Mornings in the Old District were never peaceful.
Arguments. Screeching brakes. Vendors haggling. Drunks breaking bottles. Children crying.
Every sound of daily life mixed into a thick, boiling noise.
Open your eyes, and you were forced to face a chaotic world.
But when Seven woke up, the world was silent.
Not because the streets were quiet—
but because too many voices flooded in, drowning every external sound like noise sinking beneath an ocean.
— If I don’t make money today, my family is done…
— Another ability-user crime headline… disgusting…
— Don’t walk past that room… don’t get near him…
— She’ll never love me… never…
— I hate this city. I want to escape…
Voices layered, cracked, collided.
A thousand minds forced into one skull.
Like being dragged into deep seawater, crushed by the weight of strangers’ emotions.
Seven jolted upright, breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead.
His ability leaked.
Mind reading had activated on its own, shoving the thoughts of half the street into his brain.
He clenched the blanket, closed his eyes, and pulled his consciousness back into himself.
One voice faded, then another, then another—until silence returned.
And only then did real sound creep back in:
cars, footsteps, shouting, the mess of everyday life.
That was what “waking up” was supposed to feel like.
In the mirror stood a man wearing sunglasses, hiding his eyes.
But he knew what was underneath—
no pupils, only pure white.
No glowing patterns showing, which meant the ability hadn’t evolved.
It had simply slipped out of control.
Seven stood still for several seconds, confirming he was still “the Seven of now,”
and not “the laboratory experiment he used to be.”
Only then did he head downstairs.
The lobby was filled with customers having breakfast.
The moment Seven stepped down the stairs, the entire atmosphere changed—
voices lowered, shoulders stiffened, glances scattered.
No one dared stare openly, yet everyone stared.
Not because they knew he was an ability-user,
but because a person who wore sunglasses indoors meant only one thing in the Old District:
Trouble.
The kind you never wanted to provoke.
The front desk clerk tried to sound casual but failed miserably.
“G–Good morning, sir… did you… sleep well?”
“Fine,” Seven said flatly.
The clerk nodded, not asking more.
Not out of politeness—
but because he didn’t want to know.
Seven paid and walked toward the exit.
Behind him, hushed whispers rose instantly:
“Definitely someone we can’t mess with.”
“Don’t look at him—don’t look.”
“He never took off his glasses… maybe he’s wanted…”
Seven heard every word, but didn’t react.
He was used to it.
Hide himself, and people feared him.
Show himself, and people feared him more.
That was the existence of an ability-user—
whether they wanted it or not.
Outside, the air in the Old District was thick with oil smoke, moisture, and rust.
A wall across the street was covered in bright red paint:
> ABILITY USERS GET OUT OF NEW DAWN CITY
Below it was a flyer from the Ascendant Association:
> Ability-users are unstable and dangerous.
Only Ascendants command true power.
Seven didn’t stop walking.
He had seen this too many times.
His steps were unhurried, yet he instinctively chose a route with
no cameras, no patrols, and no stalking eyes.
To others it was a maze of alleys—
to him it was simply the safest way to move.
Not because he was afraid.
Because he knew—
If he didn’t want the world to hunt him,
the world had to believe he didn’t exist.
The sun climbed higher.
In the reflection of his sunglasses, broken buildings and crowded pedestrians warped together.
Seven murmured, so quietly the wind could barely hear:
“…I’m just Seven.”
Not an experiment.
Not a weapon.
Not a god.
Just someone who still wanted to live.
Someone trying not to lose control.
Just Seven.
And the world had never understood that.
— End of Chapter 1