Night once again blankets the city as a new week begins.
Four shadows leap from one building to another. A shout of "WOOHOO!" echoes from the one dressed in yellow. Immediately, the girl in blue smacks him on the back of the head for potentially alerting nearby criminals. Without further trouble, they continue on until they reach Liz Tower, running straight up its wall by some unseen means. At the top, they sit down to rest.
The brown-haired boy removes the scarf from his face, lowers his hood, and steps onto the ledge. Taking a deep breath, he says with a grin, "I missed this—running, jumping, being in the air… it feels amazing! This is freedom!"
The girl in blue walks up behind him and smacks the back of his head again. "Stop shouting across the city like that, idiot!"
Alexa laughs at the scolding Tyron is receiving from the blue-eyed girl. The black-haired girl then turns to the brown-haired one, noticing she's sitting with her eyes closed, feet dangling over the drop.
"What are you thinking about, Emily?" she asks curiously.
Emily turns, removes her scarf, lowers her hood, and smiles. "I think I understand Ty now. It feels really good to be back up here."
The green-eyed girl smiles as she gazes at the beautiful city lights. The two of them stare out until the other pair approaches from behind. Francesca speaks up:
"I guess we all feel like this after being gone for two weeks. Still, Ty, it doesn't make you any less of an idiot for yelling."
Tyron, smiling as he looks over the city:
"Alright, alright. I'm just really glad to be back. By the way, Emily, Fran—how did you figure out that concentrating Fiu in your feet, like when we trained to walk on water, would work for climbing walls too?"
Emily, smiling gently:
"Fran figured that if we could walk on water, sticking to walls would be a bit easier."
Francesca, looking out at the city:
"It's actually much easier. Water is amorphous, so it's more complicated. Here, you just focus your energy on the soles of your feet and keep the image of yourself walking firmly in your mind."
Tyron, putting his hands behind his head:
"That's another thing I'm happy about! Now I finally know how Spider-Man feels walking on walls."
Alexa, sitting down:
"I doubt it feels exactly the same."
Emily, checking her phone:
"Still, I wonder what happened these past few days. Even though we were gone, people are still talking about the vigilantes. What surprises me most is that criminals knocked out during those two weeks reported floating rocks—or rocks that moved on their own—according to the Guarly blog Nya created."
Francesca:
"I checked the news pages Nya sent us. They were as factual as possible—no conspiracy theories."
Tyron, pulling out his phone:
"Maybe the master left rocks he was controlling remotely with his Fiu."
Alexa, looking up at the sky:
"I don't think so. Maybe the master went back and forth from the beach."
Francesca, serious:
"Don't be ridiculous. The master may be fast, but my aunt's house is over three hundred and fifty kilometers from Guarly."
Emily:
"Well, Alex might be right. Remember after our fight with that sergeant here on the tower? The master took us from here to his cabin instantly, and that's over sixty-three kilometers by highway."
As the girls continue debating what the captured criminals meant by "floating stones," Tyron notices a message from Tamara:
"Hey, how was the beach?"
He smiles warmly, remembering the fun moments he shared with his friends, and replies, "It was great."
Before closing his phone, he notices his most recent chat with the redhead, who had written:
"Too bad, man. I wish you'd gone further. If you need any help, I'll be your Cupid."
Tyron smiles at the trust his best friend shows him. A pang of guilt follows—having to hide his identity as the one who stopped the cruel Erinios. But knowing his teammates accepted the pink-haired girl with purple streaks as part of the team, he wonders:
Could they accept him too?
He's about to ask out loud when Francesca suddenly says, "Robbery at a shop five blocks from here. Let's go."
She jumps into the void. The others follow. Tyron sighs at his own slowness, puts his scarf back on, and pulls up his hood before leaping after them.
At the cabin, despite it being one in the morning, the lights are on. A detective with long light-brown hair sets his beer can down on a low table.
"Jayden, what do you think about what I've got on the weapons case?"
The warrior rises from the floor where he'd been lying, scowling. "Welter, it's one a.m. I want to sleep, and you've still got two hours before I decide to kill you. Be quick and get out before you stain my house with that garbage beer."
Matías scratches his forehead. "You already read my investigation," he says, pointing at a stack of papers.
Jayden takes a few steps toward his room. "And what do you want, a gold star? Ask your question before I find something sharp."
The detective downs his beer, crushes the can, and tosses it into a nearby bin. "How is it possible that three major companies didn't file complaints after their vehicles were found carrying illegal goods?"
A heavy thud echoes from Jayden's room, followed by several more. "The three states you mention," Jayden calls out, "are already under the control of the Director's generals. If you've already notified the authorities, that's as far as your case goes."
Matías, opening the door:
"Generals?"
Jayden, yawning:
"The Director's most loyal soldiers. Power-wise, they're just below the leader himself—roughly equivalent to a standard Master-ranked fighter."
Matías, stepping down the porch stairs:
"So those provinces won't pursue the case out of fear?"
Jayden, gazing at the night sky:
"Fear, comfort, good pay—call it what you want. The point is, those places are already in enemy hands. Submitting that investigation would be a serious mistake."
He hands the papers back.
Matías, sighing:
"Then why haven't they finished conquering this province if they're so strong?"
Jayden, smiling faintly as he recalls something from months ago:
"I don't know. What matters is that the kids still have time to grow stronger—strong enough to free those places someday."
