A sudden ripple from the back seat made Leon jolt and nearly flinch as he turned his head and saw a man in a dark hoodie sitting there silently.
When Mr. Lee saw the alarm in Leon's face, he gestured toward the man in the back seat, "This is my nephew, Feng."
He turned and gestured toward Leon, "Feng, this is Leon," he added quietly.
"I know," Feng uttered and narrowed his eyes slightly as he leaned forward.
Even though the car was small, Feng's sheer presence felt powerful and intimidating.
Through the rearview mirror, Leon saw a strange light flickering in a small part of Feng's eyes.
They scanned him, assessing and judging like a hungry lion against its prey.
"The energy around you feels out of bounds. Unstable and dangerous." Feng's voice was a low rumble. "But you look frail."
The words that weren't meant as an insult but just a flat judgement landed on Leon's raw nerves like a whip. 'Frail.' 'Weak.'
"We're here," Leon whispered as Mr. Lee began to slow near the outskirts of the Dusthollow.
"Here?" Mr. Lee and Feng said in unison, their heads pivoting to take in the squalor.
"I… I didn't want to say I lived in the Dusthollow," Leon admitted, his face burning with humiliation.
Mr. Lee's face shifted, carrying something heavier than pity - closer to sorrow.
His voice dropped, almost like he was speaking only to himself, but Leon heard it. "This is where they throw away the broken."
Feng just grunted. "Let's hope the boy has some fight left in him."
Leon got out, the weight of their stares heavier than the basket an old woman handed him to carry to her door.
"Thank you, son." She hissed, took her basket from Leon's hands, and untied her cloth as she pulled out her key.
"Don't be too generous; people aren't what they seem. Remember."
The woman's voice cut so deep, Leon's nails raked against his palms.
He turned whenever his mind told him to, but to his surprise, she stood there watching with a grin.
But as he repeated the same action the third time, no sign or sight of the woman or her house was visible; only a single, piercing sound lanced through the humid air.
It came soft and distant at first, yet as he walked away, increasing the gap, it wrapped itself around him like the wind before a storm.
A few meters away from his house, a sound lanced through the air, causing his jaw to tighten.
It was his mother's wailing.
The cry shattered the little composure he had. His legs moved only on instinct, sprinting down the narrow street.
He barely registered his sister. Lily curled on the doorstep and racked with sobs as he reached.
As he entered, he heard his mother's grief pouring out in a raw and endless tone. Seeing them alone broke him. Whatever thin wall he had built to hold himself together crumbled completely.
Memories of his father surged—his paint-stained hands tossing Leon into the air when he was younger, his rough laugh filling their home.
But now the house was completely silent. No laughter, no warmth. Even as it was time for him to sleep, he couldn't. His eyes remained open for two days straight.
Leon moved like a ghost in the house, brewing tea his mother never touched and holding on to Lily until her tears ran dry.
Upon returning to school on the third day, whispers of his own name clung to him like smoke.
To avoid some, he moved through the halls as if he were invincible.
But no matter where he turned, he saw Zoe looking at him in a steady glance.
Then, on the second evening, Mr. Lee came by. He didn't offer comfort. He simply sat in their one good chair and handed Leon a thick, black envelope sealed with wax the color of clotted blood.
"The results from your first exam came back," Mr. Lee said quietly. "You didn't qualify for the standard scholarship track."
Hearing the statement, Leon's heart sank even further. All his hope and vision in life exploded in that instant in his mind.
"But," Mr. Lee continued, his voice intensifying, "your written score was off the charts. It flagged you for this." He tapped the envelope.
"A second exam. A different kind of test. This exam isn't about grades—it's about your awakening."
Leon clutched his trembling finger on the envelope. 'A second exam? My awakening?'
As Leon tightened his fingers on it, a memory of his father's paint-stained hands surfaced.
You're meant for more, son. Don't let this place decide who you are. Your strength will show itself when the time is right.
At the time, Leon had thought it was just a father's hopeful lie. Now, it felt like a prohecy holding the black envelope.
The next day, on his walk home from school, everything felt edged and hostile as if the world itself was out to get him.
As Tiger's gang shadowed him for a block, pelting him with jeers and the occasional stone, before peeling away in a storm of laughter.
Tiger's gang had trailed him for a block, throwing taunts and stones, before veering off, laughing.
Leon's new, fragile resolve hardened. He would take this exam. He would change this.
His route took him past an overflowing trash bin, the stench thick in the air. A scuffle sounded from a side alley. Instinctively, Leon shrank back behind a collapsed wall, peering over the rubble.
A well-dressed man wearing a suit worth more than everything in Leon's home stood over a crumpled figure in Dusthollow rags. Each strike landed slow and deliberate.
"Please… no more…" the poor man begged, his voice a wet gurgle.
"You don't need it," the elite sneered. "A waste of a decent telekinetic flicker on garbage like you."
Leon froze. 'Ability-stealing.' Mr. Lee's words weren't just a theory anymore; they were a horror happening ten feet away.
The elite placed a ring on his finger, its gemstone glowing a sickly green. He pressed it to the poor man's forehead.
The man's scream was of pain but also of something deeper being torn away.
A visible wisp of light, like a trapped will-o'-the-wisp, was sucked from his body and into the ring.
The light died. The elite man stood up, brushing dust from his immaculate trousers.
"You should be grateful I let you live," he said, and spat on the now-motionless man.
As the elite walked away, Leon's fear twisted into something hotter.
'So this was the world's truth? This was what those in power did?'
As he thought, his father's words pounded in his head: Your strength will show itself at the right time.
Without thinking, his fists curled tight. A faint crackle stirred around him, unseen but humming in the air.
The ground at his feet trembled as a thin crack crawled through the concrete. For a split second, his eyes flared in a golden blaze - though he never saw it, but he felt it.
The fury vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only a cold, gut-deep confusion 'What was that?'
He stared at his hands, then at the man left broken in the alley.
He turned and sprinted home, as panic surged inside him.
His chest tightened with every step as his heart slammed with something strange.
He scrambled up to his door, hands outstretched.