Five days before the exam results.
Shion disappeared into the depths of the forest, far from civilization—far from anyone he could accidentally hurt. This was where he trained now, where people couldn't bleed because of him. Lately, his thoughts had grown heavier, darker, especially as the nightmares clawed their way back into his sleep.
That morning, he woke up shaking.
The nightmares had become a routine—an ugly habit he never asked for. They'd started three years ago, without warning or reason. Months ago, he'd finally told his uncle, but even now, at sixteen, Shion had no answers. No cause. No cure. Just the same shadows waiting for him every time he closed his eyes.
Every breath felt like it weighed a ton. His body buzzed with restless energy, his mind constantly on edge. He avoided mirrors altogether—couldn't stand the person staring back at him. Doubt crept in where confidence used to live, gnawing at him piece by piece.
Still, something kept him moving.
He refused to stare into the darkness for too long. Whatever this weight was, he decided it was his to carry. If it was a curse, then he'd bear it. If it was a burden, then he'd master it.
"This isn't working…" Shion gasped, his fists trembling as he dropped to one knee. He couldn't throw another punch. His arms burned, lungs screaming for air.
"Why…?" His voice cracked. "I've trained for over two years—and I'm still getting nowhere."
He opened his hand and stared at his palm, caked with dirt and streaked with sweat. Was all of this pointless? Or was it shaping him into something he couldn't see yet?
No matter how far he ran.
No matter how heavy the weights.
No matter how hard he pushed himself—
It all felt the same.
And somewhere deep in the woods, with his heart pounding like a war drum, Shion began to wonder if effort alone would ever be enough… or if something inside him was still holding back.
His eyes drifted toward the massive crater ahead—an ugly scar carved into the earth.
A place where a mountain used to stand.
This wasn't some natural collapse.
This crater had a memory.
Three years ago, this was where it happened—when he tested his second glitch, Power Charge, alongside his uncle.
Back then—
"Damn, squirt." His uncle scratched the back of his head, squinting around the forest. "You drag me all the way out here just to show me something?"
"Yeah!" Shion practically bounced on his heels. "I've got powers now!"
The excitement in his voice was impossible to miss.
He'd discovered his second glitch by accident—standing there, screaming at the top of his lungs while forcing energy through every inch of his body. He'd been obsessed with Wyvern Balls at the time, completely hooked on that ridiculous yet awesome transformation called Super Monkey.
He wanted that power.
No—he felt it.
And then it happened.
Energy detonated out of him in a violent surge—raw, wild electricity screaming through the air. The blast launched him backward like a rag doll, slamming his body straight into a tree with a bone-rattling crack.
"Seriously?" his uncle said flatly. "That's… actually impressive."
Then he smirked. "You do realize you weren't normal even as a kid, right?"
"Huh?" Shion blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Glitches don't just pop up one day. They're there from birth." His uncle folded his arms. "When you were tiny, you were already a handful. Could barely keep you under control. You were messed up from the start."
"But this is different!" Little Shion protested, swinging his arms wildly. "It's like—boom! And then—swash!" He mimed an explosion with sound effects and all.
His uncle sighed. "Alright. Show me." He plopped down on a nearby rock. "I'll sit here and watch you knock yourself out."
"Alrighty!"
Shion's eyes lit up, crackling with excitement. His fists clenched, his body buzzing with anticipation.
He was ready to throw his very first punch—
unaware that the land itself was about to pay the price.
His gaze locked onto what stood before him—
A mountain.
Shion inhaled, then forced the power inside him to rise. The air began to crackle again, sharp and electric, crawling over his skin. The surge was wrong—too strong, too violent. Even his uncle felt it, the hair on his arms standing on end.
"Hey, squirt…" Miyato pushed himself off the rock, unease tightening his voice. "I've got a bad feeling about this. This is a terrible idea."
Something about Shion felt off. Not reckless—unstable. Like the calm right before something catastrophic.
But Shion didn't hear him.
He was drowning in the thrill, in the rush roaring through his veins. His focus narrowed. His excitement swallowed everything else.
Then—
In the instant he threw the punch—
Space bent.
The air screamed.
The energy answered.
The moment his fist cut through empty air, it released.
A devastating surge erupted outward, shaking the land like an angry god's roar. The shockwave detonated forward, and Shion's own force blasted him off his feet. Miyato was hurled back too, the ground vanishing beneath them.
Instinct kicked in.
