The pen scratched quietly against paper.
Jinyong sat in his workshop, which had a makeshift setup of an interview room. The light above buzzed faintly. Across from him sat a man, maybe in his late twenties, shoulders a little too tense.
The notebook on Jinyong's lap was already half full. Names, notes, numbers. Details of others who came before this one. Different faces, different nations. All benders.
"So," Jinyong said, eyes flicking up from the page. "You're a firebender."
The man nodded. "Yeah."
"But where are you from exactly?"
"Uh… downtown?"
Jinyong raised a brow. "Your parents?"
"One's from the Earth Kingdom. The other's from the Fire Nation."
"Hmm." Jinyong wrote that down. "Occupation?"
"I work at the power plant."
"So you can generate lightning as well?"
The man hesitated. "...Yeah."
"Do you consider yourself spiritually attuned?"
The man frowned. "What is this about, exactly? Am I interviewing for a job? I already have one. The papers said I'd get paid if I came here."
"You will," Jinyong said, smiling faintly. "You just have to answer my questions."
The man sighed. "Right."
"So," Jinyong said again, "do you consider yourself spiritually attuned?"
"Not really."
"Really? Never meditated or anything? Practiced breathing?"
"I trained to generate lightning," the man said, shrugging. "Other than that, no."
Jinyong nodded and scribbled more notes. "Are you easily angered?"
The man frowned again. "What? Is this because I'm a firebender?"
"Just answer the question, mister."
The firebender groaned softly. "I don't think so."
Jinyong leaned back slightly, tapping the pen against the notebook. His eyes narrowed just a bit, studying the man in front of him.
"Do your eyes ever change color when you were a kid?" he asked.
"What? No."
"Skin temperature? Any difference before or after bending?"
"Sometimes it gets warm," the man admitted. "Especially around the arms."
Jinyong nodded. "And your heartbeat?"
The man blinked. "My heartbeat?"
"When you generate lightning. Does it spike? Slow down? Do you feel it in your chest?"
"I guess it gets faster. Who wouldn't get nervous throwing lightning around?"
Jinyong's pen moved quickly. He flipped to another page, scanning a few old notes before continuing.
He set the pen down for a moment. "Last question. Do you think someone could identify a firebender without seeing them bend?"
The man tilted his head. "Like, from looks alone?"
"Yes."
"...I don't know. Maybe from the burn scars?"
Jinyong's lips twitched, almost a smile. "You'd be surprised how few have those."
He closed the notebook. "That'll be all. You can collect your payment at the desk outside. I'm sure you can't miss it. It's with the pretty girl."
The man stood and left, muttering something under his breath.
When the door clicked shut, Jinyong opened his notebook again. His eyes lingered on the notes.
He tapped the pen against the margin.
"Maybe not from looks," he murmured. "But from inside the body."
The front door opened again.
Asami stepped in, looking tired. Her hair was slightly messy, her jacket half unbuttoned. She must've spent the whole day managing the lines of people coming for interviews.
Jinyong turned in his chair and smiled. "Thanks for helping me today."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, walking over and leaning on the table. "So? What did you get then? Any… discovery?"
Jinyong sighed. "Not really. Maybe it's because Republic City's too diverse, but the features are so random."
"Well, I expected that."
He glanced up. "You do?"
"Jin," she said, rubbing her temples. "Don't you think people have already tried this? Identifying benders just by looks alone?"
Jinyong tapped his pen on the notebook. "Maybe they were looking at it differently."
Asami raised an eyebrow. "Differently how?"
"Well," he said slowly, "bending's a spiritual thing. Sure, a lot of it's genetics, but spirituality's a part too. And with it comes chi."
She blinked. "Chi?"
"Yeah," he said, thinking aloud. "If I could make a device that can see chi… maybe I could use that to tell if someone's a bender or not. A bender would have stronger chi, right? Because they're born with more of it. And they've trained it."
Asami stared at him blankly for a second. "Okay. You lost me. I'm not exactly an expert in chi or whatever. But how would you even do that?"
Jinyong leaned back. "That… I don't know yet."
