Chapter 10: An Inhuman Beauty
Kobe was unconscious.
His head rested on his mother's lap. Eyelids closed. His breath was weak, irregular—like a flame the wind still hesitates to extinguish.
And yet.
Something woke him.
Not a sound. Not a pain. Not the dim light of the city lanterns swaying in the dust-choked air.
Something else.
Something his body recognized even before his mind had time to return. A presence. Dense. Ancient. Immense—as if someone had just opened a door leading into an abyss, and the abyss was looking right at him.
His fingers twitched against the fabric of his mother's shawl.
His eyelids flickered.
Then, with an effort that cost him everything he had left, Kobe opened his eyes.
His vision was blurred. His limbs barely responded. Each heartbeat echoed like a dull thud behind his temples. But he saw the silhouette approaching, and something in the way it moved told him that running was not an option.
Not this time.
He raised his head. Barely. Just enough to look the man in the face.
His voice came out broken, raspy, barely louder than a whisper.
"…kill me if you want."
A pause. Brief. Painful.
"But leave my mother alive."
The man stopped.
He looked down at the child—this broken little body that had still found the strength to speak, to negotiate, to protect—and something in his gaze shifted imperceptibly. Not tenderness. Not compassion.
Something more complex than that.
Then, the corner of his mouth turned up.
"Not a bad offer."
He tilted his head slightly, hands still behind his back, his tone almost nonchalant.
"But…"
He let the word linger a second too long.
"…why kill you and spare your mother…"
His eyes flickered briefly toward Alma, still sitting, still hollow.
"…when I could very well do both?"
A small laugh skipped through his voice. Brief. Dry. Not cruel—almost worse than that. Detached.
Kobe did not answer.
He no longer had the strength.
The man slowly crouched in front of him, until they were at eye level. Up close, his face was hard to read—sharp features, a gaze that weighed things rather than felt them, and something behind those eyes that made it seem as though he had already seen it all before.
He observed the child in silence.
The broken leg. The torn fingernails. The dried blood on the cheek. The left eye, still slightly bloodshot.
And despite all that—that gaze that refused to look away.
He gave a soft sigh through his nose.
"A prodigious brat."
His hand rose—slow, precise.
"No."
He reconsidered mid-way, his voice dropping lower.
"Monstrous."
His fingers touched Kobe's temple with almost surgical lightness.
"You stopped three simultaneous attacks with a power you hadn't even mastered. You brought down two experienced men without backing down an inch. You scared off someone carrying the Adinkrahene."
He was speaking as if to himself now.
"And after all that, you crawled. With broken nails and blood in your eyes. You crawled all the way to her."
Silence.
"A child who already understands that some things are worth more than his own survival…"
His voice dropped even further.
"…is rare."
The energy surged suddenly—gentle, precise, irresistible. Just a light pressure on his consciousness, like a hand softly closing a door.
Kobe's eyes shut.
His body went limp.
The man caught him before he hit the pavement and pulled him slowly, carefully, against his chest.
He stayed motionless for a moment, eyes fixed on that childish face ravaged by pain and soot.
Then his gaze shifted toward Alma.
The woman without memory had not moved. Not during the screams. Not as the bodies fell. Not during the dark energy that had torn through the air above her. She had remained there, in the middle of the city's chaos, upright and empty, her eyes turned toward something no one else could see.
He watched her for a long time.
There was something in her.
Something extinguished.
But not gone.
"You too. You're coming with me."
He cast one last look at the sleeping child in his arms.
Around them, the city slowly caught its breath. The wind carried the dust from the cracked cobblestones. The lanterns swayed. Distant voices whispered in the alleys, hesitant, as if no one dared yet to name what they had just witnessed.
He tightened his arms slightly around the small body.
"Rest, little one. You've done too much today."
A pause.
"Let the adults take over."
And he vanished into the shadows of the alleys, the child against him, the woman in his wake.
Behind them, the city remained suspended—mute, dazed, like a witness who does not yet know what it has just seen.
The silence was not that of the street. It was no longer the dreary cracking of the rotted floorboards of his shack, nor the rancid smell of dust and hunger clinging to his sheets.
Kobe opened his eyes. Beneath him, a clean mattress. Over him, sheets that did not smell of mold. But in his head, a voice played on a loop, grating, obsessive, like a scratched record:
"Why spare her and only kill you... when I could simply end you both?"
He sat up abruptly. Pain flared in his side, a sharp reminder of his cracked ribs. Clean bandages. Changed clothes. His old, blood-stained garments had vanished. Near the bed, his bag. He searched it with a trembling hand and felt the cold of the metal—familiar, reassuring.
Mom.
He dressed without a sound—a surgical silence—every movement calculated so as not to make the floorboards groan. Then he slipped out of the room, his heart pounding against his ribs like a prisoner beating against bars. The scent of burning wood and broth guided him. Outside, beneath a gray dawn light, the man was there.
Sitting by the fire, a silhouette carved from the mist, he was calmly stirring a pot. Across from him, Alma was eating. At times, her eyes wandered into the void, but she was there. Alive.
