The air outside had cooled further. Kaidren walked the edge of the main street in silence, surrounded by the pulsing life of City Z. Above him, a thin sheen of fog hovered between rooftops, giving the skyline a ghostly glow. Headlights passed like fleeting comets—sleek black sedans, glossy white hatchbacks, emerald green coupes, steel blue motorcycles with glowing rims. The city felt alive, breathing, aware.
Kaidren moved through it like a shadow.
His boots struck the pavement with even rhythm, barely making a sound. The bustling street pulsed with a quiet, restrained energy. Neon signs blinked overhead in gaudy pinks and electrified teals, offering deals Kaidren had no interest in. A robotic voice announced crosswalk intervals. Somewhere nearby, a street performer's speaker echoed faint lo-fi beats.
He walked with no destination, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking between reflections on shop windows and alley mouths hidden in shadow.
But he hadn't forgotten his purpose.
He needed space. Seclusion. A decent alley to test out his abilities—far from curious eyes or surveillance drones.
Yet even as his steps remained steady, his mind stirred restlessly.
Why does it feel so… different? he thought.
Yes, he had walked streets like this before. Back on Earth, Tokyo had been far louder, more crowded. And sure, he had explored most of this world's cities through the game's pixelated lens. He knew the names of some places. The layout of landmarks. Even the spawn rates of monsters in some urban zones.
But here and now, everything felt... new.
It was a strange duality—familiar, but foreign. Like revisiting a dream he wasn't sure he'd had. The lights, the movement, the ambient noise—it was richer now.
How odd, he mused, lips pressing into a faint line, to feel like a tourist in a city I've already conquered.
Yet there it was—that quiet, internal amusement bubbling faintly under his usual stoic mask. His face betrayed none of it. No smile, no raised brow. Just a neutral stare and a chilled gaze.
A pair of young girls passed by him giggling, clutching ice cream cones and tugging a small puppy on a leash. They barely noticed him. He turned his head slightly, watching them vanish into a dessert shop that glowed with warm yellow light.
The streets were lined with small, charming establishments—cake shops with fluffy strawberry chiffon behind the glass, quaint bakeries selling fresh bread out of paper bags, pastel-colored ice cream parlors, and fragrant flower stands bursting with marigolds and violets. People came and went—friends, couples, families, all lost in the comfort of their evening.
And Kaidren walked among them like a ghost, unnoticed, unbothered.
His eyes half-lidded, he exhaled through his nose, watching the mist form in the cold air.
"All of them, laughing now," he thought blankly. "And yet… all of it will probably become nothing more than memory before long."
It was a plain thought, but a heavy one.
He wasn't being dramatic. Just observant. He knew what was coming. He remembered the timelines—or at least fragments of them. The main casts corruptions. The breaking of cities. The fall of heroes who thought themselves as untouchables. And powerful villains running wild.
None of these people were preparing. Not for war. Not for survival. They spent their evenings eating sponge cake and gossiping about idol dramas. Buying flowers. Flirting at corner cafés. Not one of them seemed to be thinking ahead. Not one of them understood what this world had buried beneath its streets.
Kaidren's expression remained still.
"Even if I told them what's coming, it's not like they'd believe me."
"They'd think I'm crazy. Or worse—just trying to start a panic."
"What would I say, exactly? 'Hi. I used to play this game on a planet cold earth, then I died, woke up in here, and oh—by the way, your future's screwed.'"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. That'll go over well."
He walked a few more paces before shaking his head, exorcising the creeping thoughts from his mind.... He had better things to do than mourn a city that hadn't fallen yet.
A sudden movement across the street caught his eye.
Black figures, moving in pairs. Coordinated. Methodical.
Kaidren slowed, tilting his chin up just slightly. His gaze narrowed.
Patrolling officers. Or rather, in this world—the Psychospiritual Enforcement and Regulation Division. PSERD.
Their black tactical gear was polished, tight-fitting, designed not just for protection but intimidation. The left breast of each uniform bore the PSERD insignia—a downward-pointing triangle etched with a circular third eye motif. Along the outer length of their sleeves, three stark white stripes ran down like fangs biting into the fabric.
Kaidren's eyes lingered on the stripes. Three.
Tier 3 patrols?
He let out a low whistle, more impressed than concerned.
PSERD didn't waste Tier 3s on simple street patrols unless something had rattled their cage.
He could guess what.
"Mason," he thought flatly. "That Tier 2 lunatic who decided to start his own demolition derby in the middle of the K.L. Mall last night."
And not just that. The guy had gotten away. From Noah Flynn, no less a Tier 4.
"PSERD must be scrambling to save some face for not being able to do anything about the incident."
He scanned the officers as they passed—men and women, stoic and silent, walking with controlled posture and sharp eyes. Their presence was like ice water poured over the city—quieting everything they passed. Even civilians instinctively avoided getting too close.
Kaidren didn't flinch. Didn't change his pace. But inwardly, he weighed the details carefully.
He'd underestimated PSERD before. But now?
He wasn't so sure.
Unlike the game's independent organizations—slippery as snakes, always shifting motives—PSERD had structure. Purpose. Government backing.
They were no saints, sure. But in the world of Espers of the World, they were at least consistent.
"Real leaders, for what that's worth."
He turned his head slightly toward the officers' retreating figures.
"Can't say the same for the Psi Guardians International." Their operatives had always struck him as untrustworthy in the game. The type to hand you a gold medal while stabbing you in the back with a poisoned dagger.
