The next day after the attack, not a single soul suspected that Emrah had been the one who saved them.
Emrah didn't want to reveal his powers.
He knew — the moment he did, everything would change.
They would put expectations on him, crown him, place him at the head of the family.
Not as a brother, not as a son — but as a weapon, a shield, a leader.
And Emrah never wanted that burden.
He didn't crave authority.
He just wanted to live freely, quietly, to breathe without the world watching his every step.
What he didn't understand — not yet — was that the serum had already reshaped him.
While he feared responsibility, something inside him was already rewriting his fate.
The disease that once chained him, the MS that stalked his future,
was gone.
Not cured by medicine — erased by evolution.
He walked with power far beyond what he dared to acknowledge.
He feared change, responsibility, the spotlight —
but fate had already chosen differently.
He didn't yet realize it,
but he was becoming the man everyone dreamed of —
the savior, the legend whispered in corridors,
the one they would beg to lead,
the one whose existence would tilt history.
Emrah only wanted one thing: peace. After taking another bite of the chocolate bar, he slipped into one of his family's cars—a sleek Chevrolet Camaro—and drove to Istanbul University. His new obsession awaited: Physics. He wanted to pursue a bachelor's degree to understand more about the power he had acquired.
What he didn't know was that the university had noticed him as well. They offered him a position as an instructor in Mechanical Engineering. Before he knew it, he had both a student ID and a job, walking the line between learning and teaching, curiosity and responsibility.
He didn't know it yet, but this choice—this decision to become an educator—would later ripple through the world in ways he could not imagine. It would shape societies, influence generations, and place him at the center of a story far larger than himself. Well… that's for another time.
When he returned home, his father and brother were waiting anxiously by the door.
"Where have you been?" his father asked, tension threading his voice. "Don't you need to tell us first where you're going in a time like this? In these dangerous times?"
Emrah's expression remained calm. "I had some things to take care of. I can't always rely on you for everything," he said. Then, with a small, deliberate gesture, he pulled out two cards: a student ID and an instructor ID.
His father's eyes widened. "What… you're going to be an instructor?"
Aslan smirked, crossing his arms. "Doesn't seem like that's all he's doing. Looks like he's a student too."
Emrah allowed a faint, almost invisible smile. He said nothing further. Some things were better revealed by action than words.
Emrah had lingering concerns about the identity of the attackers. He was also itching to test the limits of his new powers. To gather information, he decided to look into his family's current relationships with rival Mafia families.
He began by speaking with his sister, Sahra, and their mother, Leyla, asking pointed questions about alliances, old grudges, and ongoing tensions. By the end of the conversation, he was certain of what he had to do. Leadership wasn't for him—not now, not ever. But peace… peace could be orchestrated behind his family's back.
To that end, he turned to more unconventional methods. He hacked into the social media accounts of the daughters of two rival families—the next in line to lead their dynasties, since neither had a son. He studied their profiles carefully: their likes, dislikes, habits, and vulnerabilities.
It was obvious that these girls, not their fathers, would be the primary targets if tensions escalated. And Emrah intended to ensure that didn't happen.
What he didn't know yet was that by involving himself, he would soon become the center of their families' attention. Well… you'll find out soon enough.
Emrah contacted them both: Efsun Haznedar and Efsane Saygın. The names alone spoke volumes. One carried a sharp edge, unpredictable, like lightning in a storm. The other radiated prestige and expectation, the weight of legacy pressing down with every syllable.
"No guns. No weapons. No bodyguards," he said. "We're only meeting to talk. Not to fight. Not to plot. Just… talk."
It was a bold move. By stepping into their world, he didn't yet realize how much attention he would draw—or how the ripple of this meeting would spread through their families.
Each of the girls had tried to find a trace of him—photographs, social media accounts, anything—but it was like he didn't exist. Yet somehow, his voice had carried enough trust for them to show up.
When they arrived at the restaurant, they saw each other for the first time. Not a word was exchanged. They moved inside, silent, aware of the unspoken rivalry that hung in the air.
Emrah rose from his chair, a calm presence in the midst of their tension. The cane in his hand went unnoticed, tucked subtly at his side, like a hidden extension of himself.
Both froze for a fraction of a second. He was… good-looking. Sharp, composed, impossible to read.
Efsun, bold and flirty, let a small smile play at her lips as she approached him.
Efsane, by contrast, was uptight, her tone rough and clipped—perhaps a product of past experiences, perhaps old wounds she carried like armor.
Emrah didn't mind. His focus was singular: peace at all costs.
"Please, have a seat," Emrah said, gesturing to the table. His voice was calm, smooth, unshakable.