Miyato twisted midair, grabbed Shion, and wrapped an arm around the boy's head just as the blast tore through everything in front of them. The mountain—gone. Obliterated. Erased from existence.
When the chaos finally died, nothing remained but massive craters, scorched earth, and trees ripped from the ground as if they'd been nothing more than weeds.
The winds screamed, then faded.
Miyato skidded to a stop, coughing hard. Blood trickled down his forehead where he'd slammed into the ground. Shion, somehow, was untouched.
"What the hell was that?!" Miyato barked, grabbing Shion's shoulders. "You alright?!"
Shion stared back at him, eyes wide with pure terror. He hadn't known—couldn't have known—it would be like that.
"I… I didn't mean to—" His voice broke. Tears spilled down his face. "I didn't know it was that strong… I destroyed everything…" His gaze flickered toward the ruined land. The animals. The forest. His uncle—hurt because of him.
"Hey. Hey." Miyato pulled him close and set him down gently, ruffling his hair. "It's fine. I'm okay." He forced a grin. "You didn't know. That's not on you."
Then he snorted. "Geez, squirt. You're a damn monster."
He laughed weakly. "Had that punch been aimed at me? I'd be paste."
But the humor faded quickly.
Miyato rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing as the dust finally settled where the mountain used to be. "That's not right…" he muttered. "Second glitches usually activate weak. He's thirteen—this should've been nowhere near that destructive."
A cold knot formed in his chest.
I'm worried about his potential, he thought. Very worried.
"My brother never had a glitch," he continued quietly. "Neither did I. Not even his mother. There's nothing miraculous about that…" His eyes drifted back to Shion. "…but something's definitely off."
Shion sniffed, wiping his face. "Y-You're not mad at me? But the damage…"
Miyato clapped his hands together. "Alright. Dry your tears." He grinned. "Let's grab some barbecue."
Shion blinked. "R-Really?"
"The TCA'll probably mark this as a potential Grade-E anomaly," Miyato said casually. "As long as we both keep our mouths shut, we'll be fine."
He turned away, sweat trailing down his temple as he muttered under his breath—
Please let it stay Grade-E. Repairs like this might cost me an arm and a leg.
Behind him, Shion stared at the empty horizon where a mountain once stood—
and for the first time, wondered what kind of future a single punch could erase.
Those memories never truly left him. They lingered in his mind, looping again and again like a curse carved into his thoughts. Every impact, every scream of torn wind, every crater left behind—it all replayed in perfect clarity. That was the reason his control wavered. That was why his power never felt consistent, no matter how much he trained.
Even back then, when he tried to save a man and his daughter from Miss Jule, he had held back. He deliberately softened the motion of his punch, careful—terrified—of causing further destruction. He remembered slowing his fist at the last moment, measuring his strength down to instinct alone.
And yet, the aftermath was still devastating.
The air had spiraled into a violent cyclone, a hurricane born from restraint alone. Buildings shook. The ground screamed. What was supposed to be mercy still almost became calamity.
The same thing happened during the strength assessment test. Doubt had crept in again, tightening his chest just before impact. He pulled his punch at the final second—out of fear, out of hesitation.
The result was still destruction.
If he ever threw a punch seriously—if he ever released one hundred percent without pulling back his strike—the kinetic burst alone would surpass reason. The momentum wouldn't simply shatter stone or split the ground. It would propagate outward, compounding into damage beyond belief, beyond calculation.
That thought haunted him.
That was why he trained relentlessly.
Day and night, without rest.
Not to increase his strength—but to contain it.
To suppress the constant leakage of power bleeding from his body like an open wound. No matter how many times he adjusted his breathing, his stance, his posture, the output remained the same.
One hundred percent.
Every time.
Power Charge was unstable by nature. It wasn't meant to be used freely—it was a last resort, a trump card designed to end a battle in a single decisive strike. But the deadly burst packed inside that ability was capable of killing countless lives if misused, or even half-used without control.
That truth weighed on him more heavily than exhaustion ever could.
He worked his body to the brink, forcing his muscles to endure impossible strain. He believed that if he conditioned them enough, he could tighten the release—compress the energy—like a reinforced rubber glass containing explosive pressure.
That was the theory.
The reality was cruel.
That "glass" was already swollen, stretched thin by the immense, uncontrollable energy inside him. If he tried to suppress it any further, it wouldn't adapt.
It would rupture.
And when it did, the pressure released would still be absolute—still one hundred percent.
That had always been his goal from the very beginning: to change that outcome.
