Silence

A girl stood before him, her dark eyes watching him curiously. Her black hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands clinging to her forehead from exertion. She wore a sleek black-and-white running outfit that hugged her athletic frame, and a simple white cap shaded her face. Even with minimal effort, she was striking—easily in her early twenties, with an effortless beauty that seemed to belong to a different world from this quiet riverside.

In her hand, she held a small white towel, offering it to him.

Akira's gaze flickered to the towel, then back to her face. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no ulterior motive that he could detect. Just an open, casual kindness. That, in itself, made him wary.

"...Thank you," he said, his voice steady as he took the towel. He dragged it across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung to his skin.

"I haven't seen you around here before," she said, watching him with a curious tilt of her head.

"I'm from a few blocks away," he replied, his tone flat but not dismissive. "I visit different spots to train from time to time."

"Oh, I see," she said, nodding. "I should do that too. I'm getting sick of running the same road every day."

There was something about the way she spoke—light, effortless, as if this conversation was the most natural thing in the world. But to Akira, nothing was ever that simple.

Then she asked, "Can I sit? I just finished my run, and I'm pretty tired myself." She motioned toward the grass beside him.

Akira didn't answer right away. His instincts stirred. "Why is she talking to me?" His eyes scanned her briefly, then flicked to the trees behind her, the path leading to the river, the shadows where someone might hide. His fingers twitched slightly, a reflexive gesture he barely noticed. "Is she just friendly? Or is there something else?"

It never even occurred to him that she might be talking to him simply because she was drawn to him. The boy was handsome—really handsome—but looks had never mattered to him. And yet, he couldn't understand why else she would be here, asking to sit next to him.

His eyes flickered faintly white for a fraction of a second—a pulse of energy, a subtle check. "Mana? Hidden power? Danger?"Nothing. He felt nothing. She wasn't awakened. No mana, no killing intent. Just a girl catching her breath after a run.

He exhaled slowly, then gave a slight nod. "Yeah. Sure."

She sat down beside him, stretching her legs out with a relieved sigh. "Ah… I'm finished now." She wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead and exhaled deeply. "Running is more of a mental challenge than a physical one, you know? But it makes me feel great afterward."

Akira didn't respond. He simply sat there, staring out at the river, listening. She didn't seem to mind his silence. Instead, she continued, almost as if thinking aloud, "I mean… no matter how hard we normal humans train, the only real benefit is staying healthy. We're nothing compared to them—the changed humans. The awakened ones, right?"

Akira's gaze flickered slightly, but he didn't turn his head. He already knew where this was going.

"Yeah," he finally muttered. "The world has really changed."

"Right?" She laughed dryly, leaning back on her palms. "Now everyone's always panicking, always stressed. What if a dungeon pops up in their house? What if a monster breaks through at school? It's always a what if." She let out another sigh, this time heavier, more tired. "And you know what's funny?" She shook her head, her lips curling into a half-smile. "Even with all that, my parents still nag me about school. Get good grades, think about your future, don't waste your time." She scoffed. "I really hate them sometimes. They just don't understand me at all. What's the point of school? What's the point of their nagging when everything could end tomorrow because of some monster?"

Akira turned his head slightly, his black eyes finally meeting hers. "That's why you hate them?" His voice was quiet, but there was something in it—something sharp.

She blinked. "I—"

"Because they nag at you?" His tone was calm, almost unreadable.

She suddenly felt small under his gaze. "That's not a reason to hate them," he said, his voice carrying something heavier now. "That's a blessing."

She opened her mouth but hesitated. There was something about the way he said it, something that made her heart tighten. For a moment, she saw past his calm exterior—the way his shoulders carried an invisible weight, the faint shadows in his eyes that hinted at something far darker than she could imagine. "What is he?" she wondered. "What's he been through?"

A cold breeze brushed past them, carrying the faint scent of the river and the rustle of leaves. She swallowed. "What do you mean?"

Akira looked away, back toward the water. His voice was quieter this time. "You think their nagging is annoying," he said. "But it means they care. It means they believe you have a future." His fingers curled slightly. "When you lose that… when no one's waiting for you to come home, no one's telling you to eat properly, to sleep early, to take care of yourself…" He exhaled, shaking his head. "You'll miss it."

She stared at him, her earlier frustration melting into something quieter, more reflective. Complaining about school, about her parents' nagging—it felt so small compared to whatever he had been through. She wanted to ask more, to understand the weight behind his words, but something in his expression stopped her. It was as if he'd already said too much.

The world seemed to hold its breath. The wind stilled, the river's gentle ripples smoothing into glass. A bird took flight from a nearby tree, its wings cutting through the silence. For a moment, everything felt unnaturally calm, as if the world itself was waiting.

Then—

BOOM.

A loud, sharp noise shattered the calm, reverberating through the air like a thunderclap. The ground trembled beneath them, and the peaceful riverside was suddenly plunged into chaos.