens. For him, the battle was over, the wound healed, and the stomach filled.

  The world kept turning, and he kept eating.