BEGINING

Thunder rumbled across the sky, a low, ominous growl that reverberated through every corner of Japan. Dark clouds, black and roiling, blanketed the entire country, spreading like an inkblot across the heavens. Bolts of lightning slashed through the thick storm, illuminating the turbulent sky with jagged flashes of white and yellow. Rain lashed down in relentless torrents, and the howling wind carried with it a sense of foreboding.

Civilians peered out from windows and huddled in doorways, their faces reflecting unease as they watched the storm's ferocity. The news called it a "freak weather phenomenon," a passing disturbance that posed no real threat. But to those on the ground, it was clear that this storm was no natural event. There was a weight to it, a charged pressure in the air that made skin prickle and lungs tighten, as if the very atmosphere had changed.

Far from public view, in a hidden command center buried deep beneath Tokyo, a small group of operatives monitored the storm with unblinking intensity. The room buzzed with activity, a chaotic symphony of clicking keyboards, flashing monitors, and hushed voices.

"Energy output is spiking again!" a technician shouted, his trembling fingers flying across his keyboard. The glowing monitors before him displayed graphs and data streams that climbed at alarming rates, red warnings flashing with urgency.

A woman at a neighboring console frowned, running yet another diagnostic. "This doesn't make sense. The storm's patterns are… unnatural. It's as if something's guiding it."

At the center of the room stood their leader, a figure cloaked in shadow. The glow of the largest monitor illuminated their sharp features and steely gaze. Unlike the technicians, they remained still—calm, unreadable. But there was a sharpness in their eyes, a quiet tension just beneath the surface.

Finally, they spoke, their voice low and deliberate. "We can't let this escalate. Redirect the storm's energy to a safe location. Concentrate it all into a controlled strike."

"Understood," the technicians replied in unison, scrambling to obey. Commands were input, systems redirected, and instruments hummed with life. The storm's chaotic energy was drawn to a single target—an empty field on the outskirts of Osaka, chosen to minimize potential casualties.

Yet unease lingered in the air. The leader's expression remained impassive, but their hands were clenched behind their back. They had seen anomalies before, but this… this was something different. Something that couldn't be controlled.

"On my mark," the leader said, their voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Release."

The operatives activated their equipment, and the storm responded. Lightning twisted and coiled above the designated field, drawn together like iron filings to a magnet. The roiling clouds converged, their immense power condensing into a single, colossal bolt of lightning. The ground trembled as the pressure built to a crescendo.

The sky erupted in a blinding flash.

Meanwhile…

Ikazuchi Kohan sat cross-legged on the damp grass of a quiet park in Kyoto, a far cry from the chaos engulfing the rest of the country. The storm had reached here, too, but for now, it was just a distant rumble in the sky. Raindrops rolled off his black hoodie as he tilted his head back, watching the lightning dance across the heavens. There was something mesmerizing about it, something almost… inviting.

A crack of thunder snapped him out of his thoughts. He sighed, running a hand through his short, wet hair. Some storm.

At fifteen years old, Ikazuchi felt like he was constantly in limbo. He did well in school, but never really tried. He had friends, but never really connected. His life wasn't bad, but it was… restless. Like something inside him was waiting for a spark to ignite—something he didn't even understand yet.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Jin.

Jin: You seeing this weather? Crazy, right?

Ikazuchi: Yeah. It's… weird.

Jin: Stay safe, man. Feels like something bad's gonna happen.

Ikazuchi stared at the screen for a moment before typing back.

Ikazuchi: You too.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, a low hum filled the air. It started faint, almost imperceptible, but quickly grew louder. The ground beneath him trembled.

He looked up to see the storm clouds above him swirling unnaturally, converging into a single point.

His eyes widened. Lightning gathered overhead, brighter and more blinding than anything he'd ever seen.

Then, in a heartbeat, it struck.

When the lightning hit, the world went white.

Sometime Later…

Ikazuchi woke up to cold metal against his back. Harsh fluorescent lights burned into his retinas. The sterile smell of disinfectant and ozone filled the air.

"Subject is regaining consciousness," a voice announced.

