I didn't go home after that.
Justice's broadcast had shifted the city into a single, anxious organism. Sirens in the distance. Helicopters overhead. Networks arguing with themselves in real time.
The alignment tracked it all effortlessly.
[Public fear: rising.
Government response: fractured.
Probability of preemptive violence: increasing.]
What it couldn't give me—
Was certainty.
That bothered me.
I walked.
No destination. Just movement. Letting the city pass around me like water around a fault line.
Every few blocks, I felt it: subtle corrections. People missing buses by seconds. Cars stalling before intersections. Arguments dissolving before becoming headlines.
Not my doing.
Reflex.
The alignment still thought it was helping.
That was when Blake found me.
He didn't announce himself. Didn't strike. Didn't posture.
He simply appeared beside me on the sidewalk, matching my pace.
"You always walk like you're expecting someone to interrupt," he said.
"I always am," I replied.
We walked in silence for half a block.
Then— "Justice listed three names I personally vouched for," Blake said. "One of them ran supply lines for my unit overseas."
"You're saying he wasn't clean," I said.
"I'm saying he was human."
I stopped.
Blake took two more steps before he noticed.
He turned back, lightning flickering under his skin—not threatening. Agitated.
"You knew he'd do this," he said.
"Yes."
"And you still sat there."
"Yes."
His jaw tightened. "Then why didn't you stop him?"
I met his eyes.
"Because stopping him now makes him right later."
Blake stared at me like he was trying to decide whether to hit me or listen.
Justice's greatest strength had never been power.
It was narrative.
If he was interrupted by force, he became a martyr.
If he was debated, he became inevitable.
If he was ignored—
People filled in the gaps with fear.
Of course if he still had his memories from our past life, he would have already known this.
"He wants witnesses," Blake said slowly.
"Yes."
"And you're letting him have them."
"No," I corrected. "I'm deciding which witnesses matter."
Blake's fists clenched.
"People are going to die in twenty-four hours," he said.
"Not if the judgment collapses before execution," I replied. "
He laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You talk like outcomes are furniture you can rearrange."
"They are," I said. "If you know which leg is load-bearing"
I continued with a question, "Blake Rogers, what exactly is the judgment?"
In my past life—before I decided to rule everything myself—there existed a relic Justice used when he wanted entire regions erased.
Not armies defeated.
Not cities conquered.
Erased.
Those he deemed blasphemous would simply… stop existing, all without him ever stepping into their city or country.
Back then, it was called Retribution.
Not Judgment.
That difference mattered.
Justice doesn't have his old memories, so the name change was understandable. But if Retribution and Judgment were the same relic—if it had merely been renamed rather than replaced—
Then everyone on that list was already dead.
No. Worse than dead.
Still… it gave me something to work with.
Something shifted in Blake's expression.
"Hm… we don't know exactly what it is," he admitted. "Only that Justice calls it that. We also don't know how he plans to eliminate the people on the list. But it's a critical situation—Justice is a Saint-level anomaly. That's why we're taking this so seriously."
I see, sigh, I guess I have no choice then— I thought to myself.
Blake Rogers saw the look in my eyes then exhaled hard. "What do you need?"
I considered it.
"Time," I said.
Blake didn't respond immediately, it was a difficult request, I know it was but it will be really helpful for them If they could pull it off.
He exhaled, then responded with, "six hours, that's all we can manage"
Nodded in acceptance the Blake vanished in a crack of displaced air.
——
Justice wasn't in the city.
That was the problem.
He was in his own country—far enough away that people assumed distance meant safety, close enough that belief could still cross borders without resistance.
And somewhere beyond the skyline, beyond jurisdiction and comfort, Justice was preparing to make belief irreversible.
I clenched my jaw.
Twenty-four hours. Plus six.
Enough time to remember exactly why, in my past life—
I had never argued with the Saint of Justice.
I had planned around him.
His ability were the strangest among the other saints.
Because you couldn't defeat a verdict once it was accepted.
