Four days had passed since.
The conference room had been intimidating—polished mahogany table stretching endlessly, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, and a collection of stone-faced executives who could make or break careers with a single nod. Kenji remembered the weight of their stares as he'd clicked through his presentation slides, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Gentlemen," he'd begun, his PowerPoint displaying sleek mock-ups and market analysis charts, "I present the Smart Home Integration Platform—a unified ecosystem that doesn't just connect devices, but anticipates user needs through behavioral learning algorithms."
He'd walked them through each feature: the intuitive interface that adapted to household routines, the energy optimization protocols that could reduce utility costs by thirty percent, the seamless integration with existing smart home infrastructure. The executives had leaned forward when he'd demonstrated the prototype's ability to predict and prevent system failures before they occurred.
"The projected ROI within the first eighteen months is 340%," Kenji had concluded, watching their expressions shift from skeptical to intrigued to genuinely impressed. "More importantly, this positions us as industry leaders in predictive home automation."
The applause had been immediate and sustained. Even the notoriously difficult VP of Product Development had nodded approvingly, muttering something about "innovative thinking" and "market disruption potential."
Now, four days later, their team sat around a different table—this one sticky with spilled beer and scattered with empty bottles. The celebration had been inevitable once word came down that Kenji's concept would be fast-tracked into full development, complete with increased budget allocations and performance bonuses for the entire team.
"You better be careful on the road, Chul. You got yourself fucking wasted," Jung observed, watching their colleague attempt to navigate his phone screen with the focused intensity of the thoroughly intoxicated.
"He's just jealous because Kenji's pitch got chosen," team leader Chungho said with a laugh, the sound infectious enough to spread around their small circle. Despite having to stand on his tiptoes to reach, he managed to drape his arm around Kenji's shoulders in a gesture of camaraderie.
Soo-yun leaned closer, curiosity bright in her eyes. "You were a completely different person when you made that pitch, Kenji. I didn't know you had that in you."
"I just practiced my lines and researched extensively," Kenji replied matter-of-factly, as if transforming into a confident presenter was simply a matter of preparation rather than revealing hidden depths.
Chungho turned his attention to their dejected teammate, voice taking on the patient tone of a seasoned leader. "There's still next year, Chul. Who knows? Your pitch might be the one that gets chosen."
The encouragement worked its magic. Chul's head snapped up, words slurring but determination unmistakable. "You know what? I will. Yeah, I fucking will!"
The declaration earned smiles all around, the kind of warm, alcohol-fueled optimism that made everything seem possible.
"Nah, Kenji's still gonna get chosen next year too," someone called out from across the table.
"Fuck off, man," Chul shot back, but he was grinning now, the sting of defeat already fading into friendly rivalry.
The exchange dissolved into laughter, Kenji's chuckle mixing with the others as the tension of the past week finally released its hold on the group.
"Alright, I'm heading out first," Kenji announced, checking his watch and noting the late hour.
Chungho's expression sobered slightly. "You sure? You've had plenty to drink—might be better to wait it out or catch a cab."
"I'm not a lightweight," Kenji reassured his team leader with a confidence that wasn't entirely fabricated. "I'll be fine."
He said his goodbyes to the group already gathering outside the restaurant, their voices carrying the easy warmth of people who'd shared both stress and success. Then, once he was certain no eyes were on him, Kenji simply disappeared.
His figure materialized a block away, then vanished again in the space between heartbeats. To any casual observer, it might have looked like teleportation—rapid, impossible shifts through space that defied physics. But it was just efficient aether application, not even his true awakened ability. Child's play, really, compared to what he was capable of when the situation demanded it.
He reappeared in an alleyway two blocks from the veterinary clinic near his neighborhood, deciding to walk the rest of the way home. The familiar weight of alcohol sat comfortably in his system, present but not overwhelming, a pleasant buzz rather than impairment.
The vet clinic's lights were still on as he passed, the building quiet and peaceful in the evening stillness. But as he turned into the alley that would lead toward home, movement caught his attention.
Jiwoo stood in the narrow space between buildings, something bulky hidden beneath his school uniform jacket. The orange mass protruding from the partially unbuttoned fabric would have been comical—head and rotund belly creating an absurd silhouette—if not for the very real danger stalking him from the shadows.
A black cat emerged, and Kenji's amusement died instantly. This wasn't just any stray. The scar bisecting its left eye spoke of violence, but more concerning was the predatory intelligence in its remaining good eye and the unnatural grace of its movements. This cat moved with the fluid precision of something that could easily kill a grown man.
Jiwoo was dodging, barely. His movements were clumsy, untrained, driven more by desperation than skill. But he was dodging nonetheless, which should have been impossible for a normal person against a threat of this caliber.
Then the cat increased its speed, and something extraordinary happened.
