January 23, 2025. Thursday. 4:00 a.m.

  The forest was quiet, except for the dull thuds of my fists striking the bark of an old oak tree. Each punch sent a jolt of pain through my knuckles, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t care that blood smeared the bark with every hit. Pain was part of the process. If I could push through it now, I’d be ready for worse later.

  My Enhanced-2 physique meant I’d heal faster than most people. Bruised knuckles and split skin weren’t permanent for me. But still, there was something raw and grounding about training like this. It hurt. It reminded me I was alive, that I was still here, no matter how many times I’d come close to the edge.

  One-two. One-two. I threw the punches in rhythm, focusing on speed and force. My breath fogged in the chilly morning air, each exhale a puff of determination.

  This wasn’t new to me. For the past five years, I’d made this forest my makeshift gym whenever I had the time. Always alone, always in the shadows, just like I’d taught myself. Nocturnes like me, those who didn’t need sleep, always seemed to have more time on their hands. The world belonged to the daytime capes, the flashy ones who soaked up the sun and the spotlight.

  I stopped for a moment, resting my forehead against the tree. The rough texture of the bark pressed into my skin, grounding me in the present. My fists ached, my forearms burned, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Not good enough,” I muttered, straightening up.

  I adjusted my stance, my feet finding the familiar groove in the dirt from years of repetition. My mind wandered as my fists moved on autopilot. This had been my routine before everything went to hell: before Sunstrider, before Windbreaker, and before Alfred and his gang. Back then, I thought training like this would make me strong enough to handle anything.

  Funny how wrong I’d been.

  The memories crept in, unwelcome and sharp. Sunstrider’s dying expression. Windbreaker’s broken knee. Leverage’s panicked screams. My fists hit harder, the tree groaning under the abuse.

  Focus.

  The bark splintered under my knuckles, pieces flaking off onto the forest floor. Blood trickled down my hand, warm against the cold morning air. I flexed my fingers, watching the crimson streaks drip onto the ground.

  Pain tolerance wasn’t something you could train easily, but damn if I wasn’t trying.

  As my fists connected with the bark for what felt like the hundredth time, my thoughts turned to Alfred. That bastard was a constant thorn in my side. I counted roughly 58,000 marks from my last racket. It wasn’t bad for a single haul, but it was still nowhere near enough to clear my debt to him.

  I did some mental math between punches. If I gave him 20,000 now and promised another 20,000 next month, that might keep him at arm’s length for a while. A temporary fix, sure, but better than nothing.

  “Should I just kill him?”

  The thought of murder came easily to me.

  It helped that Alfred was a dirty bastard that the world would be better of, if he was gone.

  The problem was, Alfred wasn’t just a lone thug. He had a whole gang behind him, a network of scumbags ready to back him up at a moment’s notice. I couldn’t exactly waltz in and take him down like some kind of masked vigilante, not without serious repercussions.

  The idea of wearing a mask and taking him out did cross my mind, though. It was tempting. For a moment, I pictured myself busting into his hideout, phasing through walls, taking out his goons one by one. But then reality settled in. Alfred wasn’t stupid. His gang likely had capes of their own, and they’d have the numbers on their side. Me? I’d be alone.

  It was not the same as throwing hands with the Watch.

  I let out a frustrated sigh, stepping back from the battered tree. My knuckles throbbed, blood dripping steadily now, but I ignored it. Fighting Alfred head-on wasn’t an option, and I knew it. I needed a better plan, one that didn’t involve getting myself killed or worse, captured.

  I glanced at my wristwatch. Almost 5:00 a.m. The sun would start creeping up soon. I cooled down with a few stretches, trying to shake off the tension in my shoulders. Then I broke into a light jog, heading back toward home. The streets were still empty, the city eerily quiet in the pre-dawn hours.

  As I ran, I couldn’t help but think about how close I was to falling apart. Every move I made felt like it was just one step ahead of disaster. Alfred, the cops, the Watch... hell, even the Vanguard if Windbreaker decided to push the right buttons.

  I needed to stay sharp, keep moving, and keep surviving.

  Fixing my home was a frustrating process, but at least it kept me occupied. Yesterday afternoon had been spent cleaning up the mess Alfred and his lackeys had left behind. Broken furniture, shattered dishes, and a door barely hanging on its hinges. It all screamed vulnerable. I couldn’t have that. Vulnerability got you killed in a city like this.

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  Alfred hadn’t given me a strict deadline to pay him back, but that didn’t mean I was off the hook. Showing up at his territory now to pay part of the debt might seem like a smart move, but something told me it wasn’t. Not yet. He’d trashed my place less than 24 hours ago, and he didn’t seem like the type to appreciate promptness. Worst case was he’d suspect me of something… No, I needed to play this one carefully.

  I stripped down and stepped into the shower. Sure, I could phase out the grime, dirt, and dried blood from my knuckles with a little effort, but that wasn’t the same. A shower was grounding in a way, a rare moment of calm where I could let the steam and heat wash away more than just the physical muck.

  "Maybe, I should just run away," murmured the idiot part of me with an exasperated sigh. "Alfred would have the docks or the train station watched. Moreover, extra city-state transportation was rather tough to get approved, not to mention it requires a lot of money and leg work."

