Okay, that's done. Time to sleep.
Tomorrow, I'd call in sick. Not like this was the first time I'd skipped school after getting beat up. Honestly, it was probably easier than dealing with Barlow and his entourage anyway.
I crawled into bed and let the exhaustion hit. Sleep came fast, mercifully, and for the first time in a while, the bruises throbbed less than the anxiety.
Morning came slow. I dragged myself to the phone and dialed the school.
"Hello, E-Class Riven? Yes… I'm calling in sick."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then a bored sigh.
"Approved. One month."
…One month?
They didn't even ask for a doctor's note. They didn't care.
Perfect.
One month of freedom. One month to plan, think, and maybe… shake things up a bit.
I hung up the phone and smiled. Quietly. To myself
After the call, I grabbed some breakfast. Nothing fancy—just enough to fuel the next phase of world domination.
Okay. Time to test this power.
What should I create first?
I looked around my tiny apartment, eyes landing on my old laptop. A smile crept across my face.
Time for an upgrade…
I pictured the supercomputers from my past life. The crazy, overpowered ones that Elon Musk probably uses for plotting interplanetary domination. I imagined cramming that same tech inside a seemingly normal laptop.
Concentration, focus, belief.
A flicker of air in front of me. A shimmer.
And slowly… materializing out of nothing… a laptop appeared.
Sleek. Shiny. Ready to crunch impossible calculations.
I reached out, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Heart racing.
…And nothing happened.
It didn't turn on.
No boot-up chime.
No lights.
Not even a whir.
I frowned, staring at it.
Hmm… maybe people don't believe this should exist yet?
Oh. Right. That.
My perfect, overpowered, reality-warping ability… didn't care about my genius. It only cared if people believed it.
I let out a long, exasperated sigh.
Well, that was… disappointing.
But… I can make people believe, right?
That's the whole point.
I got to work again. Two hours of typing, tweaking, and carefully planting digital breadcrumbs. Bots here, anonymous posts there. Rumors seeded in forums, chatrooms, and news threads that could be twisted. Nothing too direct—just enough to let the imagination fill in the blanks.
And slowly, almost like magic, it started working.
People were talking.
"Did you hear about Noir? They say he has some crazy supercomputer now…"
"I saw a post claiming Noir can hack anything instantly, and that he's testing something big…"
"Someone said he's planning… something…"
Perfect.
Belief was forming. Not real proof, not yet—but the stories were alive. Breathing. Mutating. People added details, embellished, speculated.
I leaned back, watching the chatter explode like tiny sparks.
Yep. This was how it starts.
Not with a bang. Not with destruction.
With rumors.
With fear.
With imagination.
Praying quietly to myself, I hovered over the laptop and pushed the power button.
Lights flickered. Fans whirred. The screen glowed.
It worked.
The first… real supercomputer in this world.
[Wow. My own supercomputer! Sweet. HAHAHAHA.]
I grinned, letting the thrill wash over me.
Now… let's start this game of world domination.
---
Switch to Hero Association
"President," a junior officer reported nervously, "there's an unregistered… villain… who just popped up out of nowhere. No record, no ID, nothing. We're picking up digital traces and… it's unusual."
The president leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.
"Huh. Small fry trying to make a name for himself, huh?" he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.
He tapped a command into the console.
"Deploy the cyber security and intelligence teams. Track him. Find him. Make him regret even thinking about stepping into the spotlight."
"Yes, sir!"
Back in his rundown apartment, Kade lounged in his chair, grinning at the glowing screen of his brand-new supercomputer.
This was his playground now. His sandbox. His world.
First order of business: an AI. Sleek, obedient, and terrifyingly capable. He named it… Jarvis.
"Good morning, Jarvis," he said, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"Good morning, Master Noir," the AI replied in a calm, smooth voice.
Perfect.
Next up: defenses.
Kade opened a new software module. He typed a few commands, imagining the perfect little trap. Whenever anyone tried to track his digital traces, the program would activate.
The virus didn't destroy data unnecessarily. No, that would be amateur hour.
Instead, it did something much cooler: it temporarily shut down the computers of the trackers.
