10 minutes earlier

Zabi and his crew didn't waste time—they broke into one of the houses near the Mutts' place.

The entire street glowed under the warm lights, shadows stretching everywhere. It was the perfect cover for stalking out unseen. And to make their job even easier, the house belonged to an elderly couple. A rich one too—their faces wrinkled with age, hands trembling… but their skin surprisingly soft, thanks to all the expensive oils they rubbed on themselves every single morning.

"We should tie them up with a rope!"

one soldier yelled the moment they infiltrated the home. Others moved around the windows, setting up X-ray vision goggles.

The old couple sat there terrified, shivering like leaves shaken by a storm. The guns surrounding them were more than anything they'd ever seen—even in old war documentaries.

"Where're your manners? They're old people, damn it. Get them a cup of milk or something… compensation for letting us in their home."

Zabi said it casually, as if he wasn't the one who just kicked in the door.

"Are we good over there, Roy?"

He pressed a finger against the earpiece on his right ear.

"We're good. Connected to all their systems, sirens off. And honestly, for a tech billionaire, his security is trash."

Roy answered.

He wasn't even near the mission. Instead he sat on a rooftop pool chair at home, pajama pants on, laptop glowing on his lap. It was the same roof where he held his kid's birthday parties. He'd insisted on staying in.

"The mind needs rest, you know," he had said—like it was some sacred saying.

"Sir!"

A soldier who'd been peeking through the cameras called for Zabi's attention.

Zabi turned sharply.

"What is it?"

"Not many workers, just like our intel said. They sent most of them home. The Mutts are definitely there."

A smirk slowly crawled onto Zabi's face.

"Alright, men… we roll out."

Now

They reached their destination just as easily as they expected. A few weak security guards fell, nothing more.

Some mercenaries circled the house, blocking off every exit anyone might think of taking.

"I thought you said his security was weak,"

Zabi mocked, standing by the door and waiting for Roy to unlock it remotely—unaware that curious eyes were watching them from the library window.

"I know, I know. The gate, easy. The bulbs, easy. But this door… it's something else,"

Roy muttered, fingers dancing on the keyboard. The screen filled with binary codes processing thousands of things per second.

"What the fuck…"

Marie whispered as she quickly ducked away from the window.

"Are they Russians? No… their uniforms aren't right… then who the hell are they?"

She ransacked her thoughts, searching for any faction that would dare attack them.

Suddenly it clicked.

"Their gear… their numbers… properly armed… and our security system must be down. Ross didn't tell me what happened at the elderly house. They must be from the Turtle Companies."

But then another realization hit even harder.

Ross wasn't home.

She'd checked his room earlier—empty.

Her heartbeat rose sharply.

Her mother.

Her mother's room was on the lowest floor.

"I left her watching TV… she should be in her room by now. I have to get her."

She knew it wasn't simple.

That floor was exactly where the mercenaries would enter first.

"These are trained soldiers… if I move blindly, they'll shoot me,"

she told herself, forcing a plan into existence.

That's when she remembered the emergency weaponry spread across the house.

If she could get to a flare and a gun, she could fire the flare and attract attention—something even corrupt cops wouldn't ignore.

But the flare was on the second floor.

The gun pouch on the first.

Two different risks.

One chance.

She froze for milliseconds—mind fighting itself.

"Fuck it."

She chose.

And ran deeper into the library.

First Floor

Chaos exploded.

Anyone who tried to escape through the doors met mercenaries waiting on the other side.

The home was under siege—like ancient times when cities were surrounded and trapped.

"Get to the safe box!"

Linward screamed loudly, directing the workers like an emergency officer.

They stood in the first-floor corridor—the exact place the mercenaries would reach once Roy cracked the door open.

Thud. Thud.

Five workers sprinted toward the descending passage that led into the basement.

"You have to call the police!"

a panicked woman shouted, her heartbeat practically punching out of her chest.

"I will! Don't worry!"

Linward reassured her as she disappeared into the passage.

But the truth was brutal.

He already tried everything—the alarms, the calls, the emergency line.

All jammed.

They were covered in a cloud of death. A cloud that wrapped itself around them and didn't let go.

When the last person was safe, Linward rushed to a secret spot in the kitchen. He double tapped behind the table.

A hidden stash opened up—full of guns.

AK-47s. Pistols.

He grabbed them all.

His hands shook, yet his posture showed training. Experience. Readiness.

He placed the AK-47 on the table to brace its recoil and aimed it directly at the door.

Sweat rolled down his face.

His breath heavy.

But his resolve? Solid.

"Alright, fuckers… let's dance."

Beep. Beep.

The door unlocked.

........

GENKI ZONE

The smell of burnt flesh spread through the air—thick, bitter. Dust floated everywhere, stirred by the lightning strike's impact.

Ross stared into the chaos, eyes trying to focus on the figure floating in the air—arms stretched apart in a messiah-like pose.

A faint ringing filled his ears.

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

His eyes widened, fingers shaking.

He tried moving.

He tried standing.

But the weight—the impossible heaviness pressing on him—pushed him deeper into the ground.

And then he understood.

All along, the abnormal gravity he felt the moment he arrived wasn't from the realm.

It was from him.

Not a technique.

Not a spell.

Not an effect.

Just his presence.

The closer Ross was to this being, the heavier he became.

A living black hole of pressure.

"Ross Mutt,"

the figure finally spoke, voice deep, calm, unsettling.

"May I say… I'm a fan."

Ross forced himself up—barely managing one knee.

"Fans don't try to kill stars… do they?"

he replied, voice neutral but tight.

"Hahaha…"

The Genki laughed softly. A strange, out-of-place laugh that didn't match the horror of the moment.

"Well… I guess you're the exception."

The Genki floated forward, stepping out of the smoke and dust at last.

Ross froze.

What he saw shook him to his core.

The body was tall, muscular—human from the waist up.

Human arms.

Human torso.

But the legs—

the legs were spider-like.

Not the weak ones he'd fought before, but stronger, firm, evolved versions.

On his waist he wore a black robe, like ancient Greek times.

And around its neck—

two heads.

One at the back—

looking exactly like the child's soul he was here to help, only older, healthier, like a haunting glimpse of what the kid could have become.

But the front head…

that's what crushed Ross's breath.

It carried a memory.

A scar.

A nightmare.

Jaguar.

The man who destroyed him in the martial arts finals.

The man whose face symbolized loss, humiliation, pain.

And now…

he was the face of the Genki.

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