She rolled her eyes. "If you really did make that thing, what are you even going to do with it? Segregate benders and non-benders? It's useless. If you're in a fight, you can already tell who's a bender. They're the ones throwing rocks and fireballs."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But maybe it'd help in non-combat situations… probably."
She shook her head, amused. But then her expression changed. Her gaze went to the window. "I'm worried about you now."
He frowned. "What? Why?"
"You talked to a lot of people today," she said. "Some of them were triad members. I know their faces. What if they raid your place? You've got your fancy satomobile parked outside like it's nothing."
Jinyong scoffed. "Don't worry about it. They can try. It won't end well."
"What do you mean?" she said sharply. "You'll get killed. You live alone out here. No one can protect you."
"I can protect myself."
She gave him a look. "You're fourteen, Jin. You really think you can fight a group of benders?"
He reached out and brushed her hand gently, smiling. "Stop worrying. You know what I'm working on. Leveling the playing field, remember? I've got a few tricks. I'll be fine."
She snorted. "You mean the pile of explosives in your warehouse? You're gonna blow yourself up before they even get to you."
"Stop being condescending," he said, chuckling as he stood up. He flicked her forehead lightly before walking away. "It's getting late. You should go home. I don't want another call from your father. Thanks for today."
Asami rubbed her forehead and watched him put the notebook down on another desk. She sighed softly.
"Just be careful, okay? I'll see you later."
He waved without turning around.
She left a minute later, the door clicking shut behind her.
—
In the middle of the night, sounds from the outside woke him.
A soft crunch outside. Then another. Then Jinyong's eyes snapped open.
He reached under his bed, pulled out his pistol. Two spare magazines. Gas mask. A pair of grenades the size of apples, filled with his own chemical mix.
He slipped on his shoes and moved quietly to the window. Moonlight glowed faintly across the trees. Shadows moved between them.
Not good.
He left the house and crouched low, sticking to the walls.
Then he saw them.
Three men near the workshop door. standing watch. Another figure by the garage, tools in hand, trying to open it forcefully without making much noise. From the sound of it, more is inside.
They weren't even looking at the house. They wanted his workshop.
He moved around the side, climbing the drainage pipe to the roof. The metal was cold against his palms. From the top, he crouched beside the skylight and peered through the glass.
Below, two men were circling his satomobile, trying to pry it open. Another was at the warehouse door, muttering curses.
Jinyong pulled the pin on one grenade.
He cracked the skylight open, and dropped it inside.
The thugs looked up, startled. One pointed. "What the—"
Too late.
The grenades popped, spilling clouds of thick white gas. The hiss filled the air. Within seconds, the men started coughing, eyes burning, tripping over each other.
Jinyong slipped the mask on and dropped through the opening. He landed hard, knees bent.
"It's the kid!" someone shouted.
One man stumbled toward him, gasping. Jinyong kicked him in the stomach, then the jaw. The man went down.
The others turned, eyes red and streaming. One shouted something and spat a stream of fire.
Jinyong sidestepped, the flames licking past his arm. Another pulled a chunk of the concrete floor up and hurled it. He ducked, rolled, came up with his pistol raised.
Two quick shots. Both heads snapped back. Silence followed for a second.
The rest froze, coughing, trembling.
"What the hell is that?!" one shouted, panic in his voice.
They started firing off more attacks: fire, bits of rock, bursts of water that barely hit straight through the haze.
Jinyong didn't back off this time.
He ran at them. Fast.
A fist to the neck. Two fingers to the shoulder. Palm to the ribs. Each strike landed sharp and precise. Chi points.
Their limbs went limp one by one. Bodies dropped to the floor, though still conscious.
"What?! The kid's one of the equalists?!" the limp bender exclaimed.
"Don't group me with them." Jinyong said, pointing his gun at him. "Who are you? Triad?"
Before the thug could answer anything, Jinyong shot his leg, making him wail in pain.
"Wait, wait! Don't kill me!" the thug begged. "W-We're from the triple threat triad! W-we got intel that this place's free to rob!"
"From who?"
"I-I don't know, one of the guys downtown!"
Jinyong hummed. "Thanks."
He kicked the man, making him knocked out, and made the room silent.
Jinyong stood there, chest rising and falling under the mask.
