Do you have memories from when you were a toddler? Maybe your first tumble, a trip to the zoo, or the warmth of a parent’s arms?

  Not me.

  My consciousness didn’t boot up until I was five years old. It started with a punch to the face. A classmate had decided I was trying to steal his "girlfriend"—we were five—and decked me.

  I didn't cry. I didn't run. Instead, a pure, blinding red rage flooded my system. I shoved him back hard enough that his head ricocheted off the wall, slamming into mine. We both ended up with heads swollen like balloons, weeping parents, and a stern lecture from the teacher.

  That concussion was my "on" switch. From that day forward, the recording light of my memory stayed on.

  When I was seven, my father’s job moved us from Vesperia to Aetheria. It was a shift from the bustle to a rural quiet on the west side of the city-state.

  People always asked, “How did you handle the language barrier?”

  Honestly? It was easy. With a Vesparian mother and an Aetherian father, I was bilingual by necessity. I made friends within hours of landing at my new school. I’ve always been good at yapping.

  My childhood was aggressively normal. Same friends, same routine, right up until the end of middle school. That’s when I decided to move to Vespa, the big city, alone. My parents agreed to a rental apartment, and I packed my bags, ready for freedom.

  I left everyone behind. Well, everyone except Lee Min Joon.

  Min Joon was... noticeable. At fourteen, he was already 173cm, built like a tank from years of Taekwondo, and unfortunately handsome. He was the kind of guy who could gather a fan club just by breathing.

  Were we friends? I suppose. We grew up in the same neighborhood, though we drifted apart in middle school. We were friendly enough to nod in the halls or try to kill each other during P.E., but we weren't close. Still, knowing a familiar face was heading to the concrete jungle with me was comforting.

  I texted him before I left, asking if he wanted to meet up. He seemed chill about it.

  As I packed, I remembered the Rumor.

  A year ago, Min Joon was nearly suspended. Word was he had flattened a gang of thirty high schoolers who tried to jump him. Thirty guys unconscious; Min Joon without a scratch.

  It sounded like some fantasy novel—standard schoolyard mythology. But for a week, the school was terrified of him. The weirdest part? The high schoolers involved couldn't remember a thing.

  Whatever. That was his drama, not mine.

  My life motto is simple: “Act dumb, live longer.” If you don't engage with the weird stuff, the weird stuff can't kill you.

  February ended, and I arrived at my new apartment in Vespa two days before the semester started.

  It was a decent flat. Small, but functional. I opened the window, expecting a breeze, but the air here was heavy—thicker, almost metallic compared to the clean rural air back home.

  My phone buzzed against the mattress, vibrating violently.

  [100+ Unread Messages]

  Mostly friends wishing me luck, my mom checking if I’d eaten. Then, a single new notification popped up.

  From: Lee Min Joon

  [Dude, you wanna grab some supper from the mart?]

  {11:34 PM}

  I sighed, grabbing my coat.

  [Sure. Meet you near the station.]

  It turned out we lived only a few blocks apart. The convenience store near the station was our halfway point. I walked quickly, eager to see what kind of cup noodles the big city had to offer.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  When I reached the station, the streets were empty.

  [Dude, I'm here,] I texted.

  No reply. The road split ahead—left and right—but both paths were desolate.

  Thump.

  A heavy sound echoed from behind the convenience store. Not a car backfiring. It sounded like a wrecking ball hitting wet earth.

  Against my better judgment—and ignoring the instinct that told me to just go home—I walked toward the sound. I figured Min Joon was there.

  I was right. But not the kind of meet up I was expecting.

  Behind the store, in what used to be a parking lot, was a crater.

  Lying in the center, covered in dirt and groaning, were Lee Min Joon and a girl I didn't recognize. Standing at the edge of the crater was a man with a long ponytail and a terrifying tiger tattoo crawling up his neck.

  The man’s eyes were bloodshot, veins pulsing. He squatted down, twirling his finger.

  And as his finger moved, rocks floated. Debris from the asphalt lifted into the air, swirling around him in a defying orbit.

  “I finally found you, you little sh*t,” the man hissed.

  Nope.

  I spun on my heel, creating a perfect U-turn.

  Rocks were floating. Actual rocks. Physics had left the chat, and I intended to follow it.

  This is cool, a small part of my brain whispered. Superpowers are real.

  Shut up, the rest of my brain screamed. This is how side characters die.

