I stood in the empty school gym, looking at my reflection in the panoramic mirror. That Leon I used to see—the self-assured telepath with an "OP" ability—was gone. In his place was a guy who couldn't do a thing when his friend was gunned down on live television.

  "Twelve seconds..." I whispered.

  My limit. For twelve seconds I can see right through the world. But what good is that time if my legs can't launch off the mark faster than a bullet? What good is knowing a killer's thoughts if your body is too weak to stop him from pulling the trigger?

  I activated the "receiver," trying to probe the mind of the school coach, who was messing with equipment at the other end of the gym.

  One second. Two... Five...

  I started running, maintaining the connection at the same time. At the tenth second, my temples started pounding, and at the twelfth, the world exploded with pain. I collapsed onto the mats, gasping for air. Blood from my nose dripped onto the blue surface.

  'Not enough. It's pathetically not enough,' I slammed my fist into the floor.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  I realized: I don't need more seconds. I need to become someone who can finish a fight within the twelve that he has. From this day on, my training changed. No more reading minds just for fun. I started studying anatomy, looking for "knockout points," and exhausting myself physically until my body began to obey me as fast as my thoughts.

  I will no longer be useless.

  (Rabuki's POV)

  Private training grounds.

  I stood in the center of the arena, breathing heavily. Around me smoked the wreckage of training drones. My bio-suit pulsed with a crimson light, the scales on the armor twitching, shedding excess heat.

  "Synchronization: 52%," the impassive voice of the AI echoed from the speakers. "Body temperature critical. Rest is recommended."

  "AGAIN!" I yelled, throwing up my rifle. "Activate the 'Alley' simulation!"

  Holograms of those same men in gray coats flared before my eyes. That same coldness again, the sound of gunshots again. I dashed forward, feeling the bio-layer bite into my muscles, demanding more energy.

  "52%... 53%..." Rulf, standing behind the armored glass of the control panel, anxiously gripped the railing. "Lady Rabuki, stop! Your nervous system won't handle it!"

  I wasn't listening. The Squirt's face, covered in blood, stood before my eyes. I remembered how he went limp in my arms. That fear, that icy terror of my own powerlessness had become my best teacher.

  A strike. Another one. I wasn't just shooting—I was moving like an enraged shadow. At the 53% synchronization mark, the suit began to "growl," merging with me into a single entity. The pain was unbearable, but I welcomed it. Pain meant that I was still alive. That I was getting stronger.

  When the last "mercenary" crumbled into digital ash, I fell to my knees. The suit deactivated with a hiss, returning to sleep mode.

  "Squirt..." I whispered, wiping sweat from my forehead.

  (Author's note: Leon was actually supposed to be the main character. But he kind of got boring. Arkgrim was supposed to be a minor character entirely, I don't know how this happened.)