Matías, smiling slightly:
"I still can't believe Alexa is the younger sister of another military leader trying to dominate cities."
Jayden, serious:
"The Confederation didn't conquer six states because it wanted to, but to keep the Director in check. They have more power and soldiers, but their goals differ greatly from his. They prefer to limit him before he becomes a bigger problem."
Matías, walking to his patrol car:
"One less mad conqueror to worry about. It was a pleasure. Goodbye."
Jayden leans against the porch railing, yawns, and heads back inside. Turning off the living room lights, he enters his bedroom. Swords of many types line the walls. An open wardrobe reveals scrolls and scattered clothes—and, most striking of all, a large black metal box adorned with red dragons.
He opens it.
Inside are a necklace with green gems and white arrow motifs, several blue spheres, cards tied with ribbons of different colors, a white photo album with a golden heart, a map marking an island with a black letter M, and four fabric bracelets.
Jayden removes everything, takes out a small paper meant for framing, then puts everything back, closes the chest, and shoves it into the wardrobe. He lies down on the floor to rest.
Afternoon arrives. The forest sways under a gentle summer breeze. Near the cabin, Jayden sits beneath a tree, pouring steaming tea. Behind him, metal clashes echo—the youths are sparring.
Emily retreats, blocking Francesca's precise thrusts. Noticing a tree behind Emily, Francesca leaps, plants her feet on the trunk, and launches downward, aiming for her opponent's face. Emily reacts instantly, deflecting the blade aside.
Francesca grins and reaches for Emily's forehead. Emily anticipates the move, releases her sword with one hand, and fires a close-range burst of energy. Francesca abandons the grab, rolls as she lands, and faces Emily again, sword held with both hands.
"You protected it well," Francesca says, pointing at Emily's forehead.
"Almost fell for your plan," Emily replies, tightening the knot of her light-blue scarf and taking the Védelem stance.
"You already fell into my countermeasure," Francesca smirks. "NOW, TY!"
Tyron, wearing a red bandana, leaps from a tree and fires a lightning bolt at Emily—only for a sphere of wind to intercept it midair, exploding softly. Alexa emerges from the bushes, sword pointed at Tyron.
"So that was your plan, Blondie?" she says. "I thought it was strange Ty ran halfway into the forest."
Tyron drops into the Derin Kesim stance. Alexa answers with Chakama.
"One minute left," Jayden calls out. "Whichever team gets the other's bandanna skips Fiu-strength training."
The fight erupts. Tyron slashes at Alexa's waist. She jumps back, but his next strike gains momentum. He leaps, aiming for her shoulder—she dodges, leaving his back exposed. As she thrusts, he sweeps her leg.
Alexa is airborne—Tyron strikes her stomach, slamming her into the ground. As he retreats toward Emily, Alexa fires a sphere of air at his feet. He jumps just in time.
She counters with a kick to his face and a quick slash—but Tyron ducks, spins, and lands a sweeping kick. Alexa leaps away, forming an orb of wind midair. Too late—Tyron is hit, crashing into a small crater.
As Alexa reaches for his bandanna, she's forced back by Francesca's icy energy barrage. Spinning her katana overhead, Alexa launches an air saw at both girls. They retreat—but that opening lets Tyron snatch Francesca's scarf.
Jayden whistles sharply. "Impressive—eight seconds to spare."
He creates two clay clones as the losing team retreats, annoyed by Tyron's sneak attack.
Tyron and Francesca are allowed to rest. Tyron sits under a tree, rubbing his sore neck. He notices Francesca lying on the ground, staring at the sky.
She looks beautiful, he thinks.
Nervous, he changes course and sits against a nearby trunk instead. "Hey, Fran… what do you think about Antonio?"
She raises an eyebrow. "He seems like a good guy—kind, trustworthy, smart. Why?"
"I was thinking… if Nya can help us, maybe—"
"Stop," Francesca cuts in, sitting up. "I know where this is going. Don't count on my support, and you're an idiot for thinking it's possible."
"Why?" Tyron asks, hurt.
"Antonio and Nya aren't comparable. Nya suspected me, connected the dots, and helped us. Antonio is Erinios. He tried to kill us."
"He changed!" Tyron insists.
"How do you know? Have you asked how he feels about vigilantes? What if he hates Topaz for stopping him?"
"He doesn't," Tyron mutters.
"Oh really? The same guy who shot Emily, smashed Wind's head, and nearly beat you to death?" Francesca steps closer. "And you want to reveal our identities to him?"
Tyron snaps back, "Like you told Gregorio you're a vigilante!"
She steps forward too. "Right—like when Gregorio nearly killed you. Wake up, Ty. Even if Antonio wanted to help, he'd never reach our level. You'd just be leading him to his death."
Tyron clenches his fists, then nods. She was right.
That night, in a comfortable penthouse, Antonio finishes his chores. Alone, he hears footsteps. A voice whispers, "Come. I won't let them hurt you."
He finds a hidden briefcase—inside, weapons, syringes, armor… and a metallic mask.
"We can rise again," the voice urges.
Antonio hesitates—until a message arrives from Tyron:
"Hey, are you busy? It's a great night to play 😉😉😉"
The voice fades.
Antonio closes the case.
Elsewhere, in Saicon, a man in a white coat finishes a call as his wife returns home.
"Good day?" she asks.
The clay duplicate answers, slightly dizzy, "Good… and yours?"