Hawk had no idea how other Saints trained.
After all, the ones in his memory belonged to an anime.
This was reality.
And in reality—
Stories needed logic. Reality didn't.
So—
A boy who had thrown ten thousand punches a day, every day for one thousand straight days, had taken a simple technique and polished it to perfection.
As the saying went—
If someone can draw their sword one hundred thousand times, they can master a sword technique that cleaves the heavens.
Hawk had thrown far more than a hundred thousand punches. And when he finally completed the conditions to awaken his Microcosmos, his punch underwent a qualitative change.
The Sonic Punch!
A technique that could propel his fists to the speed of sound—and, with his Microcosmos burning, beyond.
What did that mean?
It meant his enemy would feel pain before they even heard the sound of his strike.
That was the Sonic Punch.
Boom!
Above the street, a Chitauri hovercraft exploded. Its captain, who had narrowly leapt free at the last moment, landed with a snarl. In his hands, he gripped a weapon glowing with eerie green energy—not a gun, but a long spear.
And there Hawk stood—shirtless, muscles gleaming like a sculpture.
His old T-shirt, worn for years, had been shredded to tatters during the bombardment.
Didn't matter.
With only gray sweatpants and worn sneakers left, Hawk felt stronger.
And it wasn't an illusion.
Everyone knew—
Shirts explode, power goes up.
"Human!"
The Chitauri captain glared, his oversized green eyes locked on Hawk, spear glowing in his grip.
On the mothership beyond the wormhole, Hawk's image now appeared on their screens.
Hawk tilted his head at the spear-wielding alien. Then, with a crooked grin, raised his right hand, curled his fingers, and beckoned.
No words wasted.
"Come!"
"Die!"
Enraged, the captain stomped down, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he surged forward. The spear's tip glowed violently, unleashing volley after volley of energy blasts.
At the same time, Hawk's foot shattered the ground beneath him as his body shot forward, golden light tearing across the air like lightning.
He remembered—
Once Saints awakened their Microcosmos, gained recognition of their constellation, and donned their Cloth, their bodies became terrifying existences.
Their defenses were overwhelming. Their fists and movements reached the speed of sound.
Even their lifespans stretched far beyond ordinary humans.
And though Hawk had yet to ignite a constellation, had no Cloth at all—he had awakened his Microcosmos.
In some ways, he was already no longer human.
So—
"Splurt!"
The captain's eyes widened as blood spewed from his mouth, the green ichor spraying so violently it blew off his metal faceplate. His twisted insectoid features were revealed beneath.
Then—
The sound arrived.
Boom!
He looked down hazily. Hawk's arm was buried in his chest, having pierced straight through his armor.
The alien screeched, incomprehensible, his head heavy as he tried to lift it—wanting one last look at the human who had felled him in a single strike.
But…
He had no time left.
As Hawk yanked his arm free, darkness swallowed the captain.
Boom!
The body crumpled, collapsing to the ground like a dead insect.
Hawk hooked the falling spear with one hand, taking it for himself.
The weapon pulsed with green energy, glowing ominously in his grip.
He weighed it thoughtfully.
A stray thought crossed his mind—
If he took this spear, and the other alien weapons he'd collected, and sold them on the black market… how much would they fetch?
Alien weapons.
They had to be worth a fortune.
He glanced toward the corner of the ruins where he'd stashed the four rifles dropped by earlier soldiers.
Just then—
A sudden, dazzling blue glow erupted over Manhattan.
Hawk turned sharply.
The column of light piercing the heavens had vanished. The rift in the sky was closing—shrinking at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"That's it?"
"It's over?"
"The Chitauri invasion event just… ended like that?"
He blinked.
For a moment, he almost said aloud—if the Chitauri invasion was this weak, why had he been so nervous?
But…
His eyes swept the ruins.
Burning wreckage. Collapsed buildings. Severed limbs scattered among the rubble.
He swallowed those words.
It wasn't that the Chitauri were too weak.
It was that he had grown stronger.
"If I hadn't awakened my Microcosmos at this exact moment… one of those limbs might've been mine."
His gaze lingered on the wreckage, his heart hardening.
He had to grow stronger.
Keep growing stronger.
Not for anyone else. Not even for heroism.
But to earn the right to speak a single truth:
My fate is mine.
Not Heaven's.
But for now, Hawk had something more practical to do.
He needed to stash the five alien weapons he had collected—
and find a way to sell them, cashing in to improve his life.
…
(End of Chapter)
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