I would have easily protected my mother myself if I had at lease half of my powers, if only I had access to my notes and relics. Sigh.
I didn't look at them when I spoke.
"You win," I said quietly.
No triumph. No anger. Just fact.
The room didn't explode into relief the way they expected. If anything, it grew heavier.
"But, what do I get in return, if I decide to commit?" I didn't leave their gaze when I asked.
I really did not care about the world or them, I only had one through in mind— that was to protect my mother, and in other for me to do that, I had to get stronger.
The room went still.
The officials straightened their backs, as if rehearsing the words one last time inside their heads.
Then the lead official spoke.
"Mr. Cole… we know you don't want to fight. We know you want a normal life. Peace. Privacy. A chance to be human."
I blinked slowly.
That was the life I asked for after being reborn.
A simple life.
Quiet days.
School, routine, normal human boredom…
The kind of life I could never have before.
He continued, voice softer now:
"We can give you that."
I didn't respond, but my silence clearly encouraged them.
"You can attend school," he said. "As a normal student. We will keep your identity — and your power — classified, while you learn and improve your abilities. No surveillance in your home. No forced training. No forced mission assignments."
Another official stepped forward.
"You'll have your freedom. Your privacy. Your mother's safety. Everything you've ever wanted in this new life."
I watched him closely.
Then the lead official added, carefully:
"And… to make things easier for you… we're prepared to offer something else."
He reached into a secure briefcase and placed a sealed folder on the table.
Then Blake Rogers's eyes flicked to it with irritation — he clearly didn't want this part happening.
"This," the official said, tapping the folder, "is a collection of relics, records, and forbidden archives from the Old Era. Artifacts connected to Saints — including possible fragments from the Saint of Wisdom's past domain."
He met my gaze with trembling determination.
"If you help us — even a little — we will grant you access to them."
And just like that, the very thing I needed to grow stronger—and keep my mother safe—was placed in front of me.
Pieces of my past.
My domain.
Lovely.
But bribing me with fragments of my own history?… this people have no shame, ahahah
As I considered how they could've obtained that data, one thing became clear.
The other Saints' records wouldn't have been hard to gather. Old files. Witness accounts. Broken relics. Governments were good at scavenging history.
But mine?
Impossible.
I knew how thoroughly I'd secured my domain before I chose death. Layered failsafes. Dead-man locks. Knowledge that erased itself the moment it was accessed incorrectly.
There was no chance they possessed anything truly important.
Which meant this was theater.
It was bait.
I looked at the folder, then back at them.
"Fine," I said.
Relief flashed across a few faces. Brief. Premature.
"I'll help," I continued, "but only under specific conditions."
The atmosphere tightened instantly.
"First—my mother is off-limits. No monitoring. No questioning. No indirect contact. If that boundary is crossed, I walk."
They exchanged glances, then nodded.
"Second—I choose when and how I assist. You can make requests. I decide whether I answer."
No objections. Just tension.
"Third—I get access to what you're offering." I gestured to the folder. "All of it. No filters."
The lead official hesitated.
I didn't press. I didn't need to.
"You'll give me a normal life," I went on. "School. Privacy. No forced training. No missions I didn't agree to."
I paused, letting the silence stretch.
"In return," I said evenly, "I'll cooperate. When it's reasonable."
Not loyalty. Not obedience.
Cooperation.
The lead official exhaled slowly. "We can agree to that."
I nodded once.
Then I added, lightly, almost casually:
"If it turns out this offer was exaggerated… I'll reconsider my involvement."
No threats. No raised voice.
Just a statement.
That unsettled them more than anger would have.
The thought of me joining another country frightened them the most.
"Draw up the agreement," I said. "Let's keep this… mutually beneficial."
"Can I go now?" I asked.
The question seemed to catch them off guard.
The lead official nodded after a brief pause. "Yes. You're free to leave."
I stood.
Then, as if remembering something trivial, I stopped.
"The boy I came with," I said, not turning back. "What happens to him?"
A few of them exchanged looks.
"The other one," I clarified. "The quiet kid."
The lead official folded his hands. "Unlike you, Mr. Cole, your abilities appear… stable. They need growth, not restraint."
He glanced down at a tablet.
"Meanwhile, Mr. Origami's power is volatile. He lacks control. Left alone, he'd be a danger—to himself and everyone around him."
"So you're keeping him," I said.
"For now, yes," another official answered. "We'll help him learn control."
I absorbed that without reaction.
I didn't care what became of him.
He was one of my killers after all. A traitor, even if I let it happen.
Why would I care what happens to him.
But, I did care about variables.
"And what exactly does 'help' involve?" I asked.
Training. Observation. Containment, if necessary.
They didn't say the last part out loud.
"That depends on how cooperative he is," the lead official said carefully.
I nodded once.
"Understood."
No protest. No argument.
I turned and walked out.
