The first thing I learned about my new school was that silence was considered suspicious.
The second was that being new meant being watched.
I stood at the front of the classroom while the homeroom teacher adjusted her glasses and glanced at the paper in her hand.
"Everyone," she said, "we have a new student joining us today."
Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward me.
I felt it immediately.
Attention wasn't dangerous.
But it was… friction.
"Go on," the teacher prompted.
I sighed internally and stepped forward.
"My name is Neo. Neo Zane Cole" I said. "Nice to meet you."
That was it.
No speech.
No smile.
It didn't help.
Whispers rippled through the room anyway.
Too quiet.
Too composed.
Too… noticeable.
I took the empty seat by the window, hoping proximity to fresh air would compensate for the noise.
It didn't.
By the end of the first period, I had learned three things:
One — I was apparently "cool."
Two — people interpreted silence as mystery.
Three — mystery attracted attention like blood attracted sharks.
Especially from the girls.
I hated it.
Notes slid onto my desk.
Questions I didn't ask were answered anyway.
A group of boys kept glancing my way, half-curious, half-annoyed.
And the girls looked at me like they haven't seen anyone more perfect.
Normal school life, it turned out, was louder than I could ever imagine.
By lunch, I had already exhausted my tolerance for human enthusiasm.
I carried my tray toward the least occupied table I could find—
—and stopped.
Someone was already sitting there.
Same posture.
Same quiet tension.
Same eyes that didn't quite rest anywhere for too long.
Eli Origami. The Saint of Will.
He looked thinner than I remembered.
More restrained.
Like a storm stuffed into a human shape and told to behave.
He glanced up.
Our eyes met.
For half a second, the world hesitated.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Just enough for me to feel it.
The background smoothness I'd grown accustomed to… rippled.
Eli frowned.
Then looked away.
No recognition.
No hostility.
Just… proximity.
I sat down anyway.
We ate in silence.
Around us, laughter and noise and life carried on uninterrupted.
But the probability field between us didn't settle.
It interfered.
Two anomalies occupying the same space.
Interesting.
Uncomfortable.
I finished quickly and stood.
"See you," someone called after me.
I didn't answer.
——
A request came that evening, from the A.A.E.S.
Not a command.
Not even a summons.
Just a message on the secure phone they'd given me.
AGENCY:
[There has been an anomaly report in your district.
We're not requesting intervention.
We're curious if you've noticed anything… unusual.]
I stared at the screen.
Of course they were.
I typed a response.
NEO:
[Depends what you consider unusual.]
The reply came almost immediately.
AGENCY:
[There's a criminal operating under the alias "Gravehound."
Responsible for multiple high-casualty incidents.
Witnesses report reality distortion during his escapes.]
A professional. A big one.
And they'd let him operate near me.
Not an accident. More like a test.
Another message followed.
AGENCY:
[We've assigned Eli to Neutralize.
You're free to decline involvement.]
I exhaled slowly.
Of course they paired us.
Two unstable variables.
One controlled environment.
I didn't like it. But it was too close to where my mother was.
Which meant I couldn't ignore it.
NEO:
[I'll go.
Observation only.]
The response was instant.
Too instant.
⸻
The anomaly appeared in an abandoned industrial zone by nightfall.
Rust.
Concrete.
Echoes that carried too far.
Gravehound was already there when we arrived.
Tall.
Scarred.
Grinning like he'd been waiting.
"oh?… I see the A.A.E.S now uses children for their dirty work" he laughed. "Government pets. Took you long enough."
Eli stiffened beside me.
I felt it.
His power surged chaotically, pressing against the edges of reality like a child pushing on glass.
I didn't tell him to calm down.
I didn't need to.
The world adjusted instead.
Gravehound lunged.
Eli reacted—
—and tripped.
Not because he was clumsy.
Because the ground chose that moment to give way.
He fell out of the attack path.
Gravehound's strike missed by centimeters.
His eyes widened.
"What the—"
I stepped forward.
Not attacking.
Not activating anything.
Just existing.
The criminal's next move stuttered.
His footing slipped.
His timing misaligned.