  As the water ran over me, I found myself humming an old tune. It brought back memories of Mom when she was sober. She’d lecture me on superhuman knowledge, rattling off SRC regulations like a walking encyclopedia. She’d worked as a pen-pusher for the SRC for a while, filing reports on capes and their powers. Back then, I didn’t care much for her lectures. Now? I wish I’d paid more attention.

  When the water ran cold, I shut it off and grabbed a towel. Stepping out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the fogged-up mirror. I didn’t look 18 anymore. Hell, I hadn’t looked 18 in a while. My height and physique gave me away. Last time I checked, I was five-foot-eight, but the muscles I’d built over years of training made me seem older.

  I looked like someone who was in their early twenties, maybe.

  I dried off and threw on something casual: a plain black tee, jeans, and a pair of sneakers I’d picked up secondhand a while back. Simple. Functional. I didn’t have the luxury of standing out.

  With my TV in pieces and no internet or computer to fall back on, I had nothing to do but wander. Sitting around in my trashed place wasn’t going to improve my mood. I grabbed my wallet, locked up what was left of my home, and headed out. The nearest internet café wasn’t far, and I figured I could kill some time there.

  The café was a cramped little hole-in-the-wall, dimly lit with rows of aging PCs lined up under flickering fluorescent lights. The smell of stale instant noodles hung in the air. I rented a cubicle and booted up one of their systems, settling into an online MOBA inspired by real-life capes from history.

  At first, I played seriously, trying to get a feel for the strategies. It was mildly entertaining, controlling a digital version of famous capes like Storm King or Ember Maiden. But it didn’t take long for the novelty to wear off. My attention drifted, and before I knew it, I was feeding the enemy jungler, walking my character into ambushes just to see how fast I could die. The game was fun for the first twenty minutes, but after that, I just felt… disconnected.

  When my session ended, I paid for the time and left. It wasn’t even noon yet.

  I wandered into a nearby fast-food joint and ordered the biggest combo meal they had. After inhaling that, I splurged on snacks from a convenience store and hit up the arcade next door. A thousand marks disappeared in no time between claw machines, rhythm games, and one-on-one fighting games. I even managed to win a cheap plush keychain from one of the machines. It was nothing impressive, but at least I didn’t leave empty-handed.

  By the time I left the arcade, I was still feeling restless. I checked my watch. There was just enough time to catch a matinee showing at the local theater.

  The movie wasn’t anything special. It was a low-budget action flick about a washed-up cape trying to make a comeback. It gave me something to focus on for two hours if just to kill time. Plus, the theater's air-conditioning was a nice break from the humid streets.

  As I walked out of the theater and into the fading afternoon light, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought: I’d just spent a small fortune distracting myself from my reality. All those marks burned, and for what? A fleeting sense of normalcy?

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets and started the walk home, feeling more drained than when I’d left. And then… I bumped into someone while lost in my thoughts. I barely registered the thud until I saw her stumbling back.

  A flurry of papers and books hit the ground, and a startled yelp brought me back to reality.

  I glanced down to see a girl crouching to gather her scattered belongings. She had long, dark brown hair tied in a loose ponytail and was juggling a phone in one hand while trying to pick up her stuff with the other.

  “Lady, you shouldn’t be texting and walking. Multitasking isn’t for everyone,” I said, crouching down to help her pick up the mess.

  She froze for a second, then looked up at me. Her face was vaguely familiar, and that nagging feeling only grew stronger as she stared at me.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, brushing her bangs out of her face. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute... Nick?”

  My stomach dropped. Oh, great. Of all the people to run into.

  “Mindy,” I said flatly, my tone giving nothing away as recognition clicked. Of course, it was her. Mindy, Chad’s sassy girlfriend. I cursed under my breath.

  “Nick! It is you!” she exclaimed, standing up straight now, her books pressed against her chest. “I haven’t seen you in school for a while. What happened? Did you transfer or something?”

  I groaned inwardly, wishing I could phase right through the sidewalk and disappear. “Uh, no. Just... you know. Stuff happened.” I gave her a dismissive shrug, hoping she’d drop it.

  She didn’t. “Stuff? That’s not an answer. Are you okay? Did you get expelled? I heard rumors, but you don’t seem like the type to...”

  “I’m fine,” I interrupted, standing up and handing her the last of her fallen books. “No need to worry about me.”

  She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “You don’t look fine. You look... different. And not in a good way.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said dryly, brushing dirt off my jeans.

  “Seriously, though. If something’s wrong, you can tell me. Chad would...”

  I flinched at the mention of his name. “Look, Mindy, I don’t need a lecture, okay? Just forget you saw me.”

  She frowned, her playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. “Nick, what happened to you?”

  For a moment, I considered telling her. Unloading everything about the mess my life had become. But then I remembered who she was, Chad’s girlfriend. Part of the life I’d left behind.

  “Nothing happened,” I lied. “I’ve just been... busy.”

  Mindy didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push further. “Well, if you ever want to talk or anything... Chad and I are around. You know, your friends.”

  “Sure,” I said with a forced smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As she walked off, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d dodged a bullet. Running into Mindy was a reminder of everything I’d left behind and everything I couldn’t afford to go back to.