"That man is naked!" a little boy shouted, pointing at Landen.
"Ahhh!" his mother screamed, quickly covering his eyes.
Around Landen, bystanders cried out in shock, and passing vehicles honked as they swerved to avoid him.
"What's going on?" Landen said, glancing around at the commotion. Then he looked down and froze.
His eyes widened. "Whoa… this guy has a six-pack and a pretty big—"
"…Wait… This guy is me…"
Landen covered himself, and only then did it fully register—he was standing in the middle of a busy intersection of a large city.
"Hey, you!" a police officer shouted. "What are you doing? Streaking in public is a first-degree offense."
Landen saw them, but the noise of traffic drowned out their voices. It didn't matter what they said, because police officers are here to help… right?
"Hey! Over here!" he said, waving his arms to get their attention.
The officers hurried toward him, and a sense of relief fell over him. However, that quickly changed when they pulled out their guns.
"Wait!" he shouted, as he turned to run. But before he could get anywhere, a needle struck his left buttcheek. His body went limp, and he collapsed face-first onto the pavement, buttcheeks high in the air.
The last thing he remembered was being lifted and thrown into a vehicle.
---------
Some time later, Landen woke up on his back with the biggest migraine ever.
"W-what…?" he groaned, blinking slowly. "Where am I?"
His vision was blurry at first, but as it cleared, he saw metal bars surrounding him on one side. In the corner sat a small toilet, and next to it was a scratched mirror on the wall.
"I'm… in a jail cell?" he whispered. "No… this can't be happening…"
One minute he was celebrating his victory, the next minute he found himself naked in the middle of the street, and now he was in a jail cell. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Or maybe he really was cursed. Cursed by the International Champions, destined to never make it to the finals. No, he had to go. He didn't come this far just to end up like this.
Quickly jumping to his feet, he rushed toward the bars, but he stopped mid-step as something caught his eye.
It wasn't something, it was someone. It was him...his reflection in the mirror.
"Wait… what?"
Surprised at what he saw, studied himself closely.
It was his face—no doubt about it. The same one he had seen thousands of times before.
But… different.
His skin was completely clear. The pimples he'd always dealt with were gone, along with every scar and freckle. Not a single imperfection remained.
Even his black hair looked different. It was thicker, fuller, and somehow perfectly styled—falling into place in a messy, effortless way that looked like it took hours to achieve.
Yeah… he looked good. He always knew that if his skin was as smooth as those K-pop idols', he would look just as good as them, or better—and now, seeing it for himself, he was right.
His confidence ticked up almost instantly.
"…Oh ho… I can get used to this."
Then his gaze drifted downward, and his eyes widened at what he saw.
His torso was sculpted. Defined, chiseled abs ran down his stomach like they'd been carved from stone.
It felt like his body—same proportions, same overall build—but refined. Sharper. Stronger. Like everything had been pushed to its peak.
A moment later, the door beyond the metal bars creaked open, and two men walked in. One carried a neatly folded set of clothes, while the other held a tablet, tapping on it.
When they looked up, they found Landen dancing while admiring himself in the mirror.
He was watching his rock-hard abs fold over each other like dragon scales as he moved his hips, flexing his defined arms as they pumped up and down.
The officers froze, trying—and failing—not to notice his soldier swinging below along with the performance.
"This kid must be high on something," one of them muttered.
"…Do we restrain him, or… wait for the dance to end?"
"I don't know, but if he makes eye contact, I'm requesting backup."
As they continued to speak to each other, Landen finally noticed them, but he couldn't understand a single word. The language was strange. Nothing like anything he had ever heard before.
"Hey—listen," Landen said quickly, relief flooding his voice. "This is all a big mistake—
Landen was cut off as the two men didn't pay him any attention.
"There's no record of him," one of the officers said.
Landen waved at them. "Hey! Can you understand—"
Before he could finish, one of the men tossed a bundle of clothes through the bars.
"Put these on, kid."
"Red coveralls?" said the man with the tablet. "Aren't those reserved for the highest criminals?"
"Yeah, but that's all we got. All the orange ones are in the wash. It's only temporary, so he should be fine."
"Look, guys," Landen said, while putting on the coveralls. "I need to get out of here. Is there anyone who speaks English?"
"What's your name?" one of the officers asked.
Landen looked confused.
The officer pointed to himself.
"Doe," he said, suggesting that his name was Doe.
"Ray," he said, pointing to his partner.
Then, he pointed at Landen.
Landen hesitated.
"…Uh…"
"Mi, Fa, So… La, Ti, Do?"
The man gave him a thumbs up and entered his name into the tablet he was carrying.
"Mifaso Latido," the man said.
After a few seconds, he took out his keys and began to open the cage.
"Ok Mifaso, it looks like we don't have any records of you, and you don't have an ID tracker. So—"
The other officer went inside and snapped handcuffs onto Landen.
"—We're going to need to take you to get tagged. Here, lie down on this bed, you're gonna need to sleep for this one."
A nurse came by with a large needle.
"Wait, stop! What are you—"
Before he could finish, the nurse stabbed his neck with the needle, and he instantly fell asleep.
---------
Landen woke up to another sharp pounding headache. This wasn't the jail cell anymore.
He was lying on a hard bench in the back of some kind of moving vehicle. His wrists bound tightly in handcuffs.
"…Seriously?" he scoffed. "I didn't know walking around naked was that big of a crime. They're treating me like I tried to assassinate their leader or something."
Then he looked outside. The sky didn't look normal. Faint streaks of color—like shifting rainbows—bled across the horizon, distorting the blue in a way that felt unnatural. The buildings outside were even stranger. Towering structures twisted upward in unfamiliar shapes, their designs sleek, curved, and nothing like anything he had ever seen before.
Suddenly, his right wrist jerked involuntarily. Embedded just beneath his skin was a small metallic device, its surface faintly glowing as if it were alive.
"Hey! What the hell did you guys do to my arm?!"
These guys had stripped him, drugged him, locked him up, and now they'd put something inside his body. What the hell is going on?
The vehicle suddenly lurched to a stop, and Doe and Ray quickly pulled him out, still cuffed like some kind of dangerous criminal.
They went inside, up to a front desk, where a woman looked up from her station.
"We're looking for Chief Marshal Gordon Vanderbilt," said Doe. "This is an urgent matter."
"He's currently speaking in the arena," she replied. "Go on ahead."
The officers dragged him down a long hallway. The further they went, the louder it became. Then when they entered the arena a wave of noise crashed over him.
Inside was a massive arena, packed with hundreds of people. Rows upon rows of faces turned toward the front, where someone stood speaking to the crowd.
Landen froze as he was pulled inside, every instinct screaming at him that something was very wrong.
Ray leaned closer, a faint smirk on his face.
"Hey kid... Welcome to your new home… Aegis Vanguard Military Academy."
Landen didn't understand the words—but he knew exactly what was going on.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he shouted, trying to yank himself free from their grip.
"I'M GETTING A PUBLIC EXECUTION?!"