Jon tidied his hair as he stepped out of the bathroom. Behind him, the group of bullies remained slumped against the wall or on their knees, too ashamed to even stand.A dozen guys… defeated by one.
How were they supposed to show their faces at school now?
"We even gave him half our allowance," someone grumbled bitterly. "I can't just let this go."
"Let it go? With what? Your fists?" another snapped. "He knocks people out with one punch. What're you gonna do, throw coins at him?"
The group went quiet, collectively remembering the stack of ridiculous, humiliating "agreements" Jon had forced them to sign—treaties with clauses like 'no occupying my seat for eternity' and 'mandatory apology before eye contact.'
One of the younger boys clenched his fists. "We're really just gonna let him get away with this? He was supposed to be the loser. Now he's the top dog? I say we—"
Royer, face still bruised and swollen, shot him a glare.
"If you think you can take him… be my guest."
The boy froze, forced out a nervous chuckle, and quietly sat down again. Nope. Not worth it.
Back in the classroom, Jon walked in like nothing had happened. The silence was deafening. Every student turned to stare at him, confused.
Why isn't he limping? Where are the bruises?
A few students who had bet snacks and pocket change on Jon's imminent humiliation looked like they'd seen a ghost.
"Jon is terrifying… He probably tricked Royer into hitting him first," someone whispered. "Yeah… baited them for a reason to fight back."
"I won't fall for it," another muttered to themselves, clutching their desk like a life preserver. "I'm too smart. Jon wants an excuse to beat me too. Not gonna happen."
Jon sat down quietly, disappointed.
Where's the follow-up fight? Where's the big boss avenging the little brother?
For a whole week, Royer avoided Jon like the plague, refusing to meet his eyes in the hallways or even breathe near him. It was almost boring. Jon had been mentally prepared for a dramatic revenge arc. But… nothing.
No ambushes. No grudges. Not even a passive-aggressive glare.
Where's the face-slapping scene?!Jon sighed.
Since that day, nobody dared to mess with him.
Life returned to normal—more or less. He still left school early, and since he didn't live in the same direction as Boyka, he usually walked home with Danai.
That afternoon, the summer heat still clung stubbornly to the September air. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the alleyway in a lazy orange hue. The song of a few last cicadas echoed faintly in the background—the farewell of a dying summer.
The shortcut Jon took to school cut through a strip of abandoned houses, their windows boarded up, roofs caved in, yards overtaken by weeds.
Suddenly, a sound shattered the stillness.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Thump.
Jon froze. The noise had come from one of the nearby houses—low, dull, and heavy. Like something being dragged… or beaten.
"That's weird," Danai said, frowning. "I thought that house was empty."
Jon's expression darkened.
"You said it's been abandoned this whole time?"
"Yeah. It's been like that for years," Danai replied, confused. "Why?"
Jon didn't answer right away.
He stared at the house, a chill crawling down his spine. That sound—it wasn't just strange.
It was wrong.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
This wasn't just some squatter.
This… was trouble.
And Jon could smell it.
Before Jon could fully process what he was sensing, the window of the old house exploded outward.
A black figure was hurled from the second floor like a ragdoll—flung violently through the air before crashing onto the ground below with a sickening thud.
It was a middle-aged man in a tattered black trench coat. Blood covered his mouth and poured down his chest. His right leg was bent at a grotesque angle, bone jutting through shredded flesh. He gritted his teeth, eyes locked onto the gaping hole in the wall above.
"Damn brats… what are you standing there for?" he rasped. "Run."
A gun materialized in his trembling hand, conjured with practiced familiarity, his eyes never leaving the shadow in the wall.
And then—it stepped out.
A new figure appeared in the shattered opening.
Without hesitation, the man opened fire.
A torrent of bullets poured from the weapon, relentless and furious—like a one-man firing squad. It was as if the gun had no need to reload, as if the man had a Nen-enhanced ability that gave him unlimited rounds. The rate of fire rivaled a Gatling gun, the air vibrating from the sheer volume of gunfire.