  ‘Sorry Min Joon,’ I thought, walking faster. ‘This looks like a pain in the ass.’

  ‘Dude, just help me out! A life is at stake here!’

  I froze.

  ‘No way, man. I don't want to—’

  I stopped dead. I hadn't opened my mouth. That voice was in my head.

  ‘Telepathy,’ the voice—Min Joon’s voice—echoed in my skull. ‘I’ll explain later. Grab the girl and run.’

  ‘Hell no! I told you, I act dumb to live long—’

  Thump.

  Something materialized out of thin air, slamming into my chest.

  ‘Catch.’

  It was the girl. My arms reacted before my brain did, scooping her up into a fireman’s carry.

  ‘Ho—?’

  ‘Teleportation. Now MOVE.’

  The air behind me shrieked with the sound of metal twisting. Explosions rang out, causing my ears to bleed, but I didn't look back. I ran.

  I sprinted toward the station stairs, adrenaline flooding my legs. I was fast, but panic made me clumsy. My foot caught on the top step.

  We tumbled. I wrapped my arms around the girl, shielding her head as we rolled down the concrete stairs. We hit the bottom hard. Bruised, winded, but alive.

  I scrambled up, checking her pulse. ‘She’s okay.’

  I sat back, gasping for air, sweat stinging my eyes.

  CRUNCH.

  Above us, the guard railing groaned. The thick metal poles twisted like liquorice, snapping into jagged, spear-like shards.

  “Found you.”

  The ponytail man stood at the top of the stairs, floating on a shard of metal.

  “Hey! Wake the hell up!” I shook the girl violently. No response.

  The man flicked a finger.

  Zip.

  A shard of metal, no bigger than a pen, shot through the air and punched a hole through my thigh.

  “ARGHH!!!”

  I collapsed, clutching my leg. Blood—warm and sticky—soaked my jeans instantly.

  The man descended slowly, flicking more shards around us, toying with his prey.

  Run, my brain screamed. Run, you idiot.

  But I couldn't stand. And I couldn't leave her.

  Act dumb, live longer. That was my mantra.

  I could have made a new friend or even find myself a new girlfriend.

  But no. I decided to play hero and now I was going to die in a dirty stairwell two days before high school started.

  I crawled in front of the girl, shielding her with my body. The man landed in front of me.

  “Dumb move,” he sneered.

  “I know,” I managed to smirk, channeling every ounce of fake bravado I had left.

  “Any last words?”

  “Nope. Let’s get it over with.”

  I closed my eyes.

  Man, I wish I’d at least gotten a girlfriend before I died.

  Pathetic. Truly pathetic last words.

  Suddenly, the world turned white.

  ‘...GET AWAY FROM HER!!!’

  A shockwave blasted past me. I opened my eyes to see the man disintegrate—literally turning to ash in the wind.

  The girl was standing. Her eyes were glowing a radioactive green, her black hair bleaching into a blinding white, lifting as if she were underwater.

  She turned to me. Before I could ask what was happening, she pressed two fingers against my temple.

  Everything went black.

  **

  “Hey man. You finally up?”

  I blinked. A white ceiling. The smell of antiseptic.

  A man in a school uniform was sitting by the bed. Lee Min Joon sewed on the shirt pocket.

  My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. “Yeah... hurts like hell.”

  Min Joon let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. “Damn. You were insane back there. Surviving that? I owe you one. Big time.”

  “Sure. No problem.” I rubbed my temples. “Just one question.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Who are you?”

  Min Joon froze. The color drained from his face. “A... Are you serious? You don’t know who I am?”

  I stared at him blankly. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy.

  “Pfft. HAHAHA!” I couldn't hold it anymore. I burst out laughing. “Are you dumb?! You actually fell for the amnesia cliché?!”

  Min Joon’s face went red. He grabbed a pillow and slammed it into my face. “You piece of sh*t! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!”

  “Okay, chill, chill!”

  “Screw this. If you can joke like that, you’re fine.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out, though I could tell he was relieved.

  I chuckled as the door clicked shut. The laughter faded slowly into the quiet of the hospital room.

  I swung my legs out of bed—my thigh was bandaged but functional—and grabbed the hand mirror from the bedside table.

  I looked into the glass.

  The reflection looked back. Same dark eyes. Same messy hair. Same nose.

  “But really...” I whispered to the reflection, my smile vanishing completely.

  I tilted my head. The reflection hesitated for a fraction of a second before following.

  “...Who are you?”