Efsun sat first, her gaze playful. "I have to say… I expected someone different. Someone less… impressive."
Efsane shot her a sharp look but didn't reply, instead taking the other chair, posture stiff, arms crossed.
Emrah smiled faintly. "Appearances can be deceiving. I prefer to let actions speak."
Efsun leaned forward, a teasing smile curling her lips. "So, are you going to charm us now, or are we just talking business?"
"Neither," Emrah said evenly. "I'm here for one reason only—peace. Nothing more, nothing less."
Efsane's eyes narrowed. "Peace? With who? You think just talking to us will solve decades of rivalry?"
"I'm not naive," Emrah replied. "I know it won't be easy. But it's a start. I'm not here to fight. Not tonight."
Efsun chuckled softly. "I like the sound of that. Finally, someone who isn't trying to scare me off."
Efsane's gaze softened ever so slightly, though her tone remained cautious. "And why should we trust you? You could be another obstacle—or worse, a weapon used against us."
Emrah's expression didn't change. "Because I've no interest in being anyone's weapon. I want to understand, not destroy. And tonight, that understanding starts with both of you."
Efsun raised an eyebrow, playful but intrigued. "And the cane? You hiding more than your intentions?"
Emrah lightly tapped the cane against the floor, almost as if confirming its presence but not drawing attention. "Some things don't matter as much as they seem. What matters is what we do here, together, at this table."
Efsane finally leaned back, exhaling softly. "Fine. We'll listen. But don't expect this to be easy. I've been through too much to be convinced by words alone."
Efsun leaned closer, her tone teasing again. "And I've been through too much not to enjoy a little charm while we're at it."
Emrah let a small, controlled smile appear. "Then let's start… with conversation. Nothing more, nothing less."
The three of them sat, forks in hand, tension still in the air, but for the first time tonight, there was a fragile truce forming.
They had been talking and eating for a while
The conversation and food continued, the hum of the restaurant filling the gaps between words. Efsun leaned forward, her laugh soft but flirtatious. Efsane, still rigid, watched him carefully, her tone clipped but curious. Emrah didn't flinch. Peace was the only thing on his mind.
Then—
A black SUV screeched against the curb outside the window. Glass rattled as gunfire erupted, bullets tearing through the air. Patrons screamed, diving under tables. Chaos blossomed instantly.
Emrah's eyes narrowed. Every muscle tensed. Pain flared in his legs, the lingering ache from before, but he ignored it.
"Stay behind me," he said calmly, slipping the cane into his hand.
In a heartbeat, he lunged, reaching for the girls, pulling them down behind the heavy table. Bullets shredded the space around them, splintering wood and glass.
Heat surged through his chest. A rush—adrenaline, sharp and pure, flooding his veins. Time slowed, then stopped.
Everything froze. Bullets hung like silver rain suspended in the air. Screams turned to silence. Patrons and staff were caught mid-motion, terrified expressions frozen. The SUV outside paused, engine roaring but stalled in the bubble of stopped time.
Emrah guided the girls behind the table, arms steady. They didn't fully understand, but his calm radiated reassurance.
He stepped outside, moving with precision, each stride measured. The SUV's gas tank gleamed in the halted sunlight. With a flick of a lighter, flames licked the tank, a soft hiss frozen in midair. He glanced around, ensuring no stray bullets could harm the restaurant staff.
Then he returned, sliding back behind the table. The girls' eyes were wide with shock and awe.
Emrah exhaled slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of the table. Time resumed.
The bullets completed their course—hitting nothing, missing everything they were meant to destroy. Chaos roared back to life around them, shattering glasses and sending papers fluttering, but the girls were safe, untouched.
"Are you… okay?" Efsun whispered, still staring at him, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
Efsane remained silent, simply nodding once, her gaze locked on him, sharp and unflinching.
Emrah allowed himself a small, controlled smile. "This is why I'm here. Nothing more, nothing less."
He had never, in his life, thought about love, relationships, or marriage because of his condition. Yet that night, for reasons he couldn't know, two girls were dreaming of a life with him—dreaming of marrying Emrah.
And Emrah, standing between them and everything that could harm them, knew one thing with certainty: peace was never permanent. Not for him. Not for anyone he cared about.
Outside, behind the smoking wreck of the SUV he'd destroyed, a shadowy figure stood in a tight, dark alley. Watching. Smiling.
"So… it's begun," the figure whispered.
And from outside of time itself, a futuristic voice echoed, cold and precise:
"Acquiring the mark of Infinity ∞ is near. Subject Infinity approaches his destiny as planned."