Chapter 11: Free Time

Metropolitan Area, New Sovereign City – 1030 Hours

Jonathan strolled through the bustling streets of New Sovereign City, a black backpack slung over his shoulders. Today wasn't about training, tests, or trouble—it was about one of his favorite pastimes: model crafting. He was window shopping for molding tools and paints, prepping for his next miniature project.

His collection already featured detailed models of Lady Sentry and the Dominion. Now, he had his sights set on the Ageless Sorcerer. But to get it right, he needed the right materials—and a solid reference.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to his academy days. There had been a moment when he was asked to choose: the path of fire-styled principles or martial arts. He chose the latter, drawn to the style of Lady Sentry—renowned for her speed, precision, and assassin-like lethality.

He didn't regret that decision. Still, the thought lingered—What if? What if he had walked the other path?

Fire-styled martial arts offered devastating offense. Paired with wind, it could boost both speed and recovery. That synergy had made some candidates nearly unstoppable.

Very few students mastered any discipline by sixteen. Jonathan, however, had achieved black belt-level proficiency by fifteen. He wasn't your average student.

But fire manipulation was a whole different beast. Mastery took a lifetime. No ranking system, no belts. Just talent, dedication, and patience—something Jonathan lacked at the time.

He'd trained in the fire principle before, but the rigidity and lack of structure frustrated him. Eventually, he shifted to martial arts, where he found his rhythm. Still, he'd retained the basics of fire manipulation—just in case.

Eventually, he reached his destination: a quiet antique store nestled between larger buildings. Inside, relics of history surrounded him—sculptures, paintings, and forgotten collectibles of heroes from another time.

As he browsed, a familiar voice called out.

"Jonathan?"

He turned and smiled. "Alicia."

Behind the counter stood Alicia, one of the shop's owners and his childhood friend. She was brushing dust from an old frame.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

"Just looking for something," he replied. "You still have any references of the Ageless Sorcerer?"

Alicia's smile faded. "I'm sorry. Nexlark instructed us not to display anything related to him anymore."

Jonathan frowned. "Wait, what? Why?"

She lowered her voice. "I don't know exactly. A few months ago, they started pulling down all his relics. Paintings, busts, even books. It's like they want to erase him."

"That doesn't make sense…" he muttered.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said with a shrug.

He sighed. "Looks like I won't be finishing that model anytime soon."

Alicia leaned in, voice lowered. "Actually… Grandpa stashed away some of the Sorcerer's relics in the basement. We didn't throw everything out. Just—don't tell anyone, alright?"

Jonathan perked up. "I won't say a word. Promise."

"Good." She smiled. "I'll dig around and find something for you. Come back tomorrow."

"I will. Thanks, Alicia." He gave her a grateful nod and stepped back outside.

---

Elsewhere in the City – 1100 Hours

Two women ran barefoot through the crowded streets, high heels discarded. Behind them, four gangsters pushed their way through the crowd, trying to keep up.

"Damn it!" barked the red-haired leader, slamming a fist into the shoulder of the mohawked thug beside him.

"Ow! What was that for?" the mohawk growled.

"If you weren't such a wimp, we'd have cornered them!"

Bystanders eyed the gang warily and kept their distance—these thugs screamed trouble.

Scanning the street, one of them spotted movement. "They're heading into the Alleys!"

"Well, what're you waiting for?" snapped the redhead. "Go!"

---

The Alleys

Dark, narrow, and reeking of decay, the Alleys were no place for a clean getaway. The two women ducked into a corner, panting heavily.

"Who were those guys?" the redhead asked between breaths.

"I don't know… I called the enforcers and Nexlark for help," the brunette said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "They said twenty-five minutes."

"That was twenty-five minutes ago! Did you activate the tracker?"

"No. No signal down here!"

Suddenly, they heard it—familiar, taunting laughter closing in like hyenas. Panic flared in their eyes.

Mouths shut tight, they moved quickly toward the exit—only to be stopped by a thug with a mohawk stepping into their path.

"This way, boys!" he yelled.

The other three appeared behind them, cornering the two women.

"No escape this time, ladies," the red-haired leader sneered.

The redhead didn't hesitate. She lunged at the mohawk, taser in hand. Crack! The thug screamed as voltage shot through him.

The brunette tried to run, but a thug grabbed her by the hair. "You're coming with us to meet the boss!"

"Should we chase the other one?" another asked.

"Let her go," the leader said, smirking. "She'll come back for her friend."

A cloth muffled the brunette's scream as she was dragged away.

---

Back on the Streets

The red-haired woman bolted barefoot into the main road. Eyes wide with fear, she turned a corner—and collided with someone.

They both hit the pavement.

"Ow! What was that all about?" the young man groaned, sitting up.

She looked up and gasped. "Please! You have to help me—they've taken my friend!"

Jonathan blinked as the red-haired woman grabbed onto his arm, her eyes wide with panic.

"Please! My friend's being kidnapped! You have to help!"

Still seated on the pavement, Jonathan processed her words. The tremble in her voice was real. Her bare feet were scraped, her hands shaking, and her blouse was torn at the sleeve. She wasn't faking it.

"Where?" Jonathan asked, already rising to his feet.

She pointed back toward the alley. "Down the narrow street, past the market stalls—please!"