Ikazuchi groaned, his body aching down to the marrow. When he tried to sit up, he realized his wrists and ankles were restrained. His heartbeat spiked.

"W-What's going on?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

A woman in a lab coat stepped forward, clipboard in hand. "Subject shows signs of increased cellular regeneration and heightened neural activity," she reported, ignoring his question. "Unprecedented results following Spark Awakening."

Spark? Ikazuchi barely had time to process before a jolt of white-hot pain shot through his body. His muscles convulsed. The restraints dug into his skin.

Somewhere in the haze, a deep voice spoke. "Fascinating."

When he woke again, something felt… off.

The air hummed with energy. His skin buzzed like static had woven itself into his nerves. The restraints holding him snapped without warning, the metal disintegrating like brittle twigs.

Shouts erupted around him. He moved before he could think, instincts overriding logic. A guard lunged—Ikazuchi dodged. His hands shot out, and lightning cracked from his fingertips, sending sparks cascading across the sterile lab.

"Contain him!" someone yelled, but it was too late.

The next moments were chaos. Guards fell, machinery overloaded, alarms screamed. Something inside him had been let loose.

Then, just as fast as it came, the energy vanished. His legs buckled. He barely had time to process what had happened before the world tilted—

And he collapsed.

Hours later, a figure watched the security footage from a dimly lit room. Their expression was unreadable as they replayed the incident again.

A second person stood beside them. "What's the verdict?"

The figure exhaled slowly. "He's dangerous. We need to bring him in before someone else does."

"And if he refuses?"

The leader's eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. "Then he becomes a problem."

The others murmured in agreement, but one figure remained silent. The leader, their face obscured by shadow, finally spoke. "Dispose of him. Make it clean."

The facility lay in ruins. Smoke curled from shattered equipment, the sharp scent of burnt wiring and scorched plastic thick in the air. The reinforced lab, once sterile and controlled, had become a war zone.

And at the center of it all lay Ikazuchi Kohan.

His unconscious body was sprawled on the cold floor, surrounded by overturned machinery and fallen guards. The aftermath of his awakening was evident—electrical burns on the walls, broken restraints fused together as if welded by sheer force. His breathing was steady but shallow, his body twitching occasionally as if still caught between this world and whatever had claimed him during the storm.

In the upper levels of the facility, the organization's leaders convened.

"He's a threat," one of them stated bluntly. "We've seen what he's capable of. If we can't control him, we have to eliminate him."

A murmur of agreement passed through the room. Cold, logical, unanimous. There was no moral debate. Ikazuchi was an anomaly, and anomalies that couldn't be contained had to be erased.

But one figure remained silent.

They watched the security footage loop—Ikazuchi's body convulsing with energy, the sheer desperation in his eyes when the first surge had overtaken him. He hadn't wanted to destroy anything. He had simply lost control.

Even now, lying unconscious in the rubble, he looked more like a kid than a threat.

The order was given. The execution was to be clean. Efficient. A quiet disposal.

But when the time came, when the assigned operative stood over Ikazuchi's limp form, weapon in hand…

They hesitated.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly. The silence stretched long and thin.

The operative—Agent Yoru—exhaled slowly. It would be easy. A quick pull of the trigger, and the problem would be solved. Just another mission.

And yet.

Their fingers curled around the grip of the gun, but they couldn't bring themselves to raise it. This wasn't right.

Ikazuchi had been unconscious for hours—he had no idea what had happened, no control over the destruction he'd caused. Executing him like this wasn't justice. It was murder.

Yoru ground their teeth.

Damn it.

In one swift motion, they holstered the gun, bent down, and—against every order they had been given—lifted Ikazuchi into their arms.

"You better be worth this, kid."

The facility was still in lockdown, but Yoru knew its back corridors better than anyone. Moving swiftly, avoiding cameras, they navigated through emergency exit routes designed for high-level operatives. The weight of Ikazuchi's unconscious body was nothing compared to the weight of what they were about to do.

