Rage of Jealous

"No! NO!! You are not allowed to be angry, Bennet!" I shout, then immediately hiss at myself, trying to suppress the storm raging inside me.

I pace back and forth across my living room, fists clenching and unclenching.

"She has every right to do whatever she wants, with whoever she wants," my logic reminds me.

I know that.

But it doesn't help.

The anger, the hurt, the gut-wrenching sadness—they're all twisting into this unfamiliar rage.

Is this what they call… jealousy?

"AAARGH!!"

I let out a frustrated scream, gripping my hair.

Are they done yet?Is she satisfied?

NO! Don't look. It'll only hurt you.

…But I have to look.

I need to know.

Is she happy with him?

I storm into my bedroom, tearing through it in search of my spotting scope.

When I find it, I see a fracture on the front mirror. Damn it. Hopefully, it still works.

I march back to the window, peering through her dressing mirror.

The scope's infrared feature lets me see clearly in the dark—too clearly.

I instantly regret it.

He's still on top of her, barely moving.

Her face—

A deep frown, bitten lower lip, her nails digging into his back.

She's enjoying it.

And that just pours fuel on my rage.

I want to kill that guy.

I need to get out of here.

With long, furious strides, I storm out of my apartment, trying to clear my head.

Han mentioned something about walking meditation—how it could help calm the brain.

Might as well try it.

I jab the elevator button.

Nothing.

I press it again.

Still nothing.

I slam my thumb into it over and over, jamming it like it'll make the damn thing move faster.

But the indicator doesn't change.

WHAT THE F*CK?!

I snap.

Screw the elevator.

I yank open the emergency exit door and storm down the stairs—seventeen floors, taking two steps at a time.

When I reach the lobby, I immediately head for the receptionist to complain about the damn elevator—

But the desk is empty.

The front door man—also missing.

"The hell is going on?" I mutter.

The receptionist is supposed to be here until 11 PM, and the front door man is supposed to be on duty 24/7.

Fuming, I shove open the front doors—

And there he is.

Jim, my front door man.

He's holding open the back door of a limousine, flashing his pearly whites at someone inside the car.

But… he's just standing there.

Like a statue.

Waiting.

For someone to step out.

I ignore him and try to focus on my meditation.

Han said I should notice every step, observe my surroundings.

Sounds easy.

It's not.

I can't stop seeing Jen and that guy.

Her face. Her body. The way she—

"AAUGH!!"

I stumble, nearly losing my balance.

I look back—

A cat.

It just… stands there, unmoving.

Like a statue.

Like… Jim, my front door man.

A weird feeling creeps up my spine.

For the first time, I actually look at my surroundings.

It's 10 PM.A Saturday night.In downtown NY.

It should be bustling.

But the streets—

The streets are full of cars.

And they're not moving.

Not an inch.

Not even a slight roll forward.

What the…

I scan my surroundings again.

Nothing.

No movement.

Not even the wind.

A chill runs through me.

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!

Panic grips my chest.

I bolt.

I don't think. I don't hesitate.

I just run—

Straight to the temple.

It's nearly ten miles away, but my body doesn't register the distance.

I need to find Han.

He has to know what's happening to me.

"HAN!!"

I burst into the temple, shouting his name.

"HAN, WHERE ARE YOU?! HAN!!"

I sprint through the temple, searching frantically.

"Ha—"

"What do you think you're doing, young man?!"

A thundering voice booms through the hall.

I turn, spotting a silhouette.

An old man.

He looks ancient, but his movements—

Quick. Controlled. Sharp.

He strides toward me with the authority of someone not to be messed with.

"I'm looking for Han," I say breathlessly.

"Do you know what time it is?!"

"I DON'T CARE!" I snap, my panic overriding all common courtesy.

"Well, you should," the old man says firmly.

I ignore him and step forward, about to continue searching for Han—

But before I can even take a second step—

A hand grips my shoulder.

And twists me around.

I react instantly.

Grabbing his arm, I aim a strike at his elbow from below—

But he dodges.

And before I can react, he twists my arm and swings me like a ragdoll, sending me crashing into the wall.

The back of my head slams against the concrete, hard enough to rattle my skull.

But I don't feel a damn thing.

The rage surging through me overpowers the pain.

I push off the wall, springing back to my feet, and charge at him full force.

When I'm just a few feet away, I leap, aiming a direct kick to his chest.

He doesn't move.

For a second, I think he's too dumbstruck to dodge.

But then—he smiles.

Like he's amused.

At the very last second, his hand snaps up, grabs my ankle, and twists—

Hard.

My body spins mid-air, 270 degrees, before I come slamming down chest-first onto the solid concrete floor.

WHAM!

Pain explodes through my ribs.

I cough violently, a trickle of blood dripping onto the ground.

Still, I push myself up, stumbling back into my stance.

"Stubborn," the old man murmurs, shaking his head.

I lunge at him again.

This time, I throw a rapid-fire barrage of punches—

Too fast for the human eye to track.

I've used these same attacks to take down trained fighters.

But him?

He doesn't even flinch.

Not only can he see my attacks—he's predicting them before I move.

And the worst part?

He's blocking everything…

With just one arm.

While smiling.

"AAARGH!!" I let out a frustrated roar, increasing the speed of my strikes.

But he deflects them all with effortless precision—like I'm just playing around.

Then, in a split second, he moves.

Not with a punch.

Not with a kick.

Just—two fingers.

A quick tap against the side of my neck.

And suddenly—

I can't move.

My entire body locks up.

I'm stuck—mid-kick, balancing on one foot, unable to lower my leg.

I try to force my limbs to respond—

Nothing.

I've…

I've become a statue.

.