Shion's body was already sculpted by training, lean and hardened through countless hours of punishment. Every muscle had been forged through discipline. And yet, none of it brought him closer to true control.
It felt like trying to make a newborn run—no matter how much effort was poured into strengthening its legs, the body simply wasn't ready for that demand.
"Time for a break…" Shion muttered.
He stretched slowly, allowing the heat to leave his muscles as he cooled down from the brutal exercises. He sat on a log he'd cut earlier, sparks flickering as he started a fire. From his pack, he prepared a fish, seasoning it before cooking, all while reviewing his study materials for the Academy of Unity.
"Survival Tactics 101," he read aloud between bites. "Learn how to build a fire anywhere. Fire is non-negotiable—without it, cold and hunger will kill you first."
He ate the fried, seasoned fish as he studied, the warmth of the flames grounding him. Knowledge flowed into his mind alongside fatigue.
Survival techniques.
Standard biology.
Fundamental glitch theory.
Three subjects he still hadn't mastered—three weaknesses he refused to ignore.
"Science really is amazing…" Shion murmured, eyes scanning line after line of dense text. "It took them three decades to understand how glitches differ—and how they function. That's unbelievably fast."
His gaze moved rapidly, absorbing terminology and theory, his focus unwavering.
"Grunmels' Law…"
"Avectî Motion…"
"Helverd's discoveries…"
The fire crackled beside him, shadows dancing across the forest floor as night crept in. While the world rested, Shion continued to train, study, and wrestle with a power that refused to obey—knowing that one day, he would have to master it… or be destroyed by it.
As he flipped through the pages, the forest suddenly screamed.
"AAAAAA—!!"
Shion shot to his feet, the book dropping to the ground as his instincts snapped awake. His head turned sharply, eyes scanning the darkness between the trees.
"What was that?" he muttered.
"HELP!!"
The cry came again—louder, clearer this time.
That was enough.
Shion broke into a sprint, following the sound as it echoed through the woods. With each step, the screams grew more distinct, guiding him forward like a beacon.
His first glitch—Vigor—kicked in naturally. His senses sharpened, his hearing stretching far beyond human limits. Every snapped branch, every frantic breath, every panicked footstep painted a clearer picture in his mind.
A girl's voice.
Then—a heavy thud.
A brutal whack.
Something was chasing her.
He burst through the trees and spotted her—a blonde girl dressed in white, her clothing resembling that of a nun. She looked terrified, her breaths shallow, her body trembling as she stumbled backward.
The moment she saw him, her eyes widened.
"Who are you?!" she shouted, grabbing his hand the instant he appeared. "Don't just stand there—run! There's a monster!"
Her grip was tight, desperate.
"What monster?" Shion asked calmly.
"It's a Grade-E anomaly!" she yelled, already trying to drag him away. "You can't fight that thing alone!"
She pulled harder, but Shion didn't budge. No matter how much she tried, it was like pulling on a rooted tree.
"What are you doing?!" she cried. "We should run and scream for help!"
Shion turned toward her, his expression steady.
"Point me to it."
The girl froze.
"Are you insane?!" she snapped. "That thing could kill you!"
"Maybe," Shion replied. His voice was quiet, but firm. "But if it's left roaming free, there's no telling how many people it could hurt."
He gently loosened her grip.
"Don't be stubborn!" she shouted. "If that Grade-E monster catches you, there's no guarantee you'll—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes.
There was no fear in them—only resolve. Heavy, unshakable resolve.
"…It's north," she said at last, her voice faltering. "Just up ahead."
"Got it." Shion nodded. "Stay here—or keep running for help. I'll handle it however I can."
Before she could respond, he pushed off the ground and leapt forward, vanishing into the trees in a single bound.
The girl stood frozen, heart pounding.
She should run. She knew she should.
And yet… she found herself following him instead, unable to look away from the reckless bravery she'd just witnessed.
The moment Shion landed—
BAM.
Something smashed into his gut with terrifying force, sending him flying backward. His body slammed into a rocky wall.
"Agh—!"
Before he could even recover, before he could fully rise to his feet, the anomaly struck again—this time straight to his face.
The rock wall behind him exploded, shards scattering as the impact shattered it like glass.
Shion crashed to the ground, coughing hard.
The thing stood over him.
Its movements were savage. Its strength overwhelming. Its form twisted and wrong—glitching in and out of reality, its appearance enough to make the air itself feel sick.
There was no mistaking it.
The Grade-E anomaly wasn't testing him.
It was trying to kill him.