He looked around at the bodies. Some are unconscious. Some are not moving at all.
"Idiots," he muttered. "I have to deal with the police now…"
He ejected the magazine, checked the chamber, and walked to the open door. The night breeze drifted in, clearing some of the smoke.
—
The next morning, police swarmed the place.
Tape everywhere. Officers pacing around, taking pictures, bagging things. The entire street looked like a crime scene from the papers. Well, technically, it is a crime scene.
Jinyong sat on the front steps, arms crossed, watching them crawl over his workshop like ants.
Then he saw her.
A woman in uniform, hair tied back, face like she hadn't smiled in years. She walked straight toward him, eyes sharp.
Jinyong raised a brow. "Why is the chief of police here? It's just a home robbery."
The woman crossed her arms. "How do you know who I am?"
He stared for a second. "Are you seriously asking me that? Lin Beifong, daughter of Toph Beifong. Really?"
She sighed. He made his point.
"Like it or not, your father's an important figure in this city, kid," Lin said. "I'm here to make sure this isn't an attempted political assassination or threat."
"It's not," Jinyong said. "I invited a bunch of people yesterday. Some of them probably triad members. They didn't know who I was, so they thought I'm just some random rich kid living alone."
"Invited?" Lin raised a brow. "You invited triad members?"
"Not on purpose," he said, rolling his eyes. "I invited random benders. They came."
"Why?"
"Research purposes."
She frowned. "Some of the thugs told us you used chi-blocking."
"So?" Jinyong shrugged. "It's not illegal to learn."
"These days it's tied to the Equalist movement," she said. "A movement that's been attacking and raiding the very triad that attacked you across the city."
"Are you accusing me of being one of them?" he asked flatly.
Lin shook her head. "Of course not. I need to see the weapon you used to kill those two men."
"Why? It's mine. I defended myself with it."
"For the report," she said simply.
He reached behind him and pulled the pistol out. When Lin tried to take it, he didn't let go.
Her brow furrowed. "You're going to make this difficult, huh?"
"You're going to take it, aren't you?" Jinyong said calmly.
"You're using an experimental and probably illegal weapon," she said. "You wouldn't think we wouldn't notice what's inside your warehouse, kid? You could blow up a factory with that."
"Yeah, I use it for experiments," Jinyong said. "And it's not illegal. It's a weapon. Period. Just like a knife or a sword in the eyes of the law. Unless you're drafting a new one, you can't take it."
Lin frowned. "You still used it to kill two people. Intruders, but still people. We need it for evidence."
Jinyong chuckled. "You don't take someone's bending, do you? Then why take my weapon? It's mine. You can take a photo, but you're not taking it."
"You know that's different, kid."
"Different how?" he shot back. "I used it to defend myself. What else is there to say?"
Lin exhaled sharply. "Look, we'll overlook the explosive materials in your warehouse. Your father already told me why you moved here. But the weapon—"
"You can only take a photo of it," Jinyong cut her off. "End of discussion. Why don't you remove their bending too, Chief? They attacked me first. Your request is ridiculous."
Lin clenched her fist. "Because I can't, kid! What do you want me to do?! They're benders and—"
"And I'm not!" Jinyong shouted back. "They have something extra that you can't take from them. But when I make something to level the field, suddenly it needs to be taken away for evidence? What a joke. If you take it, then what? They'll come again. Take revenge. Then what do I defend myself with? Are you going to stand outside my house all month?"
Lin's expression softened, just a bit.
"A couple of my officers will keep watch in the area," she said finally. "As for the weapon... fine. But we need a photo."
She held out her hand.
"I'm not handing it to you, Chief," Jinyong said. "Bring your photographer here."
Lin clicked her tongue, annoyed.
Before Lin could retort, a car pulled up at the gate.
The polished black satomobile stopped with a low purr. Two figures stepped out.
His mother first, her heels clicked fast against the pavement, hair messy from the rush. His father followed behind, posture straight, eyes unreadable as always, looking to talk to the chief.
"Jinyong!" his mother's voice cracked as she ran to him. She grabbed his shoulders, then pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight like she hadn't seen him in years. "Oh, you're safe, why didn't you just run? You could've been killed!"
