On his way back to St. Jude High, the heavy weight of his father's expectations pressed against Austin's chest like a lead plate. Study? He scoffed at the thought, kicking a loose stone across the cracked pavement. He hadn't opened a textbook in three years. To the teachers, he was a ghost; to the elite students like Vincent, he was just a stain on the school's reputation.
But as he turned the corner into a narrow alleyway near the back entrance, a harsh, jagged voice cut through the afternoon hum.
"Hey, old man! Do you have wax in your ears? I said this block belongs to Big Leon. You want to sell this antique junk here? You pay the street tax, or 'accidents' might happen to your fragile little bones."
Austin stopped. Up ahead, two punks with bleached hair and cheap leather jackets were towering over a frail, elderly man. The old man had spread a tattered velvet mat on the sidewalk, covered in dusty trinkets—brass coins, broken watches, and strange wooden carvings.
"Look, young man," the old man sighed, his voice sounding like dry parchment rubbing together. "I've no grudge against you. I'm just trying to survive the day. Why cause trouble for a soul who has already seen too many winters?"
"Trouble? Old man, this is business!" The leader, a guy Austin recognized as Leon—a dropout who thought he was the next Godfather—stepped forward and kicked the edge of the mat. A shower of wooden beads and brass trinkets scattered into the muddy gutter. "Get on your knees, call me Boss, and maybe I'll let you keep your teeth. Otherwise..."
"The hearts of men have truly turned to stone," the old man murmured, shaking his head slowly as he reached down to retrieve a fallen bead.
"That's it! You asked for it, Gramps!" Leon raised a heavy, steel-toed boot.
"Hey, Blondie!" Austin's voice cut through the alley like a whip.
The two punks froze and spun around. When Leon saw Austin's school uniform, he let out a jagged laugh. "Well, well. If it isn't Austin, the 'Mad Dog' of middle school. I heard you turned into a obedient little puppy since you got into St. Jude."
"If you recognize me," Austin growled, his eyes narrowing until they were dangerous slits, "then you know what happens next if you don't pick up that junk and apologize to the gentleman."
Years ago, Austin's name was whispered in fear. He fought with a desperate, suicidal ferocity. He'd stayed quiet for his father's sake, but seeing these two low-lifes picking on a senior made his blood boil over.
"Heh, your time is over, Austin. This is my block now!" Leon spat a thick glob of phlegm at Austin's feet. "Get lost before I decide to break your scholarship face."
Leon's partner, a lanky kid with a jagged scar on his chin, lunged forward. He swung a heavy red brick toward Austin's head. Austin shifted his weight, preparing to counter, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.
CRACK!
The brick didn't hit his head, but it slammed into the side of Austin's heavy coat pocket with a sickening thud. The brick actually shattered into two pieces, falling into the dirt. The lanky punk stared at his empty hand, horrified. "What the... is he made of iron?"
Austin didn't feel like a superhero. He felt a cold, jagged spike of fury. He reached into that pocket and pulled out his glasses case. The hard plastic was crushed flat. His only pair of prescription glasses—the ones his father had skipped five meals to afford—were now a pile of silver wire and glass dust.
"You... you idiots," Austin whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying calm.
He moved before they could blink. A single, lightning-fast kick caught the lanky punk in the solar plexus, sending him flying back into a pile of overflowing trash cans with a metallic crash. Leon tried to throw a punch, but Austin caught his wrist in a grip of iron. With two swift, professional twists, he dislocated Leon's shoulders. The "Boss" of the alley let out a shrill scream before his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground.
Austin took a shaky breath, his adrenaline receding. He turned to the old man, who was still sitting calmly on the ground. "Sir, you need to leave. There are too many of these losers around the campus. Try the market three blocks over. It's safer."
"Thank you, Austin," the old man said. He wasn't trembling. In fact, he looked... amused. His cloudy eyes seemed to spark with a strange, golden luminescence.
"How do you know my name?" Austin stepped back, his hair standing on end.
"I know many things, boy," the old man chuckled. "Are you a student of the old ways? That brick... you took the hit like a master of the Iron Body technique."
"Iron Body? Sir, the brick hit my glasses case. It's the only reason I'm not in a coma right now." Austin pulled out the ruined silver frames. "One hundred and fifty dollars. My dad is going to kill me."
"Do not mourn the glass, Austin," the old man said, standing up with a grace that didn't match his ragged clothes. "I have a replacement. Something much better suited for a boy who still fights for those who cannot."
He reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a sleek, obsidian-black box. It felt unnaturally heavy. "I was looking for a worthy soul. Someone with a lion's heart but a fool's luck. Take them. They are yours now."
Before Austin could refuse, the old man handed him the box. In the blink of an eye—faster than Austin could track—the old man, the mat, and every single trinket vanished. The alley was empty, save for the two unconscious punks and the smell of ozone.
"What the hell..." Austin shivered, tucking the black box into his pocket and sprinting back to school.
The afternoon sun streamed through the high windows of the math wing. Austin sat in the very last row, his mind a chaotic whirlwind. He tried to focus on the blackboard, but without his glasses, the formulas were just white blurs.
Chloe, the Class President, was sitting three rows ahead. He watched the elegant curve of her neck as she took notes. Suddenly, he felt a light thud on his desk. A small ball of paper had been tossed from the front.
Austin opened it. The paper carried a faint, floral scent that made his heart skip.
Austin, the fact that you showed up for the afternoon session means you haven't completely given up. Don't let Vincent get into your head. If you grit your teeth and start now, you can still pass the SATs. I'll help you if you need it. — Chloe
Austin's pulse hammered. Chloe... offered to help? He felt a sudden, desperate urge to be worthy of that offer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the obsidian box. Inside were two tiny, shimmering crystalline discs. They didn't look like normal contact lenses; they looked like liquid stars.
Whatever that old man was... I have nothing left to lose, he thought. He leaned over, using his phone screen as a mirror, and slid the cold, shimmering discs into his eyes.
[System Synchronized.] [Data Stream: Initializing...] [God-Eye System: Online.]
Austin gasped, gripping the edges of his desk. The world didn't just get clearer—it became transparent.
He looked at the teacher's desk at the front of the room. Through the thick oak wood, he could see the teacher's purse, a half-eaten sandwich, and—more importantly—the stack of exam papers for the upcoming pop quiz. He could see the answer key as clearly as if it were hovering in front of his face.
But that wasn't all. As he glanced at his textbook, the pages seemed to glow. The information didn't just enter his eyes; it was downloaded into his consciousness. Laws of physics, chemical bonds, mathematical constants—they burned into his memory with perfect, permanent clarity.
"Books away, everyone," Ms. Zhao announced, her heels clicking on the floor. "We're having a surprise assessment. Let's see who spent their lunch break studying and who spent it dreaming."
Vincent turned around, giving Austin a smug, mocking wink. "Hey deadweight, try not to get a zero this time. It's embarrassing for the rest of us."
Austin didn't get angry. He didn't even look up. He just picked up his pen, a faint, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
The game has changed, Vincent, Austin thought. And you're about to lose.