On the distant planet Nova 1C, the nation of Nami stands as one of the most turbulent societies. Its citizens are divided between the gifted—those born with extraordinary abilities—and the ungifted, ordinary people without enhancements. In the modern era, suspicion and resentment have deepened: most ungifted citizens view the enhanced with unease or outright hostility.
Despite their differences, the systems of power in Nami officially recognize the enhanced as full citizens. In practice, though, the law binds them with far stricter regulations than their ungifted peers. Enhanced people are permitted to use their powers only under sanctioned conditions—primarily military service—and are forbidden from interfering in civilian life.
This prohibition runs so deep that even heroic acts, such as saving someone from danger, can be punished as "illegal use of abilities." These constraints—and the pervasive sense of being unwanted—sparked a massive civil rights struggle. While not an open war in the traditional sense, it is an unending conflict for equality, dignity, and the right to simply exist. At present, the movement feels stalled, with tensions simmering but no clear resolution in sight.
Nowhere are these tensions more volatile than in Vanity, the most dangerous city in Nami. Here, the struggle for enhanced rights erupts daily in the form of protests, counter-protests, and violent crackdowns. On nearly every block, groups of five to ten enhanced demonstrators demand the freedom to express their powers openly and interact with ungifted citizens without fear of punishment.
Their frustration is compounded not only by restrictive laws but by the emotional toll of isolation. Feeling unwanted has pushed many enhanced individuals into despair, alienation, and—increasingly—anger. Specialized prisons designed solely for enhanced offenders dot the outskirts of Vanity, a constant reminder of how deeply society has criminalized their very existence.
For now, this "civil war" is fought not with armies but with protests, legislation, and the looming threat of state violence—a war of rights rather than weapons.
Waking up to find my little brother coughing up blood isn't how any morning should begin. I called the medical center in a panic and followed the ambulance to the hospital. Our mother—once again drunk and unreachable—offered only hollow gratitude between sips, leaving me to juggle work, school, and raising my brother alone.
When I learned that Amoi, my eleven-year-old brother, had contracted Elpamy, a rare and deadly disease, something inside me broke. At seventeen, I tried to stay strong for him, but the truth clawed at me: the cure was far beyond our means, and without life insurance or government aid, we had no plan.
"Am I going to die, Goshi?" he asked from the hospital bed."No. I won't let you, Amoi. Never," I told him, even though he was smart enough to know otherwise.
I tried to shoulder the impossible—school, work, caring for him—all while drowning under the weight of it. The city wouldn't help; they wouldn't take in an enhanced boy anyway. My only hope was to somehow pay for the cure myself.
Amoi was my only "normal" brother. Our older sibling was a fugitive, our father long dead. That left me as both caretaker and provider. After arranging for Amoi's hospital care, I walked the streets trying to clear my head. I stared at the gold ring on my middle finger and wondered if I should enlist in the military, using my Rank 2 ability to earn enough to pay Amoi's medical bills. But reality set in: he might not survive long enough for me to even get started.
Back at our apartment, still in my blue sleep shirt and board shorts, I climbed in through the window using my power to pull down the ladder. My mother passed by muttering that my fugitive brother had been caught and was facing execution. I switched on the television, and she was right. Another blow. Another loss.
The next morning, on my way to school, protests and riots filled the streets. Normal citizens shoved me as I tried to pass, but I pushed on, knowing that school—despite its flaws—was at least a semi-safe place.
Inside, reality hit hard. Enhanced students like me wore neck braces that shocked us if we stepped out of line. In middle school, it had been worse: braces on neck, wrists, ankles, arms, and thighs, fitted by staff in a ritual that stripped away any privacy or dignity. I couldn't wait to graduate, to escape this system, and start over somewhere far away.
The lunchroom smelled foul—no janitors would volunteer to clean the "mixed" school. The building itself was aging, a relic rather than the gleaming futuristic city people had once imagined. The "system of power" did nothing to help. I hated it. Hated all of it.
During breakfast alone, three fights broke out, and ten more disputes erupted over trivial slights. My only strategy was to stay invisible, keep my head down, and focus on surviving high school. Then, as I was finishing a biscuit and some milk, my phone rang: the hospital said the cure worked for Amoi but wanted to "discuss the funding." I hung up.
Moments later, the intercom crackled. "School is canceled today due to technical difficulties. Please exit the premises." I exhaled, grabbed my bag, and headed straight back to the hospital.
When I arrived, the receptionist's face told me everything. The cure had side effects. Amoi had one week left to live. My body went numb. Tears burned down my cheeks as I rushed to his room. He was crying. I tried to comfort him, to shield him from the truth.
Then the doctor appeared, pressing me about payment. I waved him off and shut the door with a flick of my power—an act that would soon cost me dearly. From the hallway, I heard the call to the E.T.U.—the Enhanced Termination Unit. They didn't execute you for slamming a door, but I'd crossed a line. If they deemed me a threat, they could take everything.
Minutes later, the unit commander entered, gun drawn."Alright. Let's go. Both of you," he ordered.
I stood my ground between him and Amoi."My brother isn't going anywhere. I'll go, but he stays," I said.
"Did I say I was asking?" he sneered, firing a shot into the floor. His men poured in, shocking me into submission, collaring us both, and dragging us away.
Hours later, I was shackled inside a cell, a giant metal box, my shirt stripped away. They'd fitted another brace along my spine to paralyze my movements. The man who'd captured us approached.
"Hello, prisoner #1476. I'm Sgt. Homing. You violated sections two and three: using enhanced abilities without authorization and interfering with normal citizen affairs."
"Where's my brother?" I demanded.
He leaned in, voice dripping with disdain. "He's dead."
The world went black. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My brother was gone, and I was helpless.
Through the blur of tears, a flash of light seared across the facility, darting like a spark splitting a room. My eyes clamped shut, and suddenly I saw it—the Tree of Life, rising 1,400 feet tall and 500 feet wide.
I strained to keep my eyes open as my body filled with light. My mouth opened, and the brilliance surged inside me. Exhaustion overcame me, and I drifted into unconsciousness.