(Leon's POV)

  I woke up with a strange feeling of anxiety.

  I went down to the kitchen. My father was already sitting at the table, but instead of the usual morning show, a red headline blazed on the TV screen: "BREAKING NEWS". My father froze with a mug of coffee in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen.

  "Over the last three days, the situation on the streets of Japan has escalated to the limit," the newscaster enunciated clearly, her voice trembling. "And it's not about the Kaiju threats. An unknown group is carrying out targeted attacks on teenagers. Today, the criminals crossed the line..."

  A grainy video from a surveillance camera appeared on the screen. An alley. A black sedan. I froze, and my spoon fell to the floor with a clatter.

  "Look at this footage," the newscaster continued. "A group of armed people surrounds two schoolchildren..."

  I saw it. I saw a familiar figure in a black windbreaker fly out of the car. That gait, that arrogant set of the shoulders... Arkgrim. Next to him was a girl with green hair. Rabuki.

  Flashes. Soundless on the video, but it was as if I heard them in my head. One. Two. Three.

  Arkgrim jerked and collapsed onto the asphalt like a broken doll. A dark stain instantly began to spread around his body.

  "No..." I whispered, feeling everything in my stomach twist into a cold knot. "No, Arkgrim!"

  The TV switched to an emergency speech by the Prime Minister. He looked furious, speaking of "inconceivable cruelty" and that "Japan is in a rage," promising to punish the guilty. They said that part of the gang had already been caught, but it was still dangerous on the streets.

  I frantically snatched my phone. My fingers wouldn't obey; I kept missing the letters.

  "Arkgrim! Where are you?! Answer!" — the message hung with a "sent" status.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I switched to Rabuki's contact.

  "What happened?! Where is he?!" — silence. No one answered.

  I jumped up from the table, grabbing my jacket.

  "Dad, I have to... I need to go to the hospital, I..."

  "Sit down, Leon!" my father's voice struck like a whip. He stood up, blocking my path.

  "But Dad! It's him! It's Arkgrim! He was shot!"

  "I saw the news myself, son," my father placed his heavy hands on my shoulders, and in his eyes, I saw undisguised fear. "It's not safe on the streets. Those psychos are still out there. The police are working, the SWAT team is on high alert. You won't help him if you put yourself in the line of fire."

  "He's my friend!" I tried to break free, but my father held tight.

  "Stay home, Leon. That's an order."

  I sank powerlessly into the chair, looking at the screen where the footage of Arkgrim falling played over and over again.

  Ten minutes passed—the ten longest minutes of my life—before the phone in my hand vibrated again. One short, cold message from Rabuki:

  "He's in the ICU. Don't come. It's too dangerous on the streets."

  I stared at the screen, and the letters began to blur. "In the ICU". That word sounded like a death sentence. "Don't come". Rabuki was clearly making it known that I would only get in the way there.

  I leaned back in the chair, feeling everything inside burning out from the realization of my own insignificance. I am a telepath. I train until I drop, dreaming of protecting people. But right now, when my only true friend is lying on an operating table, I am just a useless teenager locked within four walls by my father's order. I can't help him in any way. Not with my power, not with my presence. I am just a spectator in this play.

  (Arkgrim's POV)

  It was quiet in the room. Only the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor broke the sterile silence of the night.

  I opened my eyes. No pain—just a slight numbness in the places where the bullets had torn through flesh. I listened to the silence outside the door. 23:00. Yeah, those guys took a long time digging around. Surgeons are thorough folks, but damn slow.

  I mentally focused on my wounds. A barely noticeable movement began inside my body: mana obediently flowed to the damaged tissues, forcing the cells to divide at an insane speed. Torn blood vessels fused together, muscles tightened, pushing out the remnants of the threads I had been stitched up with. My organs smoothly, like clockwork, returned to their rightful places from the "safe zones" where I had hidden them before the gunshot.

  A minute later, only pinkish strips of new skin remained of the fatal wounds.

  I sat up on the bed, disconnecting the sensor patches from my chest.

  "Yeah..." I swung my legs off the high bed. "Who were you guys actually looking for?"

  The words of that guy in the parking lot—"It's not him"—wouldn't leave me in peace. Were they looking for someone else? Someone who physically looked more like their target?

  If there is someone else in this city capable of drawing the ire of such professionals, then the situation becomes much more interesting.