Sunlight stabbed through Lacolone's eyelids. For the first time in what felt like ages, warmth touched his skin instead of rain. He blinked, coughed saltwater from his throat, and sat upright on the half-ruined boat. The sea was calm. Too calm.
"It was all a dream… right?"
His words drifted across the open water like ghosts.
A voice answered, smooth and amused.
"Nope. Reality is vastly overrated anyway."
Lacolone jerked his head up—and there he was.
Americano, floating cross-legged above the water, holding a steaming cup of coffee as if gravity were an optional suggestion.
Lacolone spat a mouthful of seawater. "WHAT?!"
Americano sipped his drink. "Dreams are just reality wearing a funny hat."
The fish leaped around the boat, as though laughing at the absurdity of it all. Lacolone rubbed his face, muttering, "Great. I'm haunted by a sarcastic ghost with caffeine dependency."
---
The Contract
Americano drifted closer, balancing lazily on a piece of floating wood. His aura flickered like blue fire under his coat. "We need a contract," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm a wandering spirit. Without a host, I rot in the void—full of regret, boredom, and a mild but persistent case of existential despair."
Lacolone groaned. "And you picked me?"
Americano inspected his fingernails. "You weren't not available, were you?"
Lacolone clenched a fist, his voice flat. "Perfect. Why not the broke Algerian with shark trauma and survivor's guilt?"
Americano grinned. "See? That's the spirit."
---
A Power Beyond Flesh
The air darkened. Americano's humor evaporated; his voice dropped into something heavy, old.
"I must teach you Soul Control."
Lacolone frowned. "That thing you did? Flipping the sea, walking on water, breaking physics?"
Americano exhaled, a ribbon of smoke curling into a spiral. "Kind of. But Soul Control is like trying to catch a tsunami in your bare hands. You're not ready for what it truly is. I… may have gone too far last time."
Lacolone turned toward the horizon. Soft sunlight cut through receding storm clouds.
"You gave me purpose," he said quietly.
Americano's gaze softened for a rare second.
---
The Revolutionary Path
"Next step," Americano announced suddenly, coat whipping in the wind, "you join the Revolutionary Army Resistance Organization."
Lacolone blinked. "The terrorist organization?"
"Labels," Americano scoffed, "are lies the powerful use to sleep better. They say evil. I say—people trying to fix what's been broken while others profit from the wreckage."
Lacolone's lips curved faintly. "Maybe it's not too late to make things right."
Americano's shadow stretched across the waves like wings. "Not too late," he murmured, "but never easy."
---
The Fallen Soldier
Americano's tone shifted, low and distant. "I fought for the empire once," he said. "Believed in their order. Their purity. Their lies." He looked away. "I lost my soul to it."
Lacolone listened in silence, droplets sliding down his cheek like tears pretending to be rain. "So now… we fix it?"
Americano's grin returned, bittersweet and self-mocking. "Exactly. Fixing the world is like juggling knives while riding a tsunami. You'll look ridiculous, probably die—but at least it'll be entertaining."
---
An Uneasy Bond
Lacolone flicked water at him. "You talk too much."
Americano's eyes widened, mock offense painted across his face. "Oh, really? Is that how rebellion begins?"
Both laughed—genuine, exhausted laughter that echoed across the sea. The fish jumped in approval, forming a tiny circle around the boat like an aquatic audience.
Lacolone picked one up, examined it, and muttered, "At least the fish believe in us."
---
Lesson One: Feel Your Soul
Americano hovered over the deck, aura burning brighter. "Lesson one," he said. "You must feel your soul as something separate from your flesh. Only then can you reshape reality."
Lacolone closed his eyes, focusing. The air shimmered. Sparks danced around him. His aura began to hum—unstable, wild.
"Careful," Americano warned. "If you panic, it'll fight back."
---
Training in Chaos
Time blurred. Days—or dreams—passed as Lacolone meditated above the sea's surface, the water swirling around him in impossible motion. Americano floated nearby, sipping coffee like an overworked teacher.
Even the fish gathered to watch, bobbing in a solemn circle. They looked unimpressed.
---
Memories Return
But concentration broke.
The past bled back in—gunfire, screaming, the girl and her mother, the crimson sea.
Lacolone's eyes snapped open, rage tearing through calm. His aura flickered erratically.
Americano's voice cut through the chaos. "Your power isn't just for vengeance. It's to correct what the world broke."
Lacolone clenched his fists, steadying his breath. "Then I'll use it wisely. I'll make things right."
---
The Shore of Tomorrow
Dark clouds gathered again. On the horizon—the European coast, faint yet near.
Lacolone rose, gripping the sword strapped to his back. Its runes pulsed faint gold, whispering a name he couldn't yet pronounce.
Americano floated above him, coat flaring like a black banner.
"Ready to land?" he asked.
Lacolone nodded. "As I'll ever be."
---
Before the Storm
"Do we have uniforms or something?" Lacolone asked.
"Uniforms?" Americano chuckled. "Completely overrated. Soul Control robes optional."
Lacolone sighed. "Great. We'll overthrow the world looking like fishermen."
---
A Name for Hope
Americano's eyes burned crimson. "We unite against the enemy of all humanity."
Lacolone smiled slightly. "Then we'll do it as the Race Unity Group."
They struck an awkwardly heroic pose as the sea wind howled around them. A single fish leapt behind them as if applauding the name.
---
First Real Test
Americano extended his hand. The sea rose and bent around him like liquid glass. "Watch," he said, water spiraling under his control.
Lacolone mimicked him, focusing—his aura flared too bright. The water convulsed, forming a small tornado.
The fish screamed and scattered.
Americano sighed. "Progress… I guess."
---
Dark Humor Beneath the Light
Americano's tone shifted. "If I fail you, humanity keeps suffering. If you fail me…" He smirked. "I haunt you forever."
Lacolone arched a brow. "Comforting."
Both laughed again, hollow but real. Above them, storm clouds began to form the outline of a crown.
---
The Arrival
The coastline loomed—Italy's shadowed silhouette beneath roiling skies. Wind roared through the boat's torn sails.
"This," Lacolone said, eyes narrowing as he gripped the hilt of his sword, "is where the real work begins."
Americano nodded, his grin sharp as a blade.
---
Final Page – The Storm Before Dawn
Lacolone stood at the bow, coat whipping, sword on his back. Americano hovered beside him, framed by lightning and sea mist. Behind them, dark clouds twisted into a demonic crown above the European coast.
Even a seagull flew upside-down, mocking gravity.
The air tasted of fate.