The gym buzzed with activity: the clanking of weights, the rhythmic thuds of runners on treadmills, the occasional sharp grunt of someone pushing their limits. He could see so many opportunities for chaos all around—weights poorly racked, jump ropes lying carelessly on the floor, and egos too inflated for their own good.
'So much potential for chaos ,' Lumian thought with a grin. But he clenched his fists briefly and inhaled. 'Control yourself for now. Stick to the plan.'
Angela's cheerful voice pulled him back to the present. "The reception desk is over there," she said, pointing toward a counter manned by a woman who was toned and athletic but otherwise unremarkable in appearance.
"Thanks," Lumian replied, flashing her his most disarming smile.
Angela nodded, her ponytail swaying as she turned to leave. Lumian's eyes lingered on her as she walked away, watching the smooth, hypnotic sway of her hips until she disappeared through a doorway marked *Studio Room 1.*
Once her figure was out of sight, Lumian let his fake smile fade. Turning toward the reception desk, he approached it with purpose, already formulating his next move.
The receptionist eyed him as he approached, sizing him up with a critical gaze. She wasn't beautiful by conventional standards, but her powerful build exuded authority, and her chiseled arms suggested she could handle herself if anyone stepped out of line.
"Hi there," Lumian said casually, leaning against the counter. "I'd like to register."
The receptionist raised an eyebrow but nodded. "First-time customers get a two-week free trial. No charges unless you decide to stick around after that."
"Perfect," Lumian replied. He quickly filled out the registration form, scribbling down only the bare minimum of details. 'Two weeks is more than enough time to finish what I've started.'
She handed him a temporary pass, and he was about to leave the counter when his gaze swept the room again. The weight machines gleamed under the fluorescent lights, dumbbells clinked as they were picked up and set down, and the treadmills lined up in a neat row hummed with activity. Each station brimmed with potential for chaos .
'I really shouldn't... but I can't resist.'
He turned back to the receptionist, who was now preoccupied with some paperwork.
"Hey," Lumian said, leaning in slightly. She looked up, startled but not alarmed.
"What is it?"
Before she could object, he walked around the counter, standing close enough that she instinctively stiffened. Her eyes narrowed, and her tone grew firm. "You're not supposed to be back here."
But before her irritation could escalate, Lumian placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"Corruption."
A faint shimmer pulsed from his fingertips into her skin, and her expression softened almost immediately, the tension in her body dissolving . Her lips curled into a subtle but mischievous grin, her eyes now alight with the suggestion of mischief.
"You know," Lumian began, his voice low and conspiratorial, "it would be hilarious if you cranked the speed on one of those treadmills to max while someone was using it. Don't you think?"
The receptionist hesitated for only a fraction of a second before her grin widened. "You're right. That would be funny."
Lumian stepped back, watching with satisfaction as she walked toward the treadmills, her posture loose and confident.
One of the treadmills was occupied by a man in his mid-thirties, jogging at a steady pace. His face was set in focused determination, his earbuds cutting him off from the noise of the gym.
The receptionist walked up to the treadmill's controls, her actions deliberate but casual enough not to raise suspicion. She glanced around briefly before turning the speed dial to its maximum setting with a swift flick of her wrist.
The treadmill's hum turned into a roar as the belt beneath the man's feet surged forward. His focus shattered as his legs scrambled to keep up with the sudden acceleration. It only took seconds for him to lose his footing completely, his body slamming against the moving belt before he was flung off onto the rubber flooring.
The man groaned in pain, clutching his elbow as he struggled to sit up.
The receptionist burst into laughter, her tone light and unrestrained, as if she were watching a comedy skit unfold. But her laughter was the only sound of amusement in the gym.
Everyone else froze, their gazes snapping toward the scene with expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief. The hum of activity ground to a halt as gym-goers dropped weights and pulled earbuds from their ears.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" someone shouted, breaking the silence.
The receptionist blinked, the weight of reality crashing down on her. Her laughter faltered, and she stuttered as she tried to explain herself. "I-I… he told me to do it. He said it would be funny!"
Her trembling finger pointed toward the reception counter, but Lumian was no longer there.
The injured man's face turned crimson with rage. "Are you kidding me?" he spat. "You're trying to blame some imaginary guy for this? Do you take me for an idiot?"
The gym erupted into chaos. Other patrons started shouting at the receptionist, demanding explanations, refunds, and even threatening lawsuits.
The man demanded to see the manager, his voice rising above the clamor. "You're going to pay for this! You and this whole gym!"
In the midst of the uproar, Lumian was already outside the gym strolling casually to his next destination, his head held high. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as the chaos behind him grew louder and more heated.
Just as he stepped outside, the system's notification popped into his vision.
[You have received 100 CT]
The smirk widened into a full grin. 'This is too easy .'
Lumian decided that he needed more hands if he was to carry out his plan—others who could be manipulated to serve his purpose. Fortunately, he knew just where to find them.
The day passed uneventfully as Lumian let his plans simmer in the back of his mind. When night fell, he found himself back at The Close, the lawless haven of criminals and cutthroats he called home.
Lumian strolled through the alley with his usual unhurried confidence, but his ears twitched as he caught a faint shuffle—a sound too deliberate to be the normal background noise of The Close. He paused, tilting his head slightly as if to listen more closely.
Then he muttered under his breath, "Saves me the trouble of looking for you."
Before he could take another step, a small metal canister clinked onto the ground, rolling to a stop at his feet.
"Ah, here we go," Lumian said, his voice laced with amusement.
The canister erupted in a burst of acrid smoke. Lumian instinctively shielded his face from the blast, his arm rising in a swift motion. The cloud thickened around him, obscuring his vision entirely.
Out of the haze, a massive fist came hurtling toward him.
BAM!
The punch collided squarely with Lumian's face. But instead of staggering back or crumpling under the force, Lumian remained rooted in place, entirely unaffected. He stood tall, lowering his arm as the smoke began to dissipate, revealing two familiar figures.
"I knew you'd come, Boulder," Lumian said, his tone sharp with mockery. He turned his head slightly to the right, eyes narrowing. "And Stone."