They reached an unmarked service door and keyed in an override code. The metal barrier hissed open, revealing the storm-soaked alleyways of Osaka. The rain had softened to a drizzle, washing away the blood and sweat as if the night itself wanted to erase what had transpired.

Yoru laid Ikazuchi down in the shadows of a narrow alley, propping him against the damp brick wall. They studied his face for a moment—pale, still, strangely peaceful. No one would ever believe that this boy had torn through a fortified facility like a force of nature.

They pulled a hood over his head and stepped back.

"If you're smart, you'll disappear."

Then, without another word, Yoru vanished into the night

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Ikazuchi registered was the cold.

Not the sterile chill of the lab, but something real—the damp stone pressing against his back, the faint drizzle of rain against his skin.

His eyes fluttered open. His vision was blurred, hazy. The world around him was an alleyway, narrow and lined with rusted dumpsters. A low hum filled the air—the city waking up.

And then—footsteps.

"Shit—hey! Kid, you okay?"

A man crouched beside him, mid-thirties, the type who'd seen too much but never looked away. His clothes were worn, his hands calloused. A construction worker, maybe. Someone used to getting up at ungodly hours.

Ikazuchi tried to speak, but his throat was raw. His limbs felt like lead, his muscles aching with something unnatural.

"Hold on—stay right there. I'll call an ambulance."

Panic surged through Ikazuchi's veins. No hospital.

But he couldn't move, couldn't stop the man as he pulled out his phone and dialed.

Within minutes, sirens cut through the quiet morning.

---

White walls. Blinding lights. The sterile scent of antiseptic.

Ikazuchi's eyes snapped open.

The rhythmic beeping of machines greeted him, along with the tight pull of an IV in his arm. Hospital. He was in a damn hospital.

His pulse quickened. This was wrong. He had to leave.

But as he shifted, pain lanced through his body. His muscles burned, his nerves still raw from whatever had happened to him. He gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, scanning the room.

Two nurses stood by the door, whispering. He caught fragments of their conversation.

"His wounds—should've taken weeks to heal.""Doctor says it's unnatural. The readings on his EEG—""And his eyes—did you see his eyes?"

Ikazuchi exhaled sharply. They knew something was off.

He had to get out. Now.

He yanked the IV from his arm, wincing at the sting. His clothes were folded on a chair by the bed—his hoodie was ruined, torn and scorched, but wearable. He threw it on, shoving past the dizziness as he moved toward the door.

A nurse turned just in time to see him stagger out.

"Wait! You can't leave yet!"

Ikazuchi bolted.

His legs were sluggish at first, but then the energy kicked in. Each step felt lighter, faster, as if his body was remembering something it shouldn't be capable of.

The hospital halls blurred around him. Nurses shouted. An alarm blared.

A pair of orderlies moved to block the exit.

Ikazuchi reacted without thinking. Electricity flared at his fingertips.

The lights overhead flickered.

The orderlies hesitated. That was all he needed. He dropped low, sliding between them, and burst through the emergency exit into the open air.

Cold wind. City streets. Freedom.

But not for long.

Days had passed since the storm. 

Ikazuchi sat on a lone park bench, staring blankly at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily overhead, completely indifferent to the fact that his entire life had been flipped inside out. 

What the hell even happened to me?

It didn't make sense. None of it. The storm, the pain, the way the world had shattered around him that night—it should've killed him. But instead… he had walked away. 

No—he had changed.

His hair, no matter how many times he tried to flatten it, stayed spiked like he'd been electrocuted. His reflection in his phone screen showed bright, unnatural yellow eyes staring back at him. The first time he noticed them in the hospital mirror, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin. 

They glow in the dark.

That was the worst part. He had checked.

More than once, he had locked himself in his room, turned off all the lights, and just stared at his own reflection, hoping the glow was just in his imagination. It wasn't. 

And then there was the feeling. Like his body wasn't even his anymore. Every step he took, every breath, felt like it had been fine-tuned somehow. Sharper. Lighter. Almost… too easy.

It wasn't normal. None of this was normal.

And yet, nobody seemed to notice. 