And this time—
I didn't know yet which of us the world would regret more.
I finally decided to go home.
My mother was in the kitchen when I arrived, humming softly as she cooked. Ordinary sounds. Familiar smells. A world still pretending it wasn't about to be judged.
"You're back early," she said, smiling.
"Classes were… interrupted," I replied.
She frowned. "I saw something on the news."
Of course she had.
"They'll handle it," I said gently.
I made sure the alignment didn't contradict me.
After dinner, I retreated to my room and locked the door.
I opened my laptop and pulled up public data streams—news cycles, trending terms, engagement curves.
Justice's broadcast was spreading exactly as expected.
Fear first.
Then approval.
Then relief.
Relief was the most dangerous.
That was when people stopped thinking.
Then suddenly the alignment faltered.
Just once.
A prediction failed to finalize.
I frowned.
Then I felt it.
A presence. Not hostile.
Observant.
I turned.
Lina stood on my balcony.
I hadn't opened the door.
She looked shaken—but determined.
"I knew you'd be here," she said.
I stared at her. Of course I'll be here, I literally live here.
But still, how did she find me.
The alignment scrambled, late.
"How did you get past the building security?" I asked.
She swallowed. "I didn't. The guard got called away. The door was unlocked. The elevator came immediately."
Every improbable step aligned.
For her.
My chest tightened.
This was new.
"Lina," I said carefully, "you shouldn't be here."
"I know," she replied.
No apology. No bravado. Just fact.
She stepped fully onto the balcony, the city lights outlining her like a cutout against glass and steel. Up close, the determination I'd seen at school wasn't adrenaline. It was something colder. Focus that had already burned past fear.
"You're not scared," I said.
"I was," she admitted. "Earlier. When the screens changed."
Then she looked at me. "Not anymore."
That was worse.
"Go home," I said. "Before this turns into something you can't walk away from."
She shook her head once. Small. Precise.
"am already in too deep, I get shady text whenever I look at you"
The alignment stirred uneasily.
[Civilian cognition: anomalously stable.]
[Risk reassessment required.]
I exhaled through my nose. "You think you understand what's happening."
"I think," she said slowly, "that when everyone else panicked, you didn't even blink. And when things are about to go wrong around you… they don't."
She hesitated, then went on. "We live in a world ruled by Biomarks—where being too compatible makes you a threat, and only people like me, with zero abilities, are allowed something close to a normal life."
Her eyes looked warm.
"I've seen countless Biomark abilities—Anomalies and non-Anomalies alike. But never anything like yours, Neo. The first time I saw you, I felt it. I told myself it was nothing. Just paranoia."
She had my full attention at this point.
"But I kept watching. I kept pushing. And that's when I realized it wasn't in my head at all."
She straightened.
"You're different."
She glanced past me, into my room. The screens. The data. The way the air felt wrong around the edges.
"You're not stopping things," she continued. "You're deciding they never happen."
Silence stretched.
I didn't deny it.
"That's not a power people should know exists," I said.
Her gaze hardened. "Then why do I?"
Because you weren't supposed to, I thought.
Because the system slipped.
Because witnesses make rules nervous.
"You should forget me," I said again. "Tonight. This conversation. Everything."
She met my eyes. Didn't look away.
"Your mom's name is Mara," she said quietly.
The alignment spiked.
[Unauthorized personal reference detected.]
[Threat vector—]
I raised a hand.
It froze.
Lina noticed. Not the system — the pause. The way the air stalled for half a heartbeat longer than it should have.
"I saw her at the market once," Lina said quickly. "Last week. She was arguing with a vendor about prices. You smiled when she wasn't looking."
She swallowed. "That's when I knew you weren't… empty."
Something tightened in my chest.
Not anger.
Calculation.
"You shouldn't say her name," I said.
"I'm not threatening her," Lina said immediately. "I'm explaining why I won't leave."
I turned away, gripping the balcony railing. The city below felt too close. Too aware.
It was getting too close to mom, I have to now get stronger way sooner than I wanted to, sigh— normal life uh, I guess I just can escape this.
