Chapter Three: Harsh Reality
The Upper District didn't even feel like the same city.
Kirro had never been this far before. Here, the air smelled cleaner, the streets weren't cracked, and the neon signs never flickered. Towering glass towers shimmered above, their lights never rationed, their wealth so blinding it made the slums feel like another planet.
He clutched his backpack straps tighter. Electricity tingled faintly under his skin. He couldn't stop grinning. This was it. This was the first step toward pulling his family out of the dirt.
The Agency
The Aetherion Agency building rose in front of him like a fortress, its glass walls reflecting the sun. Their operatives were legends — faces plastered on billboards, names whispered like gods. And today, Kirro would join them.
He pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into a lobby that looked like another world. Polished floors. Holographic displays of operatives mid-battle. A receptionist desk glowing with pale blue light.
The woman behind it barely looked up. "Business?"
Kirro cleared his throat. "I'm here to join. I awakened yesterday — electricity. Voltage." He lifted his hand and let sparks crackle across his fingers, sharp and blue.
She didn't even flinch. Just tapped at her screen. "Class?"
Kirro blinked. "...Class?"
"All powers are ranked," she said flatly. "Entry requires Class-B or higher."
"What?" His chest tightened. "You haven't even tested me. I'm strong, I—"
She cut him off. "Testing requires registration. Registration requires ten thousand credits."
Kirro froze. Ten thousand? That was more than his family made in a year.
"I don't—I don't have that," he said, voice cracking.
The woman finally glanced at him, eyes sweeping over his scuffed hoodie and worn-out shoes. "Then you don't belong here. And judging by your sparks? Raw, unstable. That's Class-D. Trash tier."
The words hit harder than any punch.
Kirro opened his mouth, but she was already waving the next person forward. To her, he was nothing. Just another slum rat playing pretend.
Thrown Away
By the time Kirro stumbled back outside, the world felt smaller. The towers overhead loomed like they were laughing down at him. His stomach churned. His chest burned.
Ten thousand credits. Class-D.
They hadn't even looked at him. They hadn't even given him a chance.
He thought this power was his way out — his family's way out. But here, in the shining city built for the rich, his sparks meant nothing.
Kirro clenched his fists until his knuckles ached. "They're wrong," he whispered. "I'll show them. I'll prove it."
But as he walked back toward the slums, the fire in his chest began to twist. The hope he'd felt that morning — bright, alive — was already flickering.
And in its place, something darker started to grow.