Orien had once been just a child like any other. He'd wake up, sling his schoolbag over his shoulder, wave goodbye to his mother, and go to school like it was the center of the universe. He made friends, played silly games during recess, enjoyed coloring inside the lines—and sometimes deliberately outside them. Life was simple.
But when he was five, something happened that left a mark far deeper than a scratch or a bruise.
He had a small fight with one of his classmates—nothing unusual. But that boy had slapped him. It wasn't hard enough to bleed, but it hurt. Hurt enough to make a child cry. Orien didn't cry, though. He did what he thought was right. He followed the rules. Like an obedient child would, he went straight to the teacher and reported what had happened.
The teacher's reaction was standard. She called the boy, gave him a scolding, and slapped his wrist gently—a symbolic punishment more than anything else.
But Orien… stood there. Still. Quiet.
There was no satisfaction in his chest. No closure in his bones.
He had trusted the system—the teacher, the rules, the way of doing things the "right" way. But instead of justice, all he got was a shallow sense of order.
That evening, after the final bell rang and backpacks bounced against the backs of laughing kids, Orien spotted the boy again. The one who'd slapped him.
He didn't say a word.
He simply walked up to him.
And then… he beat him. Not wildly, not cruelly, but with a clear and focused rage—until his heart no longer burned.
That was the first time he felt something close to justice.
Not justice in the eyes of adults.
Justice in the eyes of a five-year-old who wanted the world to be fair.
Years passed. Orien changed schools, grew taller, quieter, more observant. By the time he reached high school, he had seen enough of the world to know that the rules weren't always written with victims in mind.
He stayed away from fights. Ignored the immature bullying that was as common as morning announcements. He didn't interfere—until the day the bullying went too far.
One of his closest friends—gentle, timid, and always walking with his head down—had been cornered by a group of seniors. They broke his glasses, poured water on his books, and laughed as he stood there helpless and humiliated.
Orien didn't go to the principal.
He didn't file a report.
Instead, he looked him in the eyes, and asked softly, "What punishment should they receive ?"
His friend, through quivering lips and clenched fists, whispered, "Their bones , they should be broken so they don't ever repeat this again."
That was all he needed.
Orien found the bullies and he walked up to them. And started fighting.
He shattered their bones, cracked ribs, dislocated arms etc. By the time he was done, a few were in the hospital with broken bones for weeks.
But his friend… smiled and Orien liked it , delivering justice in an unjust world.
From that day on, Orien made a vow. He would be the one who delivered justice—not through broken systems, but through action. Real, unapologetic action.
He trained harder than anyone else. Studied longer. Researched every path that could take him to the Enforcers' Academy.
It became his purpose.
But just when he was ready to apply, the academy issued a devastating announcement: There would be no entrance exams anymore. No way to prove himself. No open door. The academy would choose its candidates based on unseen criteria.
He was crushed.
Still, he refused to quit.
If he couldn't become an enforcer through the front door, he'd break open the law itself. He made himself a new promise: he would change the entire system.
He envisioned a world where victims and their families would have the right to decide what punishment the criminal deserved.
He would build a world that didn't ask the system for justice.
It would demand it.
But before he could set that plan in motion, tragedy struck. His elder brother passed away. His father called him for the first time, and at the funeral,he was standing among mourners , the man he had only heard tumors about—the Author himself. It was his first and last time seeing him.
What the Author and his father discussed behind closed doors remained a mystery.
But when they emerged, a decision had been made: he would serve as an Enforce by contract. A 12-year term.
Now, that 12-year term was about to end.
With only six weeks remaining, Orien sat on the plane bound for the Academy, staring out the window, lost in thought.
The mission that brought Marin here had not been easy. They'd both been pushed to their limits. But soon, it would be time for Marin to begin his own journey—and for Orien to reclaim his dream.
The plane landed.
Elira was waiting at the hangar.
As Marin stepped out beside Orien, the moment her eyes landed on him, her face twisted—sharply, almost involuntarily—with loathing.
As their eyes met.
But in an instant, Elira's expression smoothed into a blank, unreadable mask—the same one she wore when he'd first met her.
No anger.
No warmth.
Just ice.
Orien placed a hand on Marin's shoulder.
"Alright, kid," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Go with Elira. Get settled. I'll handle the paperwork and make sure that bastard we brought in gets put behind bars where he belongs."
Marin gave him a small nod.
"We'll meet up after a few hours," Orien added, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "We'll celebrate your first step as an Enforcer."
"Got it," Marin replied.
Elira turned sharply and began walking without a word.
They walked in silence through the academy's stone corridors, echoing with distant footsteps. Elira didn't speak. Her pace was brisk, her posture rigid.
"So… where are we going exactly?" Marin asked, trying to break the silence.
"To Your room," she said without turning.
"Right" said Marin.
"Orientation will be in two days."
"Okay , what will happen in the orientation ?" asked Marin.
Elira stopped walking and looked over her shoulder, her face emotionless.
"You'll find out then," she said coldly, then kept walking.
They arrived at a door marked 0305. Marin glanced at the number and tilted his head.
"Huh. What's with the number?"
Elira didn't answer. She simply opened the door and stepped aside.
"You'll live here from now."
And then she gave him a card after that, she turned and left without waiting for a reply.
Marin stepped inside.
To his surprise, the room was… incredible. A large bed. A personal bathroom. An attached balcony. And all of his belongings from home were already here, unpacked.
He walked over to the bed, sat down slowly, and exhaled and went to take a shower.
After that he pulled out his phone and called home.
His mother answered.
"Marin?"
"Hey, Mom," he said softly. "I… I made the decision. I'm joining the academy. I'm going to be an Enforcer."
There was a long pause on the other end.
"I see," she said finally.
"Are you not happy with this ?"
"I'm not unhappy," she replied. "Just… worried. But if this is what your heart tells you to do, then do it."
Marin smiled faintly. "Thanks, Mom."
They spoke a little more before saying their goodbyes.
Marin stood up, stretched his arms, and muttered, "Alright… now where do I get food?"
Ten minutes later, he was walking the halls again, stomach grumbling. Eventually, he spotted a familiar face at the front desk.
"Caleb!"
Caleb looked up and brightened. "Oh back from the mission already."
Marin grinned. "Yeah I handled it with ease. Where is the canteen here ?"
"Ah. About that…" Caleb scratched his head awkwardly.
Marin frowned. "Don't tell me—"
"There's no cafeteria or canteen here."
"…You're kidding."
"Nope."
"Wait, what do you mean there's no canteen ? This place has high-tech training zones, spell simulators, god knows what else—and no food court?!"
Caleb looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Well, you're allowed to eat. You just have to do it outside."
"Outside where?"
"There's a whole district just across the street—cafes, restaurants, diners, all student-friendly."
Marin blinked. "So I have to go off-campus just to get a sandwich?"
Caleb nodded silently.
Marin sighed, muttering, "Unbelievable…"
Just as Caleb pointed out toward the academy gates, something—or someone—stepped into view from the direction he was pointing.