His mom had just been relieved that he was okay. The doctors had thrown around words like "shock response" and "temporary physiological effects." His friends barely reacted, beyond the usual, "Dude, you got struck by lightning? That's sick."

Like it was nothing. 

Like the world was trying to pretend it never happened.

So, Ikazuchi sat there, watching the clouds move, trying to pretend along with them. 

It wasn't working. 

Then, he saw them.

At first, he thought they were just random businessmen. Clean suits, polished shoes, the whole corporate look. But the way they moved—too precise, too in-sync—set off alarm bells in his head. 

Then, he noticed the badges. 

Small, silver insignias pinned to their chests. A stylized spark etched into the metal. 

Ikazuchi stiffened. 

The group stopped in front of him. The woman at the front—a tall, composed figure with razor-sharp eyes—gave him a once-over, as if she were confirming something. 

And then, she spoke. 

"Ikazuchi."

He blinked. His name sounded too certain coming from her mouth, like she'd known him for years. 

"We need to talk."

Ikazuchi swallowed hard, his body suddenly very aware of how trapped he was between them. His heart was already hammering in his chest, but he forced his voice to stay steady. 

"…Who are you?"

The woman tilted her head slightly, then sighed. "I know this is a lot, but let's not waste time. You've noticed it, haven't you? The changes. The things that don't make sense."

His hands clenched against his jeans. 

They know. 

They know about me.

"I—" His throat felt dry. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

One of the men behind her muttered something under his breath. The woman shot him a quick look before turning back to Ikazuchi. 

"Let's not play games. You should be dead, Ikazuchi."

A cold chill crawled up his spine. 

"That storm should've killed you. But instead, you woke up different."

Ikazuchi felt himself pressing back against the bench. He was scared. He didn't even care if it was obvious at this point—what else was he supposed to feel?

The woman's eyes softened, but only a little. "We're here to explain why."

Ikazuchi licked his lips, his throat tightening. "Who… who are you people?"

The woman exhaled. Then, finally—an answer. 

"We're from the Spark Syndicate. A group that watches over people like you—people who have awakened their Sparks."

Sparks?

That was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. 

"…What?" 

The woman raised a brow. "Your powers."

"My—" Ikazuchi almost laughed. This was a joke, right? "Hold on. Powers? Like… superhero powers?" 

The woman's face didn't so much as twitch. "Not quite. Sparks are… difficult to explain. They're rare manifestations, unique to each person. Some awaken through trauma, others through environmental catalysts. In your case…" She nodded towards him. "You were struck by an anomaly. A storm that was not a storm." 

Ikazuchi opened his mouth, then closed it. A storm that was not a storm? 

What the hell does that even mean? 

She continued before he could ask. "The fact that you survived means your body absorbed something from it—something powerful. And now, you're one of us." 

Ikazuchi stared. "You're telling me I have… superpowers." 

"Not superpowers. A Spark." 

"…That's the same thing." 

She almost smirked. Almost. 

Instead, she nodded to her team. One of them pulled out a small device, sleek and metallic, tapping a few buttons. A holographic screen flickered to life, displaying an endless list of names, locations, and data charts. 

She gestured to it. "These are the known Spark Awakened across the world." 

Ikazuchi couldn't breathe. 

This wasn't a joke. 

It was real. 

His hands trembled slightly. "This… isn't happening." 

The woman's voice softened. "I know it's a lot. But you need to understand—your world is bigger than you thought. And you are now part of something much, much larger." 

She paused, giving him a long look. "But we're not here to force you into anything." 

Ikazuchi barely processed her words. 

Everything—his entire reality—had just collapsed. 

The world he thought he knew? Fake

The life he had? Over. 

He wanted to wake up. He wanted to go back to before. But there was no 'before' anymore. 

She stood up. "We'll give you time. But soon, you'll have to choose." 

And just like that, they left. 

Ikazuchi sat there, unable to move. 

Because deep inside, he knew. 

Everything inside him screamed not to trust them.

But a smaller, quieter voice whispered: You don't have a choice.

Not anymore.

There was something he was missing. Nothing made sense. It was as if... There was something he was forgetting...