Every aggressive choice he made bent slightly wrong.
Eli noticed.
So did Gravehound.
"You—" the man snarled, backing away. "What are you doing?"
Nothing. That was the problem.
Eli moved on instinct, power flaring wildly—
—and this time, the outcome aligned.
The criminal went down hard.
Reality corrected itself around the least troublesome result.
Silence followed. Eli stared at his hands.
Then at me.
"You didn't—" he began.
"I know," I said.
That scared him more than if I had.
——
Eli might not remember anything from his past life— killing me included— but his abilities were the same.
Weaker. But the same.
Eli's power manifests the absolute force of his will. Anything he truly decides to happen gains momentum in reality—but it comes at a cost: the stronger the desire, the more strain on his body and mind. His ability is both inspirational and combative, making him a formidable leader and opponent.
My powers are precise, preemptive, and subtly manipulative.
While Eli's are bold, direct, and forceful.
I see Eli's "force of will" as predictable because it requires commitment.
——
The agency praised the operation.
Clinical.
Measured.
They called it a success.
I called it confirmation.
They weren't just watching what I could do.
They were watching what happened around me.
——
At school the next day, the attention was worse.
Word spread fast.
Too fast.
I endured it.
Smiled when necessary.
Stayed quiet when possible.
But by the time the final bell rang, my patience was gone.
I sat at my desk, staring out the window, drowning out the noise.
Normal life.
That was the goal.
But normal life didn't come with staged criminals, unstable allies, or reality bending to keep you comfortable.
As I packed my bag, Eli stopped beside my desk.
"They did that on purpose," he said quietly.
"Yes," I replied.
He hesitated. "Why didn't you stop me?"
I looked at him.
"Because you need control," I said. "Not protection."
He swallowed. I stood.
"They're watching you," I added. "So be careful what you learn to rely on."
I walked past him, leaving the noise behind.
——
That night, alone in my room, the alignment returned.
Stronger.
Not louder.
Smarter.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
Then I remembered the folder.
It sat where I'd left it—inside my backpack, untouched since the meeting. I hadn't avoided it out of fear. I'd avoided it because I already knew what I'd find.
Nothing useful.
Propaganda. Broken relic schematics. Half-true histories written by people who had survived near power and mistaken that proximity for understanding.
Still.
I reached for it.
The seal broke without resistance.
No alarms.
No glow.
No dramatic reaction.
Just paper. Old paper.
I flipped through slowly.
Most of it was exactly what I'd expected.
Reports on other Saints. Fragmented theories. Attempted reconstructions of domains they didn't truly grasp. Pages and pages of speculation dressed up as authority.
Annoying. Predictable.
Then my fingers stopped. One page.
Unlabeled.
No insignia.
No watermark.
Just a single line of text, written in a format I hadn't seen in this life—
—but recognized instantly.
Not language.
Structure. A constraint.
The moment my skin touched the page, the alignment clicked.
Not surged.
Not flared.
Corrected.
Something shifted inside my head—not a memory returning, but a gap sealing itself.
I didn't see images.
Didn't relive anything.
I understood.
I sat up slowly.
"…I did this," I murmured.
The realization wasn't emotional.
It was technical.
In my past life, before I chose death, before I dismantled my domain, I had placed a final condition on my rebirth.If it was to happen.
Not to preserve power.
Not to guarantee dominance.
But to prevent regret.
The rule surfaced whole, complete, undeniable.
If reborn without my full domain,
the first function to recover shall be the one that minimizes future regret—
even at the cost of agency.
I exhaled.
So that was it.
I hadn't lost control by accident.
I had traded it.
The alignment wasn't random.
It wasn't growing on its own.
It was executing a mandate.
I closed the folder.
Slowly.
The implications settled like weight.
This ability wasn't asking me what I wanted.
It wasn't offering choices.
It was shaping outcomes before I could make decisions that would lead to remorse.
That was why it felt passive.
Why it didn't drain me.
Why it didn't respond to conscious intent.
It wasn't power.
It was prevention.
I lay back down, staring at the ceiling again.
The day replayed in my mind.
The crosswalk.
