Elena Ward had a dream.
It was vivid. Uncomfortably vivid.
So vivid that it didn't feel like a dream at all, but more like standing outside reality and watching it unfold.
She saw her life—but not through her own eyes.
She watched it from above, from the outside… as if she were nothing more than a background character.
No—worse.
She was watching the lives of Adrian Cross and Mia Green.
It played out like a long, drawn-out drama set in the early years of the apocalypse, when Superpowers first awakened and order was still fragile.
In that story, Adrian Cross was the undeniable male lead—brilliant, cold, decisive. The commander who would one day rule the North Sector.
Mia Green was the female lead—the unlucky heiress who lost everything, only to rise alongside him. Their relationship was full of conflict, misunderstanding, attraction, and eventual devotion.
They struggled. They grew.
They fell in love.
And Elena?
Elena Ward was nothing more than a stepping-stone.
A disposable sacrifice on Adrian Cross's road to power.
In the dream, after years of loyalty, she was framed for colluding with the East Sector. Dragged into a dark underground prison. Tortured until she could neither live nor die.
In the end, Adrian Cross personally ordered her execution.
No trial. No explanation.
Just a bullet.
Her past sacrifices meant nothing. Her achievements were erased. In North Sector District Thirteen, her name became synonymous with "traitor."
At the story's climax, Adrian Cross finally claimed his throne. He crushed every enemy, including the great villain Julian Crowe, and ruled the last livable territories with an iron fist.
He became a symbol of justice.
Mia Green stood at his side.
She delivered the final line of the story with a radiant smile:
"Let me reintroduce myself. My name is Mia Green."
And then—peace.
A perfect ending.
Elena wanted to scream.
What kind of outdated, cheap melodrama is this?!
She had lived a real life. Fought real battles. Believed in loyalty, duty, and sincerity.
And all of it was reduced to fuel for someone else's romance?
The rage dragged her out of the dream.
Elena woke up suddenly.
The first thing she heard was rain—heavy, relentless, smashing against glass with sharp, cracking sounds.
The second thing she noticed was the cold.
Not the deadly cold of the snowfield, but a controlled, sterile chill.
The air smelled sharply of alcohol and disinfectant. Somewhere nearby, metal instruments clinked against a tray.
It felt like a hospital.
Or worse—a laboratory.
She forced her eyes open.
A white figure passed through her blurred vision, and the overhead light was so bright it made tears spill reflexively down her cheeks.
A man's voice drifted down, low and faintly amused.
"What's wrong?" he asked lightly. "Did I hurt you?"
Elena's mind snapped into focus.
She realized someone was treating her injuries—stitching her arm, judging by the dull pull of sensation.
Without hesitation, she shook her head weakly. "No."
Then she spoke automatically, out of habit.
"Doctor, may I ask—"
A soft chuckle interrupted her.
"Doctor?"
That voice.
Her eyes flew open.
"Julian Crowe?!"
The man stood beside her bed in a white coat, tall and composed. His face was devastatingly handsome, his peach-blossom eyes curved with unmistakable amusement.
"Looks like you're really awake now," Julian said lazily.
He snapped on a pair of gloves with practiced ease. "Miss Ward… you've lived quite the difficult life."
Elena stared at him in disbelief as he continued treating her wound with calm precision.
Adrian Cross had abandoned her.
Julian Crowe had saved her.
Julian Crowe—Commander of East Sector District Fourteen. Her sworn enemy. The man she had fought for years.
North Sector District Thirteen bordered East Sector District Fourteen. Resource wars were constant. Every encounter between them had been a life-or-death clash.
She had shredded his uniform more than once.
He had taunted her relentlessly every time they met.
For years, Elena's greatest ambition—aside from defending her territory—had been to personally kill Julian Crowe and avenge Adrian Cross's younger brother.
And now…
He was her rescuer.
Worse—fragments of the dream still clung to her.
She remembered what happened after her death.
Half a month later, Julian Crowe launched a full assault on North Sector District Thirteen. The base was bathed in blood.
The battle was brutal beyond words.
Adrian Cross gathered every Ability User under his command and laid siege to Julian. Julian survived—but his meta-core was shattered.
Every Ability User possessed a meta-core, the vessel of their power. Once broken, their energy leaked away until their abilities were lost completely.
When North Sector later invaded the East, Julian could no longer resist.
At the end, he burned himself alive.
Standing atop a white church spire, laughing madly as flames devoured everything—roses, stone, and sky alike.
Orange fire lit the mountains. Black smoke swallowed the world.
Elena had watched it all from that impossible third-person view.
She never understood why Julian attacked the North when he did.
Or why, at the very end, he wore her silver bracelet.
The one her grandmother had given her at birth.
She had never taken it off.
Was it because of me?
The thought terrified her.
"…"
"I've called you three times," Julian said mildly. "What are you thinking about?"
Elena came back to herself.
He was leaning over her now, his expression openly amused.
She stiffened. Every instinct screamed danger.
No matter what, Julian Crowe was still Julian Crowe.
Every time he spoke, her skin prickled. The urge to draw a blade and slash at him felt almost instinctive.
She shifted slightly, moving away from the closeness of his hand.
"What is it?" she asked, voice tight.
Julian leaned closer.
The faint scent of blood and antiseptic clung to him. The room was cold, yet heat radiated subtly from his body, as if he carried warmth with him wherever he went.
Then, in a low, matter-of-fact tone, he said:
"Miss Ward, I'm afraid I must ask you… to take off your pants."
Elena froze.
"—What?!"
Before she could react, Julian raised one hand calmly.
"Relax," he said lazily. "You have deep lacerations and frost damage on your thigh and hip. If I don't treat them now, infection will kill you faster than the venom."
He glanced at her, eyes sharp despite the smile.
"Unless you'd prefer to die instead?"
Elena clenched her jaw.
"…I'll do it myself."
Julian chuckled softly and stepped back, giving her space.
"That would be preferable," he agreed. "I'm a gentleman, after all."
She didn't believe him for a second.
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