And before the shutdown… a simple message would flash across their screens.
[I see you]
Underneath, an evil eye logo glared back at them.
He tested it once on a dummy system. Lights blinked. Fans whirred. And then, just like he imagined, the screen went dark—leaving only the haunting symbol.
He leaned back, fingers steepled.
Heh.
This was just the beginning.
Noir was officially online.
Noir didn't stop at the Hero Association.
Kade spent hours, days even, weaving his digital web. He terrorized the cybersecurity of this world, poking at firewalls, scrambling logs, and leaving that same chilling message:
[I see you]
(evil eye symbol glowing ominously)
Then he set his sights higher.
Business empires. Banks. Government networks. Every major system that relied on order, control, or prestige.
Each one received the same warning. Not a threat, not demands. Just proof that he existed, and proof that no system was untouchable.
And as the chaos quietly spread through the digital world, he watched people online.
Threads. Forums. Social media feeds. Chatrooms.
The reactions were priceless.
Some were terrified.
Some skeptical.
Some downright paranoid.
People speculated. They argued. They tried to connect dots that didn't exist. They whispered about a shadowy figure, a hacker, a villain named… Noir.
And with every post, every rumor, every scared thought, the belief grew.
Kade leaned back in his chair, a grin stretching across his face.
Yes. This was exactly how it starts.
Belief. Fear. Chaos.
And just like that, amidst the growing digital chaos, something unexpected happened.
A cult had formed.
They called themselves… The Church of the Evil Eye.
At first, Kade raised an eyebrow.
Hmm… interesting.
Then he smiled.
Time to make this official.
He leaned forward, fingers flying over the supercomputer. Jarvis obediently amplified his reach, tapping into every system he could find: screens, broadcasts, networks, even public ad panels.
The world was about to see him.
And he wasn't going to just send a message.
He plagiarized, adapted, and improved—drawing inspiration from V in V for Vendetta. His soliloquy poured across every device, every screen.
A voice, calm and measured, yet filled with undeniable authority, echoed into homes, offices, and public squares:
> "People of this world… heroes, villains, and everyone in between… I am Noir. You may have ignored the shadows until now. But shadows, my friends, always find their way to the light."
And then, as the world watched, the impossible happened.
He appeared.
Not in person—at least not physically.
But before every screen, in perfect clarity, a masked figure stood. Cloaked in black. Eyes glowing faintly beneath the mask. An aura of calm malevolence radiated outward.
The screens didn't flicker. They didn't glitch. They displayed him as if he was truly there, standing among them.
The voice continued:
> "You thought you understood power. You thought you controlled it. You thought you were safe. You are not.
I see you."
Every eye on every screen caught the chilling evil eye symbol blinking above his mask.
And in that moment, the world knew: Noir wasn't just a rumor anymore.
Noir had arrived.
He addressed the world—heroes, villains, civilians alike.
"Heroes," the voice boomed across every screen, smooth but venomous, "you parade around like idols, but you're nothing more than actors in a play you didn't even write. Villains, you think you're feared, but your tricks are predictable, your chaos recycled. This world is broken. And it needs to be… reset."
The words hung in the air.
Silence. Panic. Confusion.
Perfect.
But why stop there?
Kade leaned closer to the keyboard. If people could believe, then let them believe more.
Stories. Flair. Drama.
If he could create objects and tech, why not powers?
He imagined it vividly: his hands rising, objects bending, a faint invisible force flowing from his mind.
He let the world see it.
Screens flickered, and reports spread like wildfire:
"Noir moves objects with his mind!"
"He stopped a falling car mid-air!"
"Is this some telekinetic power?"
He smirked.
The rumor was alive. Belief was taking hold.
From whispers to viral speculation, the public couldn't stop talking.
Noir didn't just have tech now.
Noir didn't just have fear.
Noir had powers.
And the world? It was eating every bit of it.
The broadcast ended. Screens went dark, but the echo of Noir lingered everywhere.
Across the city, panic simmered. Among the so-called defenders of the world, it boiled over.
In the sleek, glass towers of the Hero Association, the President slammed his fist onto the table.
