Chapter 4: The Name That Shouldn’t Exist

Julian stared at the name on the file.

Julial.

It wasn't possible.

That name shouldn't exist.

His chest tightened as old, buried memories threatened to surface. Flashes of a forgotten past. A voice he couldn't quite remember. A shadow standing beside him in his nightmares.

But no matter how hard he tried to recall…

There was nothing.

It was like a piece of his life had been ripped away—leaving only a name behind.

Julial.

And now, that name was tied to the most dangerous organization in the school.

A New Target

Leon watched Julian's expression carefully. "You recognize the name."

Julian forced himself to relax. "No. Never heard of it."

Leon raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Julian nodded. "Yeah."

Lying was second nature to him. But this time, the words felt heavy.

Who the hell was Julial? And why did the name make his skin crawl?

Leon sighed, pushing more files across the table. "Whoever they are, they're important. I found their name in some old school records—but there's no student profile, no attendance history. It's like they never existed."

Julian flipped through the files. Nothing. No photos, no information. Just a single name buried in old documents.

But if this Julial didn't exist, then…

Why was their name connected to the drug trade?

And more importantly—

Why did Julian feel like he should remember them?

The Underground Arena

Julian pushed his thoughts aside. If he wanted answers, he had to start with the dealers.

And there was only one place where they felt safe enough to talk.

The Underground Arena.

A secret fight club beneath the school, where gangsters, drug dealers, and ranked fighters settled their scores with blood. No rules. No teachers.

Only the strong survived.

Julian pulled his hoodie over his head and stepped through the hidden entrance behind the gym.

The moment he walked in, the stench of sweat and blood filled the air.

The arena was packed. Students circled the fight pit, shouting and placing bets as two fighters tore each other apart in the ring.

Julian barely glanced at the match. His eyes locked onto a familiar figure leaning against the wall, counting cash.

The dealer from the cafeteria.

Julian walked up without hesitation.

The dealer noticed him and smirked. "Oh, look. The loudmouth junior. You here to buy?"

Julian didn't answer.

Instead, he grabbed the dealer by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

The crowd barely reacted—violence was normal here.

"Start talking," Julian muttered. "Who's your boss?"

The dealer laughed, blood dripping from his lips. "You think I'd tell you?"

Julian didn't smile.

Instead, he whispered, "I know about Julial."

The dealer's face instantly drained of color.

For the first time, Julian saw fear in his eyes.

"Where is he?" Julian pressed.

The dealer swallowed hard. His hands shook. He wasn't just scared—he looked terrified.

"You don't… mess with him," the dealer stammered. "If you know what's good for you, you'll pretend you never heard that name."

Julian's grip tightened. "Too late."

The dealer hesitated. Then, in a low voice, he whispered—

"He's watching us."

Julian froze. "What?"

The dealer's eyes darted past Julian's shoulder, toward the darkest corner of the arena.

Julian followed his gaze.

And there, in the shadows—stood a figure with the same white hair and green tips as Julian.

Watching.

Waiting.

And then—he disappeared.