1.02.4 He shouldn't be alive.

"Dad, there's something I need to consult you about." Jeremy spoke into the phone, his voice laced with a rare seriousness as he relayed the details of his encounter with the representative from the Boman Foundation. He explained their generous offer, their promised sponsorship, and the conditions they had placed before him.

On the other end of the call, the man known for his towering presence—his sheer physicality making him seem almost seven meters tall in Jeremy's childhood memories—listened with mild intrigue.

"I stopped at the fourth floor," his father mused after a thoughtful pause, his deep voice carrying the weight of experience. "And when I remained there, my lack of knowledge made me suffer. A lot."

His tone turned contemplative as he shared fragments of his past struggles, the unseen battles that had worn him down in the Maker's Domain. The knowledge gap had cost him dearly.

"This offer… it's too good to ignore."

Jeremy knew what was coming next, the unspoken question hanging between them.

"But what about Dan?"

There was silence for a brief moment before his father exhaled, his tone steady yet firm.

"The boy… The Bomans aren't ones to lie so easily. They've risen to their position by earning trust, and trust isn't something gained without effort."

Trust was a fragile currency—hard-earned yet easily squandered. And in a world locked in constant war, a dependable ally was worth more than gold.

The Boman Foundation, standing as a neutral powerhouse, focused almost exclusively on developing weapons of war and advancing technology for the battlefield. Their neutrality and contributions to both Earth's forces and those who entered the Maker's Domain had cemented their reputation as an entity beyond politics—beyond mere corporations.

Their goodwill extended far and wide, and to Jeremy's father, that meant one thing:

"You can enjoy all the benefits of being their seed without truly giving anything in return. It's easy to see how much value they place on this friend of yours." His father's voice carried the weight of certainty. "So I say… give him to them. They've already promised not to harm him. They're even giving you visitation rights. They won't go back on their word."

Jeremy remained silent, absorbing his father's words.

These dealings weren't new to the older man. He had seen this play out time and time again—where underground arrangements were made to secure talent before their full potential was even realized. It was a well-known secret that even the LOA, for all its posturing, wasn't immune to such corruption.

The LOA played its role in preventing runners, but in reality, its agents were often the very ones facilitating discreet poaching operations. A single bribe was enough to turn an eye away, to let a newly awakened slip through unseen.

Money still held an unbreakable grip over the world.

Jeremy thought back to Sarina's veiled threat. The way she had treated Dan. The way the world treated Dan.

How rotten could this world truly be?

After a long breath, Jeremy nodded to himself. "I understand, Dad. I'll accept their offer."

Elsewhere, beneath the dazzling chandeliers of an opulent ballroom, a girl who had seen the future moved gracefully through a sea of young, ambitious elites.

Shirley stood adorned in an elegant gown, attending a gathering of the most promising talents—the very individuals heralded as the future of the Federation.

"Miss Shirley, I never expected to find you here today," came the smooth voice of a young man, his approach accompanied by a small entourage of equally notable figures.

Among them were several who bore visible mutations—subtle yet unmistakable marks of their awakened abilities. Once, such physical changes had been seen as monstrous. Now, they were badges of prestige.

"If I had known, I would've arranged a practice arena for your entertainment," he jested.

The young man was Gehmat Lessan, a member of a renowned Mage family, their name carrying weight as both high-ranking shareholders of the Boman Foundation and master crafters of Magecraft Firearms.

More accurately, they were the ones responsible for allowing the Boman Foundation access to their rune-based enchanting techniques, taking a lucrative share of the Foundation's profits in return.

Shirley could not afford to ignore him.

"Stop teasing me for my childish mistakes," Shirley replied smoothly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You should know how my brothers are. For me, that was just normal."

There was history between them—one Shirley did not mind entertaining, though she was well aware of Gehmat's intentions. But unlike others who harbored similar desires, his were harmless, nothing beyond simple admiration.

She knew how these gatherings worked. Every pair of eyes carried an agenda.

But this wasn't why she was here.

"Gehmat," Shirley said suddenly, shifting the conversation, "now that you're here, you should meet my friend Dana. She's a classmate of mine."

She gestured toward a young woman standing beside her—someone who seemed just a little too out of place among the extravagance. Dana hesitated briefly before stepping forward, offering a polite yet somewhat awkward greeting.

Gehmat raised a brow in mild surprise, taking a moment to assess Dana before shifting into small talk.

The conversation meandered until it landed on a subject that made Shirley's stomach tighten.

"Have you heard? The Calamity Knight is in the city."

A subtle chill ran through her, though she kept her expression neutral.

She wanted to leave. Immediately.

But she couldn't.

She had come here under her father's orders. Her purpose was to seek out promising seeds—future assets, just as she had done before.

But the truth was, she had no patience for this breed of talent.

