Faced with his meticulously planned triple attack—from the sky, the front, and both flanks—Joren remained unmoved.
Just a fraction of a second before the crossbow bolt pierced his forehead, three spinning playing cards sliced through the air toward his torso, and a heavy concrete slab plummeted from above.
"ora!"
A short but thunderous shout split the air.
Star Platinum's right index and middle fingers snapped forward like lightning, clamping the high-velocity bolt mid-flight with impossible precision.
At the same time—
Joren flicked his left wrist with casual grace.
Swish, swish, swish!
The three razor-sharp cards veered off course as if repelled by an invisible hand, embedding themselves harmlessly into the brick wall beside him.
Then came the falling concrete.
Without even glancing upward, Joren raised his arm. Star Platinum mirrored the motion, palm open, fingers spread.
Thud.
A soft, muffled impact.
The instant the slab touched Star Platinum's outstretched hand, it crumbled into fine dust—disintegrating as though it had never existed.
The assault, which Bullseye had deemed an inescapable death trap, was dismantled in less than a second.
Clean. Efficient.
Even elegant.
The assassin stood frozen.
His predatory grin had locked in place; his eyes bulged with disbelief.
That's not technology… absolutely not!
It was something else—something beyond physics. Like an unseen specter standing guard beside the boy, mocking every law of motion with absolute, effortless dominance.
His pride in precision, in calculation, in the flawless application of force… it all felt laughably small.
"…What are you?" Bullseye rasped.
Joren tilted his head, nudging his hat brim up just enough to reveal cold, unimpressed eyes.
"A high school student who wants to go home and sleep early."
He took a single step forward.
Well, well. This boring farce has gone on long enough.
A high school student?
Was this kid mocking him? Toying with him?
Bullseye's mind reeled.
He was the industry's top assassin—the man who could kill with a paperclip, a toothpick, a playing card.
He never missed.
And yet here he was, humiliated by some teenager in a school uniform.
"You… monster…"
Reason drowned beneath wounded pride.
He stopped trying to understand the impossible force shielding the boy.
If he didn't end this now, he'd be a joke for the rest of his life.
With a snarl, Bullseye drew his dagger—not to throw, but to close the distance.
This time, he'd cut through that invisible barrier with raw, brutal steel.
But the moment he lunged—
Star Platinum reappeared.
No flash. No warning. Just presence.
Its stance was simple: arms raised, fists clenched.
Then—chaos.
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!"
A storm of blows erupted faster than thought.
Bullseye didn't see the fists.
He only felt them.
His vision fractured—flashing memories, from childhood to his first kill, all collapsing into white noise.
The first punch struck his chest.
Crack.
His sternum caved inward like wet cardboard.
Then, countless fists rained down on his abdomen, shoulders, arms, thighs...
He felt like a sandbag nailed to invisible iron stakes, enduring an endless barrage of blows.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythmic impacts echoed through the silent night—sharp, brutal, unrelenting.
The dagger he'd clutched moments ago had long since flown from his grip.
He couldn't even scream. Every time he tried to draw breath, another punch slammed into his gut, forcing the air from his lungs like a bellows crushed under stone.
His vision blurred. Consciousness frayed at the edges, slipping away beneath waves of pain and suffocation.
What… is this…?
"ORA!"
With a final roar, Platinum Star unleashed a devastating straight punch that cracked against Bullseye's jaw like a thunderclap.
The frenzy ceased.
Bullseye shot backward over ten meters, crashing into two overflowing trash cans before slamming hard into a brick wall. He slumped to the ground, unconscious before he hit the pavement.
Silence returned.
Star Platinum lowered his fist—and vanished.
Joren tugged the brim of his hat lower and pulled out his phone.
9:45 PM.
The rerun of the ocean documentary had already started.
Seriously… three minutes wasted.
---
Three days later.
Midtown High School, closed for emergency repairs, finally reopened its doors.
The hallways still carried the sharp tang of fresh paint.
Students clustered in twos and threes, buzzing with hushed excitement.
Every conversation circled the same two topics: "lizard monsters" and "Spider-Man."
"Oh my god, I heard that giant lizard tore the whole boys' restroom off the wall!"
"Don't even get me started—I saw the news photos. Spider-Man was right there, fighting a monster in the cafeteria!"
"I hope he's okay… He's literally our guardian angel."
Joren moved through the murmuring crowd, eyes down, shoulders hunched. All he wanted was to reach his seat and steal a few quiet minutes before homeroom.
He slipped into the last row by the window just as a ripple of whispers spread through the classroom.
At the door, Mr. Harrington ushered in a new student.
She was striking.
Silver-white hair cascaded past her shoulders, setting off skin so pale it seemed to glow. Her crisp white blouse and neatly pleated navy skirt framed a tall, poised silhouette. She stood with effortless grace—and instantly drew every male gaze in the room.
Peter Parker stole a second glance… then flinched as Gwen's fingers gently pinched his arm.
He turned to find her watching him with a knowing smirk. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.
"Settle down, everyone," the teacher called.
"This is Felicia Hardy. She's transferring from a private academy in Manhattan. Starting today, she'll be joining our class."
He gestured toward the room. "Go ahead, Felicia."
She stepped forward, emerald eyes sweeping the classroom—lingering, for just a heartbeat, on the boy in the back row with the lowered hat.
"Hi, everyone," she said, voice smooth as silk. "I've moved here for family reasons. I hope we can all get along."
"Great! Find yourself a seat."
Felicia's smile deepened.
She slung her bag over one shoulder and walked straight toward the last row.
She could feel it—the boy hadn't looked up once.
Perfect.
That aloof, dismissive air… so infuriatingly condescending.
A thrill sparked in her chest. She could already picture the look on his face when she peeled back the fragile illusion of peace he clung to.
She slid into the empty desk beside him.
"Hey there, new deskmate."
Their eyes met.
Joren stared back—expressionless, unreadable.
But inside, a weary sigh echoed.
Yare, yare…
That scent… that face…
She really doesn't give up, does she?