Facing the perfectly timed triple assault — from above, the front, and the flank — Joren did not move.
A fraction of a second before impact—
the bolt aimed at his brow,
the three spinning cards slicing toward his torso,
and the descending concrete block ready to crush him—
a short, explosive shout cut through the night.
"Ora!"
Star Platinum's right hand flashed forward.
Two fingers clamped the high-velocity bolt mid-flight.
The metal shrieked as its spin died instantly.
At the same instant—
its left hand flicked outward.
The three cards were brushed aside as if swatted by a passing breeze.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Their trajectories reversed.
They embedded deep into the brick wall behind him.
Finally—
the falling concrete block.
Star Platinum raised its arm and met it palm-up.
Bang.
A dull, muffled impact.
The block disintegrated on contact, crumbling into powder that drifted harmlessly to the pavement.
The entire offensive — a precision kill pattern — was erased in less than a second.
Clean.
Effortless.
Almost elegant.
The assassin froze.
The feral grin on his face hardened into disbelief.
That wasn't technology.
No kinetic shield.
No electromagnetic field.
It felt like…
like an unseen entity standing beside the boy — intercepting reality itself.
Every calculation he had made.
Every vector.
Every angle.
Rendered meaningless.
"You… what… are you?"
Joren lifted his head slightly, pushing his hat brim up just enough to reveal cold emerald eyes.
"A high school student who wants to go home and sleep."
He stepped forward.
"Let's end this boring farce."
A high school student?
Mockery.
Insult.
Bullseye felt something rupture inside his chest — not bone.
Pride.
He was the most accurate killer alive.
A man who could weaponize anything.
A playing card.
A paperclip.
A toothpick.
He did not miss.
He did not fail.
And he certainly was not toyed with by a uniformed child.
"You freak…"
Understanding no longer mattered.
Reputation did.
He drew his dagger.
This time he did not throw.
He lunged forward, intent on tearing through the unseen defense at point-blank range.
Star Platinum appeared.
No flourish.
No wasted motion.
It raised its fists.
Then the blows began.
"Ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora!"
Bullseye saw nothing.
But he felt everything.
The first punch collapsed his sternum.
The next hammered his ribs.
Then his abdomen.
Shoulders.
Thighs.
Armpits.
Solar plexus.
Each strike arrived before the last shockwave faded.
His body jerked violently with every impact, suspended upright by forces he could not see.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
His dagger flew from his hand.
Air would not enter his lungs.
Every attempt to inhale triggered another crushing blow that forced the breath back out.
Pain erased thought.
Sound collapsed into dull thunder.
What… is… hitting me…?
ORA!
A final straight punch detonated against his jaw.
His body launched backward more than ten meters.
He crashed through two trash cans before slamming into a brick wall and collapsing, unconscious.
Silence returned.
Star Platinum withdrew its fists and vanished.
Joren pulled his hat brim down and checked his phone.
9:45 PM.
The marine documentary rerun had already started.
Three minutes wasted.
Troublesome.
Three Days Later
Midtown High School reopened.
The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the hallways.
Students clustered in excited groups, discussing the previous week's chaos.
Without exception, the topic was the same.
"The lizard monster destroyed the bathroom!"
"I saw the news — Spider-Man fought it inside the school!"
"Do you think Spider-Man got hurt? He's amazing!"
Joren moved through the crowd without listening.
All he wanted was his seat.
Peace before class.
He sat down in the last row by the window.
Perfect.
Silence.
Then a stir rippled through the classroom.
The teacher entered — followed by a girl.
She was strikingly beautiful.
Long silver-white hair cascaded down her back, accentuating porcelain skin.
Her white blouse and pleated skirt were immaculate.
Tall.
Graceful.
Effortlessly magnetic.
Nearly every boy stared.
Peter glanced twice before Gwen nudged his arm.
He coughed awkwardly and looked away.
"Quiet down, everyone," the teacher said.
"We have a transfer student. She's joining us from a private school in Manhattan."
"Please introduce yourself."
The girl stepped forward.
Her emerald eyes swept the classroom.
They paused — just briefly — on Joren.
"Hello everyone. My name is Felicia Hardy."
"I transferred here due to family reasons. I hope we can become friends."
A warm, polished smile.
"Alright, Felicia. Find a seat."
Her smile deepened.
She walked down the aisle toward the last row.
Toward him.
He didn't look up.
Perfect.
That arrogant calm.
She could already imagine the moment his peace shattered.
She stopped beside his desk.
"Hello, new deskmate."
Their eyes met.
Joren looked at her without expression.
Inside his mind, a familiar sigh echoed.
Ugh.
That scent… that face…
What a persistent woman.