Kobe did not think. He lunged. His blade sliced through the air, then stopped a few inches from the man's neck.
— "Don't move. My blade is faster than your next breath. Tell me who you are, or I'll open your throat."
The man did not react. The ladle continued its back-and-forth in the soup, plop, plop.
— "You impress me… almost. If we set the standards low enough," the stranger murmured in a silky voice. "You have your finger on the trigger, little one, but do you have a heart cold enough to handle the recoil? One does not threaten the ocean with a glass of water. Is it your courage I see… or just your ego trying to stifle your fear?"
— "I'm not joking!" Kobe thundered, his voice trembling but fierce.
The man rested the ladle in the pot. The fire seemed to flicker. The air itself became thick, heavy… as if gravity had just been multiplied by a hundred.
— "Kneel."
Kobe received the command like an invisible sledgehammer slamming onto his shoulders. He grunted, his muscles contracting violently to fight back. The veins in his neck swelled as he tried to stay upright, defying this pressure that sought to crush him. For a long, agonizing second, he held his ground, his teeth sinking into his lip until they drew blood. Then, with a sickening crack of his knees against the dirt, his body betrayed him.
He was suffocating. Not from fear, but from this presence, this vertigo that bent the soul.
— "It is better this way," the man said, turning slowly.
The pressure released suddenly. Kobe remained frozen, his hands pressed into the soft earth, his head bowed. Sweat poured down his temples, dripping onto the ground. His entire body shook with an uncontrollable spasm—a mix of adrenaline discharge and pure exhaustion. He felt as though his bones were still vibrating from the shock of this man's authority. He stayed like that for long seconds, staring at the blades of grass in front of him, unable to move, his breath short and wheezing. His dignity had been pulverized, and the void left by the invisible force was almost more painful than the pressure itself.
When he finally managed to look up, the vision rooted him to the spot.
The stranger stood tall, almost motionless, as if the world around him were nothing but an unimportant backdrop. Tall—easily towering over most men—he possessed a slender silhouette, perfectly proportioned, both noble and dangerously elegant. His blonde hair fell in long, silky strands, brushing his shoulders. They caught the light in an almost surreal way, oscillating between pale gold and silver depending on the angle, as if they were bathed in an invisible aura.
His face… was what troubled Kobe the most. Features of perfect symmetry, clear skin without imperfection, and a calm, almost distant expression—as if he were watching others from a higher plane. His smile was rare, but when it appeared, it was both gentle and terrifying, carrying absolute confidence.
But it was his eyes that captivated and disturbed the boy. Of a brilliant blue leaning toward a luminous azure, they seemed infinite, like a bottomless sky. When one stared at them too long, one had the impression of being seen entirely—not just the body, but the soul itself. A cold glow danced there, a mixture of ancient wisdom and uncontrollable power. They did not shine like those of a simple human… but like those of someone who has already surpassed their limits.
The man took a step forward, his gaze searching the boy who had not yet told him his name.
— "So… Did you not say that you stood by your words? The world does not stop because you suffer. It continues to crush you, until you become hard enough to no longer feel the blows. If you want to be feared, you must be powerful. For now, you are but a twig screaming against the storm."
Kobe slumped, panting, his lungs on fire.
A few hours later…
Kobe, sitting in a corner of the courtyard, was sulking. Arms crossed over his knees, gaze lost, but an ember of insolence still burned beneath his calm. His mother slept a few meters away, peaceful. The man, crouched near his tools, was cleaning his knives. His movements were precise, methodical, without a sound—shlak, shlak, shlak. Then he looked up.
— "So, kid? Lost your tongue? We don't speak to life-savers anymore?"
Kobe grit his teeth.
— "What was that… that power? Who are you, anyway?"
The man stopped and let out a brief, crystalline, mocking laugh.
— "Iaaahahhah! You want answers, but you haven't even paid the bill for the silence. Nothing is free in this world, little one. Not the bread. Not the truth. What do you give me in exchange?"
— "Are you serious? You're asking a child for payment?!"
Kobe's tone snapped. But the man's gaze—cold, metallic—cut him short.
— "A child? That word, you use it when it suits you. Is that what a child is in your eyes? One who draws a blade and threatens his savior? One who knows neither how to say hello, nor thank you, but already knows how to handle a weapon?"
He stood up, his tall stature imposing.
— "Look at yourself. You want to play the man, but you don't even thank the one who fed your mother while you were sinking into your delusion of vengeance. You want to be called 'man'? Start by learning gratitude. Excellence is not an act, kid. It is a habit. And for now, your habit is ingratitude."
Silence fell again. Kobe lowered his eyes toward his hands, which were still shaking slightly. He understood. This time, without tears, without anger.
— "You're right..." he whispered at last. "I thank you. For her. And for me."
The man turned his gaze back to the fire, a thick, powerful laugh escaping his throat.
— "Raahahahhaahahhah! Finally. We might be able to make something of this bug after all. Eat. The path to your Mindscape is still long, and no one is coming to save you from yourself."
He handed him a steaming bowl, his crushing aura finally seeming to soften in the warmth of the flames.
— "As it turns out, you aren't completely beyond saving. Just almost."