Night fell over Guarly.
Inside a large house, Maxwell sat alone in the living room on a single sofa, legs crossed, fingers interlaced, a thoughtful expression on his face. Reyik stood near the kitchen hallway, biting into an apple.
"So worried about summoning your weakling sergeants here?" he said through a mouthful.
The military man glared at him and replied coldly, "Shut up, mercenary. When I ask for your opinion, give it. Until then, keep your thoughts to yourself—they're not required."
The white-haired man took another bite of his apple. After swallowing, he smiled and walked to an armchair, sitting with his legs stretched out.
"You should stick to my contract, Cap," he said casually. "I was hired to help conquer Guarly. I sent one of my men and he accomplished the objective—he shattered the city's morale. But one of your idiot sergeants couldn't kill a few brats and finish the job."
Maxwell locked eyes with him. Silence hung between them for a moment. Then the dark-haired officer smiled.
Slowly, the entire house began to tremble. The front windows cracked softly, and a faint wave of energy spread outward, reaching the street and slowly splitting the pavement.
Reyik stood up, drawing one of the machetes from his back and pointing it at the officer. "This little Fiu game is amusing, but the Secretaries sent me here at your request. And while I have to obey you, I have a policy—finish things quickly. Your infinite stupidity is what keeps me from going out and slaughtering a few teenagers."
Maxwell rose calmly, arms relaxed at his sides. "Don't make me laugh. Do you really think you have any chance against the Barrier of Power? Those runts only have to say his name and he'll appear. I know your contract forces you to do whatever is required to fulfill the request, but the one standing in your way is the most powerful being in existence right now. And believe me—it would be a pleasure to send you away just to stop your daily complaints."
Reyik grinned. "He'll only appear if they manage to say his full name."
"And how do you plan to stop that?" Maxwell asked.
Reyik drew his second machete. "By having a little fun and killing them before they can say it—or by cutting out their tongues."
They each stepped forward. The pressure in the air became so intense that roof tiles shattered and nearby houses were damaged. Just as their clash of energy reached its peak, two blades pressed against Reyik's back, abruptly ending the confrontation.
The mercenary laughed, while Maxwell said sternly, "You took too long, sergeants."
Both the man in the beret and the woman in tactical gear with metallic plates on her vest apologized. Maxwell returned to his seat.
"At least you arrived before he did," he added.
Reyik sheathed one weapon. The two sergeants kept their blades firmly against his back, which amused him greatly. He tossed his machete into the air—using that brief moment to spin around, grab Jane by the neck, and kick Bouler hard enough to smash him into a wall, leaving a deep impact mark.
Laughing with satisfaction, Reyik watched Jane struggle uselessly in his grip. He pulled her closer, inhaling her scent with delight.
"You smell nice," he said, licking her cheek. "Maybe one of these days I'll break that feisty attitude of yours in bed."
With her remaining strength, Jane landed a weak kick to his stomach. Reyik smiled wider.
"So you like it rough? Fine—have it your way, bitch."
Without effort, he hurled her toward a wall at tremendous speed.
Maxwell stood, placing his right hand against his temple in a formal salute. Jane was saved at the last instant by a man clad in white armor with black lines, a hood hiding his face in shadow.
"General, it's a pleasure to have you here," Maxwell said, lowering his hand.
"May I have a moment, Captain?" the armored man asked.
"Of course, sir. Take all the time you need."
The general turned his head toward Reyik. The mercenary bowed mockingly.
"A pleasure, Your Excellency."
The general did not move a muscle. He simply observed him and said calmly, "Mercenary…"
In the next instant, Reyik's body slammed into the floor. He didn't understand what was happening—something was crushing him. His muscles… no, his entire body felt unbearably heavy, as if his own flesh were crushing his bones.
He tried to focus his Fiu into his muscles to move, but it was useless. Whatever the armored man was doing far exceeded his power.
Minutes passed. Reyik felt himself being compressed further and further. Enraged, he increased his power, barely managing to roll onto his back. Seconds later, he spat blood, his ribcage threatening to implode and rupture his organs.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the crushing force vanished.
Reyik coughed violently, blood splattering over himself.
The general took a single step forward and said calmly, "Do not disrespect any member of the Directorate again. Understood?"
On all fours, Reyik spat blood and replied, "Y-yes, sir." He smiled faintly. This one's dangerous… If he hadn't caught me by surprise, fighting him would've been thrilling.
The general turned to Maxwell. "Apologies for taking longer than necessary. You asked me to come, and I felt it best to make my position clear."
"No apology needed," Maxwell replied with a smile. "You saved me the trouble of teaching that rat a lesson. Please, have a seat."
"That won't be necessary. Tell me—what do you need?"
Maxwell's expression hardened. "As you know, we're facing the Barrier of Power's new students. If the adolescents say his full name, he'll intervene. After the weapons shipments we received, they've already proven they can match our sergeants. Sending someone too strong—or too many soldiers—would be a waste, since they won't hesitate to rely on their master.
"We need a balanced fight—one where our side is superior and finishes the job. They mustn't realize they're outmatched. Their growth is accelerating; our forces must be strong enough to toy with their pride. That's why I ask you to train Sergeants Bouler and Jane—to raise them to another level."
The general remained silent for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed. Sacrificing units makes no sense when the enemy has a trump card we can't counter. And if they grow exponentially, sending slightly stronger opponents will only make them stronger."
He gestured lightly with his hand. Both sergeants followed him outside, vanishing moments later.
Maxwell smiled confidently as Reyik rose to his feet, brushing himself off. The blood he'd spilled was gone. He looked tired—but otherwise unharmed. Without questioning it, Maxwell headed to his room, calling soldiers on his phone to repair the damage from their brief dispute.