Most of these so-called elites would one day be chosen by the Maker's Domain, and once that happened, they would never return.

Not because they had died.

No, they left by choice. They chose to abandon Earth, turning their backs on their homeland because the struggles here were too great, too inconvenient.

Shirley had no love for those kinds of people.

"You don't look well. Should we leave?" Dana asked, shifting uncomfortably in her elegant dress.

Shirley turned to her with a smirk. "Speaking of which, why are you being so polite here? Where's the Dana who used to twist my ear whenever I annoyed her?"

Dana sighed. "You know I'm not in my element. These people… they could ruin my life if they felt like it."

She glanced around the room, feeling small.

This wasn't just about wealth—it was about influence.

The conversations around them revolved around subjects she had no business discussing. And the amount of money they boasted about burning through in a single day was enough to crush the dreams of most people she knew.

Shirley chuckled. "You know, even I'm capable of that."

Dana blinked in mild surprise before nodding. "I guess… I'm just too used to your commoner side."

Shirley had entered college disguised as a commoner's child, living in a shared dorm with Dana. It was there that their friendship had taken root, nurtured by the simplicity of shared struggles.

"Hah, too much faith in little old me," Shirley mused, though her smile softened. "But I'll take that as a compliment."

Before she could continue, her phone buzzed.

Her expression shifted as she read the message, her demeanor turning unreadable.

"Something happened?" Dana asked, noting Shirley's silence.

Shirley exhaled. "Something good."

With that, she rose from her seat.

"I'll be leaving the party."

Dana frowned. "Then I'll come with you. There's no one here I know anyway."

Shirley shook her head.

"No, stay. Get used to this environment. Once you're employed by my father, you'll be dealing with these people a lot more."

Dana hesitated, clearly unwilling to be left alone, but before she could protest, Shirley was already gone.

"This is… fascinating."

The doctor leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the intricate scans displayed before him. The glowing projections painted a stark image—a brain riddled with damage, a body that should not be functioning.

"Extensive cerebral trauma. Severe neural degradation. And yet, he's capable of walking… even forming words?" His voice carried a mix of intrigue and disbelief as he tapped the edge of the glowing interface, cycling through different views of the report.

The boy defied medical logic.

Others in the room murmured in agreement, their collective curiosity piqued as they pored over the data. They were gathered in a facility hidden from public knowledge—a classified sector of the Boman Foundation, known only to those ranking high enough within its hierarchy.

"I don't understand it either," another doctor muttered, rubbing his temples. "By all accounts, this boy shouldn't even be alive."

The technology at their disposal allowed them to reconstruct the full extent of the damage Dan had sustained.

Half of his brain was atrophied beyond function. His neural pathways had adapted in unnatural ways, rerouting signals in erratic patterns that should have rendered him no more than a husk.

And yet…

The boy lived.

The boy spoke.

Even now, as he lay unconscious before them, his fingers twitched—his body refusing to surrender to its supposed limitations.

One of the younger female doctors, standing slightly apart from the group, frowned as she studied the data.

"…Sir, isn't it inhumane to operate on him?" she finally spoke, her voice hesitant. "His body is fragile. I don't think he would even survive most of our procedures."

Her words carried weight. Dan wasn't like the enhanced soldiers they normally worked on. His body lacked the necessary resilience—the sheer vitality needed to endure the extreme augmentation processes they specialized in.

Had he been stronger, they could have rebuilt him.

They had technology capable of brain implants that enhanced cognitive processing, of neural augments that could replace damaged tissue, and even synthetic spines for warriors who had suffered battlefield injuries.

But Dan…

Dan was nothing but a fragile mortal, one that could be snuffed out by the lightest miscalculation.

The head doctor sighed, rubbing his chin. "We'll have to find another way. High-quality potions are out of the question—his body would disintegrate from the surge of vitality alone."

Despite the grim reality, their orders remained unchanged.

The higherups had explicitly requested that this boy be brought to full cognitive function.

How, exactly, they would accomplish that was still an open question.

Just as their discussion was reaching an impasse, a soldier entered the room, his boots clicking sharply against the floor.

"Sir, an update has arrived." His posture was rigid, his tone clipped and professional. "Miss Kesa has ordered all procedures to be placed on hold. A visitor is expected to arrive soon."

The air in the room shifted slightly.

The doctors exchanged glances.

"…Who is it?" one of them asked.

The soldier's face remained unreadable as he responded.

"That information is classified."

And then, as if to punctuate his words, the facility's overhead lights shifted to a deep, warning red.

A metallic voice rang out through the intercom, cold and absolute.

"Lockdown protocol initiated."

The entire facility went silent.

There were few moments when the Boman Foundation sealed off an entire sector.

And every time it happened—it was never without reason.