PSERD, by contrast, was cold—but transparent. Brutal—but predictable.
But Kaidren didn't linger on the wandering thoughts that had tried to coil around his mind moments ago. He let them scatter into the air like mist under city lights and simply walked past the PSERD officers monitoring the street. Their presence—so many Tier 3s in full tactical gear—was surprising, but he already reasoned why. He had no time to get caught up in the web of politics or sentiment. Not tonight.
His eyes swept calmly over the scene as he continued his silent search. The cold air of City Z licked against his skin beneath the black hoodie, while neon reflections shimmered off the slick pavement. Kaidren kept his senses on high alert, every subtle alleyway and narrow gap between buildings analyzed with mechanical precision.
Then he stopped.
Between a dated barbershop with faded posters of haircuts and a candy shop bathed in warm pink lights, there it was. A narrow alleyway, dimly lit by overhead signs and neon spills from adjacent buildings. The way the soft lights twisted into unnatural shades of violet and green gave it a quietly eerie look, like the alley itself had secrets it didn't want to tell.
"Perfect," Kaidren murmured, his face as unreadable as ever.
Without hesitation, he pulled his hood further down over his face, letting the shadows conceal him as he began to walk forward. He paid no mind to onlookers; he didn't expect anyone to care, nor did he plan to stay long. He just needed privacy—just enough space to finally see what his body was capable of now.
What Kaidren didn't know was that someone saw him and would give a lot more care for something that looks shady.
Across the street, one of the PSERD officers—a man with short black hair, thoughtful black eyes, and the slight sharpness of age clinging to his face—had noticed the hooded figure slipping into the alley. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a professional yet weary air about him. His expression tightened.
"Another damn kid," he muttered to himself.
The officer clicked his tongue, disappointment creasing his brow as he slowly shook his head. The world was already full of monsters—real ones. He didn't have the patience for another misguided youth playing criminal. Not tonight.
"If people like him would stop adding to the chaos... maybe this place could actually heal," he whispered to the night, eyes trailing the path Kaidren had taken.
He let his gaze rise toward the starlit sky, where the pale moon glowed like a silent observer of human folly. A long breath escaped his chest. He didn't want to become another name carved on a memorial wall. Not just yet—not while his family still waited for him to come home.
With a reluctant sigh, he turned and followed.
"I'll bring that one to the right path... before it's too late."
Meanwhile, Kaidren stepped into the alley. Damp and narrow, the air was laced with old smoke, faint ozone, and something metallic. Neon light from a flickering sign painted the walls in distorted blues and purples. The ground sloped slightly downward, boxed in by dumpsters and old pipes, its silence broken only by the soft hum of city life behind him.
"This'll do," he muttered, stopping in the middle.
He was alone—or at least he believed so.
Now, time to test it.
But the moment Kaidren tried to plan, a question halted him. How exactly was he supposed to activate them?
Before his thoughts could spiral further, he felt it.
A sudden, unspoken awareness surged from deep within him. It wasn't like unlocking a door. It was like realizing he'd already been breathing this power all along. The six abilities—Super Speed, Enhanced Reflexes, Inertial Control, Super Strength, Enhanced Durability, and Regeneration—each flared to life within him, not foreign, not new, but familiar. Natural.
Kaidren blinked.
"...Weird."
His voice was neutral, eyes half-lidded, tone flatter than a steel blade—but even he couldn't deny how odd it felt. It was as if his body had always known these powers. As if they were stitched into his being like blood and bone. He wasn't learning them; he was remembering.
He didn't question it. He never did. That was his rule.
The unknown doesn't owe you answers. Especially not in this world.
He closed his eyes. And activated everything.
A slow, almost imperceptible violet aura began to leak from his body—dark, thick like ink in water. It curled around his limbs, shimmered off his shoulders, and danced along his skin like whispering fire. The quiet alley trembled subtly as if the very air recognized the power it now held.
To a bystander, Kaidren would look like a beast ready to awaken.
Each of the six abilities surged within him, harmonizing with a deadly grace. His muscles coiled with strength. His nerves lit with reflexive precision. The world slowed as his Inertial Control softened every movement, every step. His senses stretched outward. He could hear the faint buzz of an insect several meters behind a vent. He could feel the vibrations of a moth's wings.
He exhaled through his nose, almost dispassionately.
"If I overuse this... Will my body hold?"
But something told him—some deep intuition tied to the Grandmaster-level mastery—that he would be fine. It wasn't like a ticking time bomb. It was like breathing through a perfectly honed machine.
Kaidren opened his eyes.
And then he heard it—footsteps.
Calculated and controlled.
No ordinary person could've heard it. But with his enhanced senses, it was like a signal flare in the dark.
Someone saw me enter.
No time to hesitate. No time to analyze.
His body moved on its own.
With a silent gust of wind and a flicker of violet light—he was gone.
The officer blinked.
"...Where the hell did he go?"
Kaidren now stood high above, crouched atop a concrete rooftop with the city sprawling below him like a sea of lights. His breath was fast, chest rising and falling beneath his hoodie. Strands of black hair clung messily to his forehead.
He stared at the world beneath him, wind brushing his face, eyes slightly wide in rare astonishment.
"Damn... I'm fast," he breathed, not quite smiling.
The sensation still lingered—his body, thrumming with barely-contained force. He had moved faster than his mind could process. Faster than logic. Faster than he expected.
And now... now came the real question.
"And.... How the hell did I even end up here?"