"Alright, listen carefully," she said, her tone clipped. "That masked man standing there? His name is Loid. He's mute—incapable of speaking—so he uses his phone whenever he wants to communicate. Don't bother waiting for him to say a word. You'll never hear his voice."
Charles glanced nervously at Loid, who tilted his head ever so slightly, the eternal grin of his mask reflecting the dim light. The silence surrounding him felt heavier now that Charles knew it wasn't just by choice.
The woman folded her arms and continued.
"Now… about Zeniths. They aren't all the same. There are four categories you need to understand."
Her eyes narrowed, and with each word, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier—like the weight of hidden knowledge pressing down.
"First, the Normal Zenith. These are individuals who can awaken their Zenith Gene naturally, without the use of any device. It's rare, but when it happens, the awakening comes from within—it's raw, instinctive, and often unpredictable."
She paused, giving Charles a moment to process before holding up two fingers.
"Second, the Artificial Zenith. This type is created by force—through a device called the Trigger. The Trigger manually activates the dormant gene, awakening powers that would have otherwise stayed buried forever. Artificial Zeniths are more common, but their connection is… unstable. Manufactured, not natural."
Her voice dropped slightly as she raised a third finger.
"Third, the Mythical Zenith. These are extremely rare—so rare that most people don't even believe they exist. A Mythical Zenith's soul doesn't just awaken normally. Instead, their Zenith Word—the very essence of their power—becomes linked to something legendary. A dragon, a god, a creature from ancient myth. Those who awaken as Mythicals wield abilities that don't just bend the laws of nature… they rewrite them."
Charles felt a chill run down his spine. Dragons? Gods? This was sounding less like science and more like a nightmare.
Finally, the woman raised her fourth finger. Her tone sharpened.
"And last… the Successors. These are individuals born into bloodlines that naturally carry the Zenith Gene. Successors don't need a Trigger. They don't stumble upon their powers by chance. They inherit them—sometimes along with the Zenith Word of their ancestors. Their existence is proof that Zenith Energy can be passed down like a legacy… or a curse."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Charles's fists clenched. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Four categories. Four paths. And he didn't even know which—if any—applied to him.
The woman's piercing gaze fixed on him, unblinking.
"So tell me, Charles Kepler… which one are you?"
Charles hesitated, his mind still struggling to keep up with everything being thrown at him. Finally, he swallowed hard and forced out a question.
"…This Trigger you keep talking about… what does it even look like?"
The woman shifted her weight and gave him a sharp look, as if surprised he didn't already know. Then, in a low, steady voice, she explained.
"It's simple. A Trigger looks like a syringe filled with a strange, glowing liquid. Green, almost unnaturally bright—like it's alive inside the glass tube. That liquid is what forces the Zenith Gene to activate. Once it's in your bloodstream, there's no going back."
Her words hit Charles like a punch to the chest.
His eyes widened. His breathing quickened.
A syringe… with green liquid…
In an instant, his mind snapped back to the night before—the shadowy alley, the stench of alcohol, the homeless man's wild eyes as he rushed forward. Charles remembered the sharp sting in his arm, the unnatural burn spreading through his veins, and the faint green glow in the darkness.
His body tensed. His hands trembled.
"That night… that man…" Charles's voice cracked, the words barely leaving his throat. "He… he injected me with it…"
The memory played again and again in his head like a broken reel of film. The glint of the needle. The liquid pulsing inside. The way his body had nearly collapsed under the weight of it.
The woman's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing with realization.
"So," she muttered under her breath, "you've already been Triggered."
Charles's heart pounded so violently he could hear it in his ears. He stumbled back a step, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Triggered? No… no, I didn't ask for this! I didn't—"
But even as he tried to deny it, the burning sensation from that night seemed to flare up again in his memory, crawling under his skin. He clutched his arm, terrified.
Loid tilted his head in silence, the eternal grin carved into his mask staring back at Charles, as if mocking him.
The woman took a step closer, her voice sharp and unyielding.
"Whether you asked for it or not doesn't matter. The Trigger chose you. And that means your Zenith… is already waking up."