"Why haven't all of you found him yet?!" His voice thundered, echoing through the emergency conference room.
"Call every S-rank hero—immediately!" he barked, pacing. "I don't care if it's past curfew, I don't care if they're off-duty. This… thing cannot be allowed to linger! We need him located, contained, and neutralized now!"
The officers scrambled. Phones, terminals, digital maps lighting up.
"Yes, sir! We'll deploy all S-rank heroes immediately!"
The president didn't slow down. He glared at the assembled team.
"Do I make myself clear? I want solutions, not excuses. That unregistered… that villain thinks he can mock us? Let him. We'll show him why heroes are untouchable."
Some of the officers nodded frantically, already typing commands, calling contacts, and activating protocols.
Others exchanged worried glances, quietly wondering… who exactly were they dealing with this time?
Back in his apartment, Kade decided it was time for a proper villain outfit.
He wanted something iconic. Something that made people pause, even before they believed in his powers.
He dug through his memories of past worlds, past stories, past inspirations. And there it was: the Asura mask he always admired. Its demonic, multiple-eyed design gave off a terrifying, godlike presence.
Combine that with the full-body elegance of Doctor Doom's armor—but make it all black. Sleek. Menacing. Shadows clinging to every curve.
He imagined it clearly, tweaking every detail in his mind: the mask's sharp edges, the flowing cape, the gauntlets, the layered armor plates, each part designed to command fear and respect.
Concentration. Belief. Imagination.
A faint shimmer in the air.
The outfit materialized, perfect and flawless.
Kade stepped into it, feeling the weight, the presence, the aura of someone who wasn't just a hacker behind a screen.
He looked at himself in the mirror—or rather, the empty wall he designated as one—and smirked behind the mask.
[Perfect. Noir is ready.]
The world thought it had heroes.
They hadn't seen anything yet.
After a few days of watching the world panic, speculate, and argue online, Kade finally reached a conclusion.
Screens and shadows weren't enough anymore.
If Noir was going to be real—truly real—then he had to step out from behind the keyboard.
"Yeah… Noir needs a debut," he muttered.
But not the kind that crushed buildings or turned civilians into collateral damage. He wasn't some brainless monster. He hated that kind of villain the most. The memories of this body—of parents dying in a so‑called heroic clash—were still too fresh.
Heroes and villains in this world loved spectacle, but they didn't care who got caught in the crossfire.
He did.
"I'll cause chaos," Kade said calmly, adjusting the black armor, the Asura mask reflecting faint light. "Just not that kind."
His targets were clear.
Heroes who treated fame like justice.
Villains who were nothing more than sponsored disasters.
The rest? Off-limits.
With a thought, he finalized the plan, choosing the heart of the city—wide streets, open spaces, minimal civilian presence. A place built for grand entrances and televised heroics.
Perfect.
The air around him distorted slightly as belief began to gather.
Far above the city, something shifted.
And for the first time, Noir prepared to walk among them—not as a rumor, not as a glitch, but as a living contradiction.
A villain with rules.
A monster with restraint.
A nightmare… with a conscience.
The city had no idea what was about to descend upon it.
In the heart of the city, amidst the glass towers and crowded streets, a shadow slowly materialized.
A figure floated silently above the pavement, observing the people below with cold, calculating eyes.
It was Noir.
Not just appearing. Not just standing.
Floating.
The illusion of telekinesis, perfectly executed. People's eyes widened, whispers spreading like wildfire:
"Did he… just levitate?"
"Noir's real… he's real!"
The calm observation was broken suddenly.
A man appeared before him—materializing like he had been waiting for this exact moment.
Blue armor. Sleek, polished. Muscular, imposing. A presence that screamed heroics and authority.
The emblem on his chest glimmered in the sunlight.
"Almighty," the whispers started.
He was ranked number 30 among heroes in the city, and he carried himself like someone who had never faced defeat.
Almighty's gaze locked on Noir. There was no hesitation, no fear in his stance—only a mix of challenge and arrogance.
"You," Almighty said, voice booming and confident, "are causing chaos where it doesn't belong. Step down, or I'll take you in—by force if necessary."
Noir tilted his head slightly, mask catching the light.