Morning arrived—the final day the youths had to complete their master's task, and their last day before returning to Guarly.
They woke earlier than usual and ate cereal in silence, each lost in thought.
Alexa sighed heavily. I can't believe I was the last to run on water. How am I supposed to defeat the most powerful being in the universe?
Emily gazed at the beach with a gentle smile, remembering the days of fun with her friends.
Francesca finished first and placed her bowl in the sink. Turning around, she noticed Tyron absentmindedly playing with his breakfast, looking unusually foolish. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Is everything okay, Tyron?" she asked flatly.
He turned, smiled faintly, and nodded—then returned to his food. As he ate, he thought about the messages Antonio had sent to encourage him. He keeps supporting me even though I left him on read. Even after his mistake, and his mother blaming me for his addiction, he came to apologize. I trust him too much…
Tyron finished with a heavy sigh, wondering whether it was right to keep the secret—that he was the vigilante who had stopped Antonio—from his best friend.
Carmen stepped out of her room, yawning and scratching the back of her head. She intended to wash her face but noticed the kitchen light was on. Concerned, she went in—finding the teens already dressed for the day.
Her niece wore athletic clothes. The two girls were in bikinis. Tyron was shirtless, wearing blue shorts with light-blue stripes and yellow flip-flops.
Carmen raised an eyebrow. "Why are you all up at five-thirty?"
"Good morning," Tyron smiled.
"We're heading to the beach," Francesca said, stretching.
"So early?" Carmen rubbed her eye. "Alright… I guess I'll have to make lunch again." Damn it. Another cooking tutorial.
"That won't be necessary," Emily said sweetly. "We'll have lunch at the beach."
Before Carmen could ask more, they were already gone.
By midday, the sun was high. On the coast, the youths fell freely toward the ocean—thanks to their training, they could land on the water and immediately sprint back toward shore.
Jayden stood, adjusting his sunglasses. "Come on, brats. Show me what you've got."
They advanced together, then split. Emily leapt forward, anchoring herself in the sand. Francesca used her shoulder as a springboard to accelerate—but Jayden's gust of wind sent them flying again.
They fell in perfect synchronization, touching the water once and rolling to absorb the impact.
Exhausted, veins bulging, sweat pouring, Emily stepped forward and ran at a slower pace. Tyron calmed his breathing, then sprinted after her. Alexa analyzed them—speed wasn't the issue; Jayden's attention was.
She hid her right hand behind her back, forming a small sphere of air to distract him. The energy drain weakened her balance, water splashing beneath her feet. With little time left, she jogged forward.
Emily reached the shore first—but her legs trembled. She collapsed from exhaustion. Tyron fell beside her moments later.
Alexa approached slowly, swallowing hard. Her mind faltered. Halfway, she sank. She raised her hand—but the water touched her air sphere, causing a small explosion and ripples.
Tyron sat in the sand, catching his breath. He noticed Francesca hadn't charged with them—meaning she'd used them as a distraction. He turned toward the master—but Jayden was already sitting under his umbrella.
Tyron looked back to the ocean, worried—until Jayden pointed left.
There sat Francesca by the rocks, holding a bucket with twelve fish.
"I'm not stupid," she said. "We've been training since seven—five straight hours. One more attempt would be insane."
She handed the bucket to Tyron.
"Can we rest, Master?" she asked.
"Yes," Jayden replied, pulling out his teapot.
"Good. Let's make lunch. I'll gather firewood."
"And Alex?" Emily asked.
At that moment, Alexa was washed ashore by the waves. Francesca smirked. "Even the ocean doesn't want her."
Later, as the fish cooked, Alexa, Emily, and Tyron played in the water, laughing and splashing. Francesca rested under the umbrella, pondering how to surpass the challenge.
Behind her, Jayden lit his own fire with a thin, steady flame from his lips. Francesca sat up.
"Master… may I ask something?"
He nodded.
"What happens if someone uses Dark Fiu without knowledge?"
"Nothing—unless they're corrupted by the sensation of power."
"And trauma makes it surge, right?"
"Yes. When anger, fear, or pain consume you. Some seek phobias to increase it. Others become pure rage. Some trigger emotional explosions."
"Explosions?"
"Which of the three do you value most?" he asked, pointing.
"Not the idiot," she said. "I value Emi and Ty more."
"What would you feel if one of them died?"
"Rage."
"Not just rage—enough to open your Dark Fiu unconsciously."
She nodded slowly. "So people killed loved ones for power."
"Exactly."
"My last question," she said quietly. "When will you teach me what I want?"
Jayden poured tea. "Be patient. I'll teach you the Oscillating Style—but first, improve your understanding of Fiu and your swordsmanship. Your goal is closer than you think."
She nodded, returning to the fire.
After lunch and rest, they returned to the ocean. Carmen appeared, flirting with Jayden—until he showed her a gold ring.
"It always works," he said, removing it. "Now, back to training."
At last, Francesca succeeded—distracting him with a Fiu blast long enough to touch his hand.
Emily, Alexa, and Tyron followed, coordinating their attacks.
"Well done," Jayden said, bowing. "Rest. Tomorrow, we begin technique training."
That evening, Tyron sat on a beach chair, phone in hand—until Francesca joined him, radiant in a white bikini top, loose hair dancing in the breeze.
"You look beautiful," he blurted.
She smiled, sat beside him, and shared a mate. As the sunset painted the sky, they talked, laughed, and shared a peaceful moment.
Far away, in a crimson desert beneath a strange sky, a hooded figure signed a blood-stained contract.
Andrew smiled. "Time to collect my payment—and maybe kill a few more of the master's students."