The construction barrier.
Gravehound's mistimed attack.
Eli's fall—perfectly placed between danger and consequence.
Not convenience. Not mercy.
Optimization against regret.
My jaw tightened slightly.
That was… dangerous.
A power that decided what I would regret without asking me.
A power that acted in advance, quietly, invisibly.
A power that could justify almost anything.
I focused inward, gently—testing boundaries without pushing.
The alignment responded, but not with force.
With context.
A subtle sense of tension, like a warning line I wasn't meant to cross yet.
If I interfered too deliberately…
If I tried to override it…
The cost wouldn't be immediate.
It would be accumulative.
I let the sensation fade.
For now.
The folder hadn't given me power.
It had given me confirmation.
The government didn't have fragments of my domain.
They had tripped a failsafe I'd buried so deep I hadn't remembered it myself.
And now—
The first piece of the Saint of Wisdom wasn't returning as strength.
It was returning as constraint.
I closed my eyes.
A normal life.
That was still the goal.
But now I understood the price.
As long as this function remained active, the world would keep protecting me from outcomes I might regret—
Whether I agreed with its judgment…
Or not.
And someday—
When it decided inaction was the greater regret—
It wouldn't wait for my permission.
——
By the end of the week, I had become a problem I didn't want to solve.
People knew my name.
They knew where I sat.
They knew when I arrived.
I didn't know theirs.
It was a bit of admiration. But something else.
It was curiosity sharpened by absence—by the fact that I didn't play along.
That made it worse.
The attention followed me through the halls like static. Whispers. Laughter. Stolen glances that lingered too long.
I endured it.
I always did.
Until she stopped in front of me. A young girl with straight blonde hair, and a serious gaze.
I had to admit, she was pretty cute.
She didn't smile.
Didn't giggle.
Didn't pretend this was an accident.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
The hallway slowed.
Most people introduce themselves first. I looked at her.
Just once.
Dark eyes. Focused. Unimpressed. The kind of gaze that didn't skim the surface—it dug.
"Yes?" I said.
"I don't buy it," she replied.
A few people laughed, unsure.
"Buy what?" I asked.
"This." She gestured vaguely at me. "The quiet. The cool act. The way everything just… moves around you."
I said nothing.
She folded her arms. "There's something wrong with you."
That was closer than she knew.
"I don't mean dangerous," she added quickly. "I mean… off. Like you're not actually here."
I held her gaze for half a second longer.
Then I turned.
And walked away.
I didn't push past her.
Didn't react.
Didn't acknowledge the stares.
I simply removed myself from the interaction.
As if it hadn't existed.
As if she hadn't.
The silence lasted three steps.
"Hey!"
I didn't stop.
"You can't just ignore me like I don't exist!" she shouted.
Heads turned.
The hall froze.
"Who do you think you are?!"
"You finally asked your question— I am Neo Zane Cole— and also, your first attempt of a question, wasn't a question girl, that was a nuisance— know the difference"
I said to her. But before she could respond, I was already gone.
The crowd moved with me—some curious, some annoyed, all too loud.
I hated every second of it.
——
Eli caught up with me after school.
Not directly.
He didn't call my name or wave.
He just… matched my pace.
"They're watching again," he said quietly.
"I know," I replied.
"No," he said. "I mean closer."
I stopped.
That made him stop too.
"What happened?" I asked.
His jaw tightened.
"Things don't line up around me when you're nearby," he said. "My power spikes less. But when you leave—"
He swallowed.
"It gets worse."
I studied him.
The alignment stirred faintly.
Not alarmed. Concerned.
Interesting.
"You need grounding," I said. "Not proximity."
"I know," he said. "But they don't listen."
They never did.
——
That night, a request came.
Again.
This time, it wasn't framed as curiosity.
AGENCY:
[We've detected anomaly movement.
Similar signature to Gravehound.
This one won't wait.]
Another criminal.
Another test.
They wanted to see if the pattern repeated.
If I repeated.
AGENCY:
[Eli will accompany you.
Observation only.]
I didn't reply immediately.
The alignment shifted.
Not urging. Anticipating.
