"That man is naked!" a little boy shouted, pointing at Landen.
"Ahhh!" his mother screamed, quickly covering his eyes.
Around them, bystanders cried out in shock, and passing vehicles honked as they swerved to avoid him.
"What's going on?" Landen said, glancing around at the commotion. Then he looked down and froze.
His eyes widened. "Whoa… this guy has a six-pack and a pretty big—"
"…Wait… This guy is me…"
Landen covered himself, and only then did it fully register—he was standing in the middle of a busy intersection of a large city.
"Hey, you!" a police officer shouted. "What are you doing? Streaking in public is a first-degree offense."
Landen saw them, but the noise of traffic drowned out their voices. It didn't matter what they said, because police officers are here to help… right?
"Hey! Over here!" he said, waving his arms to get their attention.
The officers hurried toward him, and a sense of relief fell over him. However, that quickly changed when they pulled out their guns.
"Wait! Wait! Wait!" he shouted, as he turned to run. But before he could get anywhere, a needle struck his left buttcheek. His body went limp, and he collapsed face-first onto the pavement, buttcheeks high in the air.
The last thing he remembered was being lifted and thrown into a vehicle.
---------
Some time later, Landen woke up on his back with the biggest migraine ever.
"W-what…?" he groaned, blinking slowly. "Where am I?"
His vision was blurry at first, but as it cleared, he saw metal bars surrounding him on one side. In the corner sat a small toilet, and next to it was a scratched mirror on the wall.
"I'm… in a jail cell?" he whispered.
He rubbed his eyes hard, as if he could force the scene to change. "No… no, no… this can't be happening…"
One minute he was celebrating his victory, the next minute he found himself naked in the middle of the street, and now he was in a jail cell. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Or maybe he really was cursed. Cursed by the International Champions, destined to never make it to the finals. No, he had to go. He didn't come this far just to end up like this.
Quickly jumping to his feet, he rushed toward the bars, but he stopped mid-step as something caught his eye.
It wasn't something, it was someone. It was him. His reflection in the mirror.
"Wait… what?"
Surprised at what he saw, he walked toward it, his confusion growing with each step. He leaned in and studied himself closely.
It was his face—no doubt about it. The same one he had seen thousands of times before.
But… different.
His skin was completely clear. The pimples he'd always dealt with were gone, along with every scar and freckle. Not a single imperfection remained.
Even his black hair looked different. It was thicker, fuller, and somehow perfectly styled—falling into place in a messy, effortless way that looked like it took hours to achieve.
Yeah… he looked good. He always knew that if his skin was as smooth as those K-pop idols', he would look just as good as them, or better—and now, seeing it for himself, he was right.
His confidence ticked up almost instantly.
"…Oh ho… I can get used to this."
Then his gaze drifted downward, and his eyes widened at what he saw.
His torso was sculpted. Defined, chiseled abs ran down his stomach like they'd been carved from stone. He tensed slightly, watching the muscles tighten and shift under his skin.
It felt like his body—same proportions, same overall build—but refined. Sharper. Stronger. Like everything had been pushed to its peak.
Rolling his shoulder, the movement felt natural, and familiar… but lighter somehow. More controlled.
He wasn't bulky, or oversized. He was athletic. Like his body had been perfectly optimized without changing who he was.
Then he heard voices coming from down the hall.
"Hello?" he called out. "Can I talk to someone? I think there's been a misunderstanding!"
A moment later, the door beyond the metal bars creaked open, and two men walked in. One carried a neatly folded set of clothes, while the other held a tablet, tapping on it as he glanced up.
"Hey—listen," Landen said quickly, relief flooding his voice. "This is all a big mistake. I don't know what happened, but I was in the middle of the International Tournament, and then suddenly I was just… standing naked in the street."
"I have no clue how I got there. But if you guys can just let me out, I need to go pack—I have to see Melinda right away."
The two men didn't say anything. They just looked at each other, confused.
"Look, my name is Landen Thorne. You know… the legendary Lone Knight?... God of Legends of Heroes?... Lover of Melinda StarFrost?"
Silence. They didn't react. Not even a flicker of recognition.
"Hello?" Landen waved his hand in front of the bars. "Do you guys understand what I'm saying?"
The men exchanged another glance, then looked back at him with the same puzzled expressions.
Landen tried again.
"Uh… Hola?..."
"Bonjour?..."
"Ni hao?..."
"Konichiwa?..."
"Annyeonghaseyo?..."
"Namaste?..."
Landen lowered his hands, staring at them.
"…Seriously?"