Jiwoo moved faster—not just quickly, but with the kind of velocity that bent the laws of physics around it. Super speed. Unmistakable, undeniable super speed.
I never expected Jiwoo to be awakened. The thought hit Kenji like a physical blow. Five years of neighborly interaction, five years of casual conversation and shared meals, and not once had the kid shown even a hint of awakened ability. But then again, growing up in what appeared to be a normal family, maybe the child had learned to hide his power. Maybe his mother had taught him the cardinal rule of awakened society: never reveal your abilities in public.
The pieces clicked into place, all those moves Jiwoo's family had made before settling in their current neighborhood, the mother's work abroad, the careful way they'd integrated into their community. They'd been running, hiding, protecting their son from a world that would see his speed as either a weapon to be wielded or a threat to be eliminated.
Time to intervene.
Kenji materialized directly in front of Jiwoo, his finger extending in what looked like a casual poke. The feral cat collapsed instantly, unconscious before it hit the ground.
"Kenji? It's you. How—?" Jiwoo's voice carried astonishment mixed with relief, but Kenji cut him off with a sharp look.
"How did you get yourself tangled up in this mess, Jiwoo?" The question came out more solemn than he'd intended, weighted with implications the teenager couldn't yet understand.
"What do you mean?"
Kenji's gaze shifted to the orange cat still hidden beneath Jiwoo's jacket, then back to the unconscious black form at their feet. "This cat is an experiment. From the looks of it, they're experimenting with forced awakening."
The words hung heavy in the alley air, carrying implications that made Jiwoo's face pale.
"We need to leave, now. Before Jiyoung Yoo realizes there's been a commotion here." Kenji was already turning to go when Jiwoo's voice stopped him.
"Wait—bring the cat with us. Please."
The request shouldn't have surprised him. Even after being attacked, even after nearly dying, Jiwoo's first concern was for the creature that had tried to kill him. It was so perfectly, frustratingly characteristic that Kenji could only sigh in resignation.
He scooped up the unconscious cat, cradling it with ease. "Come on."
Jiwoo's living room felt different with the weight of secrets filling it. The orange cat had emerged from its hiding place once they'd arrived safely, struggling briefly before managing to heave itself onto the sofa where it now sat in an almost human-like position. Its glare fixed on Kenji with an intensity that suggested far more intelligence than any normal feline should possess.
Kenji could only shake his head at the absurdity of it all.
"Now talk, Jiwoo. How did you get into that situation?" The question carried both curiosity and genuine worry—someone like Jiwoo getting entangled in awakened affairs was dangerous beyond the boy's comprehension.
"I visited the veterinary clinic for my cat's check-up," Jiwoo answered, his voice shaky, head bowed. "After we finished and started going home, that's when I encountered him."
"Have you been told about awakened society? How dangerous it can be?"
"I was... told by someone I met." The hesitation in Jiwoo's voice suggested volumes about that mysterious someone.
Kenji hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "And don't tell me who it is," he said before Jiwoo could elaborate. "That person wouldn't want their name mentioned. Jiwoo, you need to be more careful from now on. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Kenji. I'll be more careful."
"Good." Kenji's attention shifted to the orange cat, whose reaction to his next words was unmistakably alert. "Now, about this cat. Whoever owns him will want him back because, from the looks of it, they succeeded in forcing it to awaken."
The cat's eyes widened—an impossibly human expression on a feline face that made Jiwoo look confused while confirming Kenji's suspicions.
"You'll eventually understand how big of a deal that is," Kenji told Jiwoo quietly.
Jiwoo disappeared briefly, returning with a first aid kit that spoke to his preparedness for exactly these kinds of situations. He worked carefully, wrapping bandages around the unconscious cat's body with the gentle precision of someone who'd done this before.
"I did my best. Do you think it's enough?"
"That's enough. I didn't hurt him that much," Kenji replied, though his attention remained on the orange observer whose glare hadn't lessened in intensity.
"The owner might have a power that can make the cat return to him, Jiwoo. And it might attack you again when it wakes up."
"But I'm just worried," Jiwoo said, defeat coloring his voice in a way that tugged at something in Kenji's chest.
The sigh that escaped him carried five years of understanding exactly how soft-hearted his young neighbor could be when it came to cats. "Okay. Just be careful from now on."
"I have to go home now—work tomorrow. Call me if you need anything."
"Yes, I'll call you. Ah, wait. Let me check if I have your number." Jiwoo fumbled with his phone, relief crossing his features when he found the contact. "I have it. Mom gave it to me."
Kenji reached out, ruffling Jiwoo's hair with an affection that had grown naturally over years of neighborly friendship. The smile that accompanied the gesture was genuine, warm with protective fondness.
"Take care of yourself, kid."