The figure staggered under the barrage, its body jerking from the impacts. But it didn't fall. Didn't bleed. Didn't slow down.
It wasn't even hurt.
Jon didn't wait for explanations. He grabbed Danai and bolted.
This wasn't something you could reason with. It wasn't a street thug or a schoolyard fight. This was a monster. And Jon had no interest in becoming target practice for some Nen lunatic. The bullets fired just now weren't civilian-grade—they were far faster and heavier than anything street-legal. If he tried blocking them with [Stone Free]'s arm, he'd be shredded in an instant.
He'd been hoping to meet a Nen user eventually—but not like this.
If it had been someone less lethal, maybe Jon would've tested his strength. But these two were clearly out of his league—especially with Danai beside him, helpless and vulnerable.
With a crash, another figure burst through the wall on the first floor.
Clad in dark gray armor, the newcomer stood about 1.75 meters tall. The armor covered their entire body, concealing even their gender. They didn't glance at Jon or Danai—only stared at the second-floor breach where the gunman had appeared.
"The hell are you doing, Bozo? How much Nen do you even have left?" the armored figure taunted.
The man snarled, twisting the gun in his hands. It reshaped itself, elongating and thickening until it became a massive sniper rifle. He planted its butt against the wall and took aim.
"Guess we'll find out."
He pulled the trigger.BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Each round was a Nen-forged, armor-piercing bullet—strong enough to destroy a light tank. The impacts slammed into the armored figure's chest, staggering them and snapping their head back. But the bullets didn't penetrate.
They clattered to the ground, useless.
Despite surviving, the armored figure looked shaken. He had almost lost his balance.
The trench-coat man stared at him in disbelief. "What kind of monster are you…?"
The armored figure—Jackman—grinned beneath his helm. "Didn't I tell you? My defense is invincible."
He advanced slowly.
The man's gun dissolved into smoke—his Nen finally exhausted.
Jackman raised his foot and crushed the man's hand, bones snapping loudly.
"Where is it?" he demanded coldly. "Tell me now, or you die."
The man coughed blood but smiled bitterly. "You'll never get it… It's somewhere you'll never find."
Jackman said nothing. He simply punched the man's head into the wall. The body slumped, lifeless.
Jackman rifled through the corpse, swearing as he found nothing.
"Damn it! Where is it? He couldn't have moved it already…"
After a moment, Jackman paused, as if something occurred to him.
"…Could it be those kids?"
He turned and began chasing Jon and Danai.
What Jackman didn't notice was the thin string glinting along the wall—a filament of [Stone Free].
Jon had been listening the whole time.
"Damn it… this is bad."
The fight had ended too quickly. They hadn't run far. Jon could probably escape on his own, using Ripple and [Stone Free], but Danai?
Danai was just a normal sixth grader. He wouldn't outrun Jackman.
Jon was weighing his options when—
"Ahhh!"
A scream.
Jon spun around.
Danai was already in Jackman's grip, flailing helplessly. The killer's hand wrapped around the boy's neck, blood still dripping from his armored gauntlet. His expression was emotionless. Efficient. Ruthless.
He was about to snap Danai's neck and search the body.
That was enough.
"Stone Free!"
Jon doubled back instantly.
Strings erupted from his body, weaving together mid-air. [Stone Free] manifested, only its upper half fully formed—but that was enough. One hand smashed into Jackman's wrist, just as the other snatched Danai from his grasp and tossed him aside.
And then—ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!
Six devastating punches hammered Jackman's arm in a flash. The whole exchange had taken less than a second.
Jackman's forearm twisted unnaturally, clearly fractured.
He hadn't expected a counterattack—especially not from a kid. He hadn't bothered to materialize full armor using Nen. It had cost him.
Jackman scowled, now regarding [Stone Free] as some sort of dangerous Nen beast.
With a flick of his wrist, a new layer of glistening black armor appeared over his body—fully covering him this time.
"You really are connected to that thing I'm after," he said, eyes narrowing on Jon. "Guess that makes things simple."
He licked his lips.
Jon's fists clenched.
This just got a whole lot more dangerous.