I closed my eyes.
Justice. Witnesses. Lina. My mother.
The alignment began to assemble options.
[Suppress exposure.
Relocate asset.
Escalate authority.]
None of them solved the core problem.
"I need to go somewhere," I said at last. "Tonight."
Lina straightened. "Where?"
"Somewhere you don't belong— you know what, you can come, you will still follow me even if I said not, and I don't know how you keep finding me"
She didn't flinch. "That hasn't stopped me so far." She smiled. " well am glad you understand now."
I studied her for a long moment. Too calm. Too adaptable. Too close to the edge of things she couldn't possibly understand and yet—
The alignment offered no counterargument.
I sighed.
"Get a jacket," I said. "And if at any point I tell you to stop walking—"
"I stop," she finished.
"Immediately."
"I will."
I hesitated. Then added, "And if I tell you to forget me after tonight…"
She looked at me. Really looked.
"…I won't promise that," she said. "But I won't interfere."
That was the best offer I was going to get.
I turned toward the door.
The alignment updated, reluctantly.
[Destination recognized.]
[Sealed system detected.]
[Alchemy Domain — access conditions pending.]
Behind me, Lina paused at the threshold.
"Neo," she said.
I didn't turn.
"who are you?"
I answered without looking back.
"am Neo Zane Cole— just a kid looking for a normal life."
And together, we stepped into the night — toward a place the world had agreed to forget, and a version of myself I had carefully left there.
——
We didn't take a car.
Lina noticed after the third block.
"…So," she said, hands in her jacket pockets, "is this part of the mystery? Or are you just against public transportation?"
"I don't like cameras," I replied.
She glanced up at the streetlight we passed beneath. It flickered. Went dark as we moved on.
"…Right," she said. "Of course you don't."
We walked in silence for a bit.
Then—
"Are we going to die?" she asked casually.
"No."
She nodded. "Okay. Follow-up question. Are you going to let me die?"
I sighed. "Not tonight."
"Wow," she said. "Reassuring."
The city thinned as we moved. Streets grew wider. Emptier. The kind of places developers gave up on and maps quietly stopped updating.
Lina slowed, looking around. "This area feels… wrong."
"It was rezoned six times," I said. "Nothing ever stuck."
"Why?"
"Because every project failed," I replied. "In ways that were hard to explain on paperwork."
She glanced at me. "You did that?"
"No," I said. "I stopped fixing it."
That earned me a look. Half disbelief. Half concern.
A bus passed us.
Empty.
Completely.
Lina stared. "Okay, now that's just rude."
"It's on time," I said.
"That does not help."
Another few minutes passed.
She rubbed her arms. "Is it colder, or is that just psychological terror?"
"Neither," I said. "You're crossing a boundary."
She perked up. "There's a boundary?"
"Yes."
"Is it marked?"
"No."
"Of course not."
She hesitated, then stepped forward anyway.
Nothing happened.
She blinked. Looked down at her shoes. "Huh. I expected… something."
"That comes later."
She groaned softly. "You people always say that."
"You people?"
She waved vaguely at me. "Men with secrets and emotionally alarming walking routes."
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
We stopped at the edge of what looked like an abandoned industrial site. Cracked asphalt. Chain-link fence bent inward like it had grown tired of standing.
Beyond it, the air shimmered — not visibly, not dramatically. Just… subtly wrong. Like a sentence that never quite finished.
Lina swallowed. "This is it, isn't it."
"Yes."
She took a breath. "Last chance to tell me I shouldn't be here."
I looked at her.
She was nervous now. But still standing.
"You shouldn't be here," I said.
She nodded once. Then stepped past me.
"Well," she said, forcing a smile, "it'd be weird to start listening now."
The alignment pulsed, uneasy.
[Witness proximity confirmed.]
[Domain response: altered.]
I followed her through the fence.
The city behind us didn't notice we were gone.
And for the first time in a long while—
I wasn't sure whether that was my doing.