⸻
The halls felt quieter on the way back. Heavier.
By the time I reached the medical wing, my mother was awake.
She looked tired. Confused. But alive.
That was enough.
I sat beside her bed, took her hand, and let the tension drain from my shoulders—just a little.
They thought the negotiation was over.
They were wrong.
——
The next morning came without ceremony.
No guards. No escorts. Just a knock at the door and a polite reminder that my transportation was ready.
I dressed in the clothes they'd provided—plain, civilian, intentionally unremarkable. Another part of the deal. Another way to make everything feel normal.
The lead official met me in the corridor.
"Your mother has been cleared for discharge," he said. "A car will take you both home."
I nodded.
Thanks.
Before we reached the exit, he slowed.
"One more thing, Mr. Cole."
I stopped.
"Your schooling will begin next week. Ironwood public academy. That's the name of your school. Records have been prepared. You'll be… average."
That almost made me smile.
"Good," I said.
He studied me carefully. "We expect you'll keep your end of the agreement."
"I said I would," I replied.
That wasn't the same as promising.
We reached the doors.
Morning light spilled in, bright and indifferent.
As I helped my mother into the car, I felt it again—the sensation I'd learned to ignore.
Eyes.
Not surveillance. Not pressure.
Expectation.
They were watching to see what kind of person I'd be once I was free.
The engine started.
As the car pulled away, the facility shrank in the distance, gray and forgettable.
Inside, they still had Eli. The Saint of Will.
They believed they were helping him.
Maybe they were.
Or maybe they were just teaching him how to be useful.
Just like that idiot, The Saint of Courage, Blake Rogers
Either way, he wasn't my concern.
Not yet.
I looked out the window as the city passed by, already planning the next phase.
School.
Control.
Growth.
A normal life.
That was the cover.
And for now, it would be enough.
That night, after my mother had fallen asleep, I stood alone in my room.
No relics. No notes. No preparation.
Just silence.
I wasn't trying to do anything.
That was the strange part.
The air shifted anyway.
Not dramatically—no lights, no pressure, no visible reaction. Just a quiet sense of alignment, like something inside me had adjusted itself without permission.
I frowned slightly.
This wasn't control.
And it wasn't effort.
It felt closer to… recovery.
As if whatever governed my abilities wasn't waiting for orders anymore.
It was correcting itself.
I relaxed my focus, expecting the sensation to fade.
It didn't.
Instead, it settled—stable, unobtrusive. Like a background process I hadn't authorized.
I let it be.
Testing it now would be pointless.
Worse—noticeable.
So I went to bed.
——
A week passed.
I had time to study my abilities more, with the help of my memories, but I still lacked the amount of energy I once had, and I lacked quite a lot of my past abilities.
Plus, it felt strange.
But it was okay, I was in no hurry. I just wanted to enjoy my new life with the person I care about the most. My mother.
And for the first time in a long while, nothing went wrong.
My mother looked better—healthier. The tension that had lived permanently in her shoulders had eased, replaced by something lighter. Relief. Maybe even happiness.
We ate breakfast together that morning.
She watched me over her cup of tea, eyes lingering a little too long.
"So," she said, trying—and failing—to sound casual, "are you excited?"
"About school?" I asked.
She nodded. "Or nervous. Or both. You are in high school now."
"I'll survive," I said.
She smiled anyway.
"I still can't believe it," she said softly. "My baby's growing up."
I groaned. "Mom."
She laughed. "What? I'm allowed to be proud."
I looked away, embarrassed.
But inside, I was relieved.
She was okay.
That was all that mattered.
When I stood to leave, she fussed with my collar, then pulled me into a brief hug.
"Be safe," she said.
"I will."
And this time, I meant it.
——
The walk to school was ordinary.
Crowded sidewalks. Passing cars. Students talking too loudly, already exhausted before the day had even begun.
I blended in.
And without trying—without deciding—things simply… worked.
A car slowed before I reached the crosswalk.
A cyclist swerved early, missing me by more than enough.
A loose construction barrier tipped—but fell away from the sidewalk instead of onto it.
No strain.
No resistance.
No cost.
I didn't do anything.
The path ahead of me just… softened.
I frowned slightly as I walked.
This wasn't power as I remembered it.
There was no selection. No enforcement. No conscious choice.
It was weaker than that.
Smaller.
Like reality was correcting itself in advance—choosing the least troublesome route simply because I was present.
I didn't feel drained.
Didn't feel sharp.
I felt normal.
And that was what unsettled me the most.
By the time the school gates came into view, the morning had unfolded cleanly. No close calls. No consequences.
Just probability behaving.
I stepped onto campus with the others, unremarkable, unnoticed.
Exactly as I wanted.
I wasn't controlling the future.
I wasn't choosing outcomes.
But somewhere, quietly, the world was already learning how to avoid harming me—
As long as I didn't ask for more.