We found the anomaly near the river—an urban specter known as Kestrel. Fast. Erratic. Ruthless.
He moved first.
Eli reacted.
Too fast. Too emotional.
The outcome should have been messy.
It wasn't.
A railing broke at the right moment.
A misstep redirected a strike.
A loose cable snapped into place where it shouldn't have been.
Eli's attack landed clean.
Kestrel went down.
Breathing.
Alive.
Captured.
Eli stared at me afterward.
"You're not doing anything," he said.
"I am," I replied. "Just not directly."
His eyes widened.
That was when it clicked for him.
That he wasn't fighting alone.
That the world was fighting for me.
——
Back home, I didn't sleep.
I sat on my bed, the folder open in my lap.
This time, I didn't touch the page.
I didn't need to.
The alignment was no longer passive.
It was evaluating.
Comparing outcomes. Learning me.
I understood the danger now.
A power that prevented regret would eventually decide that hesitation itself was the problem.
I closed the folder.
——
The next day, the girl would still be watching.
Eli would still be unstable.
The agency would still be experimenting.
And the world—
The world was already choosing which futures I was allowed to regret.
Whether I wanted it to or not.
The call came just after dusk.
I didn't even check the caller ID.
"No," I said, and ended it.
I'd already decided I was done being their solution to every irregularity that made them uncomfortable.
The phone rang again.
I ignored it.
Then a message came through.
AGENCY:
[Mr. Cole—please.
This isn't an anomaly subjugation request.]
I exhaled through my nose.
The phone rang a third time.
I answered.
"This better be worth it," I said flatly.
There was a pause on the other end.
Then, surprisingly—
"We apologize," the lead official said.
That got my attention.
"For contacting you under false assumptions," he continued carefully. "And for… underestimating your time."
Silence.
Not defensive.
Not performative.
Careful.
"Go on," I said.
"There's movement," he said. "From the primary threat."
I frowned.
"The Saint of Justice," he added.
The alignment reacted.
Not alarm. Recognition.
He continued, voice measured but strained.
"Over the last forty-eight hours, we've detected coordinated activity across multiple regions. Sleeper cells activating. Relics being moved. Old networks resurfacing."
I sat down slowly.
"They're preparing," I said.
"Yes."
"For what?" I asked.
The official hesitated.
"Judgment."
That word sat poorly in the air.
I closed my eyes briefly.
This wasn't a test.
This wasn't a staged event.
This was the reason they'd recruited me in the first place.
"And?" I asked. "What do you want from me?"
"We want you to listen," he said. "That's all. For now."
I waited.
"To honor our agreement," he continued, "we're prepared to grant you access to a classified site."
I opened my eyes.
"A site?" I echoed.
"One only the highest clearance levels know exists," he said. "A location we've never been able to breach—despite decades of effort."
My grip tightened slightly around the phone.
"…Where," I asked quietly.
Another pause.
Then—
"The domain that once belonged to the Saint of Wisdom."
The alignment stilled.
Not suppressed. Focused.
My past domain.
I didn't speak.
"We believe it's dormant," the official said. "Locked behind conditions we can't satisfy. No matter what we've tried, it remains sealed."
Of course it did.
He finished carefully:
"We thought… you should be the one to see it."
A flicker of something stirred in me.
Not joy.
Not triumph.
Interest.
Controlled.
Measured.
Dangerous.
"…When?" I asked.
"Tomorrow morning," he replied quickly. "If you agree."
I looked toward my bedroom door.
My mother was asleep.
Safe.
"Fine," I said. "I'll go."
Relief exhaled through the line.
"But understand this," I added calmly. "If this is another attempt to manipulate me—"
"It isn't," he said immediately. "We swear."
I ended the call without responding.
I stood there for a moment, the room quiet around me.
My domain.
The one place in existence that had obeyed me completely.
If it was still intact…
If even fragments of its structure remained…
Then maybe—
Just maybe—
I could fix the alignment.
Restore control.
Choose again.
I allowed myself a small, dangerous thought.
For the first time since rebirth—
I was looking forward to something.
And that realization unsettled me more than any threat ever had.