Jinyong's arms hung awkwardly before he sighed, patting her back lightly. "I handled it, Mom."
"Handled it?" she said, voice sharp now. "There are bodies in your workshop, Jinyong! You call that handling it?!"
"Yes… I… disposed of them." Jinyong muttered. "Defended myself. That's called… handling it."
Behind her, his father approached, finished talking with the chief, calm, but not quiet. His shoes crunched against the gravel as he stopped beside them.
For a moment, no one spoke.
His father's voice came out low. "Chi-blocking?"
Jinyong exhaled through his nose. "Yeah."
"Where did you learn it?"
"Here and there," Jinyong said. "Watched some, practiced some. Picked it up."
"Here and there? That's not an answer."
"Fine," Jinyong muttered. "From some guy downtown. A shady place. But it's the real deal."
His mother turned sharply toward him. "Downtown? Jinyong—"
"Enough," his father said. He looked back at Jinyong again, eyes narrowing.
His mother frowned. "Don't start scolding him now. He's alive because of it," she said. "You should be grateful he knew how to defend himself. Otherwise, we'd be at the hospital right now, or worse."
His father didn't reply at first. He just stared at the workshop again. At the uniformed officers. The covered bodies being wheeled away.
His father's silence said enough.
"Mr. Keum," Lin cut in. "We'll need your cooperation for the ongoing investigation. We also need to document your son's weapon for the report."
His father nodded once. "You'll have our cooperation."
Then he turned to Jinyong again. "Do what the police ask. Don't make this harder."
Jinyong crossed his arms. "I already said they can take photos. That's all."
His mother looked between them, exasperated. "Please. Don't fight here. Not in front of the officers."
His father's eyes softened, just a little. "We'll talk about this when things calm down."
"I'm not leaving," Jinyong said before he could. "This is my place. I'll stay."
His mother's shoulders slumped. She looked at her husband, hoping he'd say otherwise.
But he didn't. He just sighed. "We'll have security sent here. You're not staying alone without supervision from now on."
"Fine," Jinyong said, already looking away.
Lin watched the whole exchange, arms folded, brow furrowed.
"Cooperate with the police, son," his father said again, firmly this time. "And we'll discuss the rest later."
Jinyong didn't look at him. "Sure."
—
The lights were dim. The police had cleared out hours ago, leaving behind the tapes and the unclean workshop.
Jinyong sat on the couch, fingers tapping against his knee. His father stood near the window, watching the moonlight spill over the workshop outside.
"Be honest with me, son," Wonyong said without turning. "Did you join them?"
Jinyong looked up. "Join what?"
Wonyong finally turned around. "You know what I'm talking about." His arms crossed. "Tell me you didn't advise me to accept Hiroshi's deal so that the organization you're in benefits from it."
"I'm not an Equalist," Jinyong said.
"Then how did you learn chi-blocking?" Wonyong asked. "That's not something you just pick up on the street."
"I already told you. A shady place," Jinyong said, rubbing his forehead. "I went in disguised so no one would recognize me. Ask Mother. She caught me sneaking in once."
His father frowned, studying him for a long moment. "Fine," he said at last. "But your mother wants to put a stop to this."
"To what?"
"This." Wonyong gestured around. "You living alone."
"It's only been a few weeks, Father," Jinyong said. "You're kicking me out already? I told you, I can handle myself. I proved it." He motioned toward the workshop. "If I couldn't, I'd be the one in a body bag right now."
"I know," Wonyong said quietly. "Still. The triad?"
"Don't tell me you've never dealt with them," Jinyong said.
His father's eyes narrowed before he sighed, shoulders lowering. "I'll tell them to back off. And I'll assign security here."
"Fine."
Wonyong nodded slightly, then walked toward the door. "Don't go too far to the edge, son. You're not invincible. One day you'll go too far, and I won't be able to pull you back. I don't want your mother burying her only son."
Jinyong's tone softened. "I'll take care of myself, Father."
"Good." Wonyong placed his hand on the door handle. "We'll talk again when you send me another set of product proposals. Make sure they're better than the last ones."
Then he left.
The house went quiet again. Only the ticking clock filled the space between Jinyong's thoughts. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.