The school walls were stained with age. Cracks ran along the edges of the windows, and the fan above the chalkboard spun slow, like it was tired of life. Kairo sat at his usual seat by the window, second row from the back. He was half-listening, half-daydreaming. Mostly just tired.
His history teacher, Mr. Hargrove, had been going on about some pre-serum era nonsense, but nobody cared. Everyone was focused on something else. The tension in the room wasn't about schoolwork—it was all about the tournament.
"Alright, alright, settle down," Mr. Hargrove said. "Yes, yes, I know. The tournament. We'll talk about it for a few minutes before class starts properly."
That was all it took. The room exploded with noise.
"Oh my God, did you see that slash?"
"Bro, he broke that rhino guy's horn!"
"Nah, you're all sleeping on the dodge he pulled in round two. Cleanest move I've seen all year."
Kairo rubbed his eyes and glanced over at Rell, who was already halfway turned in his seat, chatting with the guy behind him. Rell's face was lit up like he'd just watched the greatest movie of his life. Everyone around them was fully caught in the moment, replaying scenes from the match in their heads.
"Tiger's gonna win it all," someone else said.
"Duh. Zane always wins. Full-body transformation, bruh. The dude's like… the real deal."
Zane. That was his name.
Zane "the Iron Claw."
Kairo had seen him on the screens before. A tall teen mutant with glowing orange eyes and striped muscles that stretched like armor. His fur was sharp, sleek. Fast as lightning. Strong as a truck. He moved like he had no fear, like nothing could touch him. The way he flipped over his opponents, claws glowing in mid-air—it looked like something from a movie.
Zane had everything: talent, fans, rich sponsors, and a family name that opened doors. Some said his serum was custom-made, not from the black market, not military grade—better. Experimental. Exclusive.
'Wish I had even one percent of that,' Kairo thought, turning his eyes back to the cracked chalkboard. 'People like him live in a different world.'
"Zane didn't even break a sweat in that semi-final," Rell was saying. "Did you see that backflip? Right after ripping that guy's tail off like it was nothing!"
The class roared with laughter and fake pain groans. Someone even mimicked the tail getting pulled off, pretending to faint.
Kairo just looked down at his notebook. He hadn't even written the date. Just a few random circles he'd drawn by accident. His pen barely had any ink left, but it didn't matter. He wasn't really paying attention to class anyway.
He remembered the feeling from last night. That strange heat in his hand. The way his finger stretched, reshaped itself. Something sharp. Like a claw.
His heart started beating faster again.
'Maybe it wasn't a dream.'
"Mr. Kairo," Mr. Hargrove called out suddenly.
Kairo snapped to attention. "Yes sir?"
"You've been staring at that desk for ten minutes. You feeling okay?"
"Uh… stomach. Can I use the bathroom?"
A few students snickered.
"Go. And drink some water."
Kairo nodded and stood up, his legs stiff.
---
He walked through the hallway slowly, avoiding the gaze of other students. Everyone was still buzzing about the tournament. A few had paused at their lockers to rewatch the fight highlights on their comms. The sound of claws scraping metal, cheers from the crowd, and Zane's name being shouted echoed faintly from someone's screen.
"Zane's gonna win the whole thing," one girl said. "Even if the military enters someone, he'll still win."
"Yeah, he's untouchable," her friend replied. "I heard he got picked for the private league already."
Kairo passed them without saying a word. He didn't know why he suddenly felt nervous. Maybe it was the memory of the claw from last night. Or maybe it was how distant their world felt compared to his own.
He turned into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
It was quiet inside. The walls were cracked and painted with old pencil scribbles. A single dim light flickered above. It smelled like soap and something else—maybe cleaning fluid or maybe mold. He wasn't sure. One of the faucets was dripping, ticking against the porcelain sink like a slow clock.
He looked into the mirror above the sink. It was slightly tilted, and there was a scratch running across the middle of it. His reflection stared back—tired, hair messy, eyes sunken from lack of sleep. The kind of face that looked like it hadn't caught a break in a long time.
"Alright," he whispered. "System... if you're real... now would be a good time."
Nothing happened.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Activate. Uh… show menu? Open system?"
Still nothing.
He waited, half-embarrassed, half-hopeful. The bathroom light flickered again, as if teasing him.
"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Just a dream. I knew it."
'Figures. No one like me ever gets that lucky.'
He turned around to leave. His hand had barely touched the door when—
[System calibration... 63%]
His heart skipped a beat. The words floated in front of his eyes—not written on the wall, not from a screen. They were… inside. Like someone had opened a window in his mind. Bright, clear text, blinking slowly.
'No way… am I going crazy?'
[Calibrating DNA signature...]
He stumbled backward, bumping into the bathroom stall behind him. The world suddenly felt more real and less real at the same time. His thoughts raced.
[Analyzing unknown serum... 91%]
"What… what the hell is this?"
The air suddenly felt too thick. He grabbed the sink for balance, knuckles white. His breathing got shallow. This wasn't normal. This wasn't school anymore.
[System calibration... 100%]
[Welcome, host, to the Hybrid System]
He stared at the glowing message in silence.
'...what the hell did I just step into?'