Chapter 16

Awakening Flow

I wake up.

But something's different.

My body feels... altered. Heightened. And as I sit up, the morning light creeping faintly through the curtains, I catch a reflection of myself in the dark screen of my phone.

My pupils are dark crimson, like the embers of a dying fire, and my irises are an electric blue, glowing faintly with an unnatural light. My aura pulses—a fusion of madness and destruction, heavy and sharp like the edge of a blade honed for war. My veins are slightly raised, a sickly blue-violet, as if my blood itself is burning to keep up with the demands of my spirit. A trickle of blood leaks from the corner of my mouth and flows slowly down my chin, like a silent offering.

Then I hear it.

[System Notification]

New Flow State Unlocked: DESTROYER MADNESS FLOW (Rank SS+)

Description: A manifestation of hatred, pain, instinct, and madness. While active, the user operates beyond their physical and mental limits. Each successful dribble, beat, or pass increases physical and cognitive attributes temporarily. All enhancements stack and are removed once flow ends. Overuse may damage the body and mind if left unchecked.

I exhale slowly.

This... is different.

This is more than just flow. It's deeper. Darker. It feels like something inside me has been born, not just awakened. A madness forged from pain, channeled into precision.

I stand up and feel my body. I'm not sure what's changed exactly, but I can feel it humming just beneath my skin—like a caged beast waiting to be unshackled.

I glance at my phone. 5:03 AM.

The world is still asleep.

But I'm wide awake.

Training Field – 5:28 AM

I dress quickly, grab a ball, and head to the field alone. The morning air is cold, biting at my lungs with each breath. But I don't care. I drop the ball at my feet.

Activate: Destroyer Madness Flow.

My eyes shift instantly—the pupils become dark crimson, the irises radiate that same violent blue. My aura bursts out in full bloom—red and black like dried blood and dead roses, twisting around me like a storm.

The ball becomes the enemy, and my body becomes a weapon.

I move without hesitation.

Tap. Drag. Burst. Twist. Cut. Flick.

My feet work the ball like a sculptor carving emotion into stone—every touch laced with violence, creativity, and intention. I heel-flick the ball upward, spin into a 180-degree turn, then kick the ball over a stationary dummy.

Before it even hits the ground, I twist midair into a Scorpion position, trap the ball between my feet, and spin again—twisting and folding my body like a predator in flight. As I release, the ball bounces.

Boom.

I activate Kaiser Impact.

The strike is nuclear. The ball screams as it soars into the goal like a bullet, and I feel the Madness Flow begin to fade. I collapse onto the turf, panting heavily, blood still lightly trickling from the edge of my mouth.

That power...

If I use it fully—truly, deeply—I can double my speed, elevate my reactions, strike harder, think faster. It's like stacking all versions of me at once, refined into a single monster.

I get up slowly, a small smirk on my face.

Gym – 6:11 AM

I arrive at the gym, soaked in sweat, still buzzing with energy. I stretch, loosen up my limbs, and stand in front of a thick sandbag.

My eyes focus.

Side Kick. Kaiser Impact. Boom.

Left Leg. Boom.

Right Leg. Boom.

Then I begin building momentum.

180° spinning back kick. Boom.

360° roundhouse. Boom.

540° twist. Boom.

720° corkscrew. Boom.

Each strike sends ripples through the sandbag, the air vibrating with the force. The last kick makes the entire gym echo with a metallic ring, and the bag swings violently on its chain.

My body is drenched, sweat dripping onto the floor in puddles, muscles twitching from the intensity. I take a long shower, letting the water burn into my back and shoulders, washing away the blood and grime.

But the fire inside me doesn't fade.

City Streets – 9:03 AM

Later that morning, I find myself in a forgotten part of town. Narrow alleys, cracked pavement, murals fading on ancient brick walls.

And then I see it.

A game.

A street match.

A bunch of teens, barefoot or wearing torn sneakers, dancing with the ball like it was born in their blood. Their footwork is poetry, full of rhythm, chaos, and beauty. They're playing for love. For freedom. For the joy of it.

My eyes narrow on one kid in particular.

Mateo.

That's what the others call him.

He doesn't shout or draw attention. He doesn't dance like the others. He waits. Silent. Calm. Calculating. His movement reminds me of an owl—silent and deadly, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but ready to kill with a flicker of motion.

He glides through the small space, then—out of nowhere—executes a flick-spin so smooth the defender stumbles backward. Then a no-look backheel pass, perfectly timed, slicing open the field like a scalpel.

And the shot?

Straight to the top corner.

The game erupts in laughter and applause, the kind only street football gives you. But I stay silent.

Drawn.

Focused.

Something about this Mateo… it stirs a new curiosity in me. A puzzle I want to solve. A fire that whispers: there's more to learn.

I walk away slowly, the image of his calm, lethal style burned into my mind.

I have Destroyer Madness Flow now.

But maybe...

I've just found the next piece I need.

To evolve again.