Finally, the men started speaking to each other, but Landen couldn't understand a single word. The language was strange. Nothing like anything he had ever heard before.
"This kid must be high on something," one of them muttered.
"Yeah," the other replied. "Probably those infected crystals. They've been going around with older teens lately."
Landed tapped on his chest, speaking slowly and clearly. "My… name… is… Landen… Thorne..."
One of the men tossed a bundle of clothes through the bars. "Put these on, kid."
"Red coveralls?" said the man with the tablet. "Aren't those reserved for the highest criminals?"
"Yeah, but that's all we got. All the orange ones are in the wash. It's only temporary, so he should be fine."
"Look, guys," Landen said, while putting on the coveralls. "I need to get out of here. Is there anyone who speaks English?"
"What's your name?" one of the officers asked.
Landen looked confused.
The officer pointed to himself.
"Doe," he said, suggesting that his name was Doe.
"Ray," he said, pointing to his partner.
Then, he pointed at Landen.
Landen hesitated.
"…Uh…"
"Mi, Fa, So… La, Ti, Do?"
The man gave him a thumbs up, and entered his name into the tablet he was carrying.
"Mifaso Latido," the man said.
After a few seconds, he took out his keys and began to open the cage.
"Ok Mifaso, it looks like we don't have any records of you and you don't have an ID tracker. So—"
The other officer went inside and snapped handcuffs onto Landen.
"—we're going to need to take you to get tagged. Here lie down on this bed, you're gonna need to sleep for this one."
A nurse came by with a large needle.
"Wait, stop! What are you—"
Before he could finish, the nurse stabbed his neck with the needle, and he instantly fell asleep.
---------
Landen woke up to another sharp pounding headache.
"Aww… damn," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as the pain pulsed. "What the hell…"
This wasn't the jail cell.
He was lying on a hard bench in the back of some kind of moving vehicle. The entire space rattled with motion, metal walls enclosing him on all sides like a cage.
"What now…?" he muttered.
He tried to sit up, but the clink of metal stopped him. Looking down, he saw his wrists bound tightly in handcuffs.
"…Seriously?" he scoffed. "I didn't know walking around naked was that big of a crime. They're treating me like I tried to assassinate their leader or something."
Then he saw a small barred window and looked out to see something so alien. The sky didn't look normal. Faint streaks of color—like shifting rainbows—bled across the horizon, distorting the blue in a way that felt unnatural. The buildings outside were even stranger. Towering structures twisted upward in unfamiliar shapes, their designs sleek, curved, and nothing like anything he had ever seen before.
"Where… is this place?" he whispered, right when his right wrist suddenly jerked involuntarily.
Looking down, he saw embedded just beneath his skin a small metallic device, its surface faintly glowing as if it were alive.
"Hey! What the hell did you guys do to my arm?!"
These guys had stripped him, drugged him, locked him up, and now they'd put something inside his body?
"Hey!" he shouted again. His frustration boiled over as he kicked the metal barrier separating him from the front seats with a loud clang.
"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!"
One of the officers finally reacted and glanced back with an annoyed expression.
"Hey, quiet down!" he snapped. "There's no point talking to you if we can't understand a word you're saying. Don't worry—we're here."
The vehicle suddenly lurched to a stop, and Do and Ray quickly pulled him out, still cuffed like some kind of dangerous criminal.
Outside was a massive building, and at the front stood a large sign, its bold lettering stretching across the entrance. The symbols were completely alien. Sharp, unfamiliar characters twisted together in ways he had never seen before.
Inside the building, the interior was just as overwhelming—high ceilings, polished floors, and people moved with purpose. They brought him up to a front desk, where a woman looked up from her station.
Doe spoke quickly. "We're looking for Chief Marshal Gordon Venderbilt. This is an urgent matter."
"He's currently speaking in the arena," she replied. "Go on ahead."
The officers dragged him down a long hallway. The further they went, the louder it became—voices, echoes, the low hum of a crowd. Then, above it all, a single voice boomed, amplified like someone speaking into a microphone.
They reached a large set of doors. And when they opened them, a wave of noise crashed over him.
Inside was a massive arena, packed with hundreds of people. Rows upon rows of faces turned toward the front, where someone stood speaking to the crowd.
Landen froze as he was pulled inside, every instinct screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.
Ray leaned closer, a faint smirk on his face.
"Welcome to your new home… Aegis Vanguard Military Academy."
Landen didn't understand the words—but he knew exactly what was going on.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he shouted, trying to yank himself free from their grip.
"I'M GETTING A PUBLIC EXECUTION?!"