Ren wakes up late in the morning, the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds as he stretches lazily. He smirks to himself, savoring the rare pleasure of sleeping in.
"Ahh, it feels so good to sleep till late."
It's a new day, and for once, it feels like things are under his control.
A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Lina enters, a tray of food in her hands.
"You should wake up earlier," she chides lightly, placing the tray on the table. "You still have to work."
Ren waves her off with a lazy grin. "Yeah, yeah. I'll leave after you."
They eat in comfortable silence, the occasional small talk filling the room, but Ren's mind is already wandering.
After Lina leaves for work, he finds himself alone in the apartment.
The quiet is satisfying. He stands and stretches again, his mind already moving to interesting matters. I should practice telekinesis a bit.
He practices vibrating an object but still fails to do it. But he isn't that much worried about that as he will be able to do that as his control grows.
"So I need to practice and increase my control over it. Let's try it then." He mutters.
Ren sits down and levitates the pens on the table. He focuses, lifting all four simultaneously. His control is steady, but the strain is immediately apparent.
Only four? he thinks. Is it due to my lack of control that I can't lift more?
He focuses on another pen, trying to force it into the air alongside the others. But as soon as it lifts, the other pens wobble and shake, threatening to fall. His mind strains under the effort, his focus splintering.
Still, he doesn't give up.
Step by step, he reminds himself, breathing deeply. He lifts the four pens again, holding them steady. The shakiness is still there, but less than before. Slowly, methodically, he moves the pens through the air, testing their weight and direction.
Now for the next step, he thinks, willing the pens to move not as a group, but separately.
This is where the real challenge begins. Moving the objects together is simple enough, but moving them in different directions at once? That takes more mental focus than he's used to.
But he tries it, and though hard, He succeeds in doing so.
It's all about his focus, not telekinesis force. Telekinesis is just a tool, but how much he can use it, depends solely on him.
Telekinesis is like thoughts, he can use it as long as he can think. But how much he can depends on how clearly he can think and imagine.
Ren lies on his bed, drained from the intense practice session. His mind is buzzing from pushing his telekinetic limits, but his body feels heavy, the mental strain pulling him toward sleep. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, the soft hum of the city outside offering a brief moment of calm.
Ding-dong.
But the sudden chime of the doorbell snaps him from his sleepiness.
He sits up, blinking in confusion. Who the hell could that be? With a sigh, Ren swings his legs off the bed, shuffling towards the door, his tiredness momentarily forgotten.
He opens the door, and there stands Ivan, the boss of the thugs who had caused him so much trouble yesterday.
The sight of the man standing there with a large leather bag in his hands stirs something in Ren. His weariness evaporates, replaced by a sharp, dangerous focus. His expression shifts instantly from one of exhaustion to something far more menacing.
"Ohhh," Ren's voice drips with mock amusement. "You're finally here."
Ivan hesitates, shifting nervously on his feet. He's a large man, but the fear in his eyes betrays his intimidating size.
"Y-yes," Ivan stammers, his grip tightening on the bag. "I—I brought the money."
Ren smirks, enjoying the man's discomfort. "Good."
With a casual flick of his hand, Ren uses telekinesis to lift the bag from Ivan's grip, suspending it in mid-air for a moment before sending it inside, all without touching it.
The power display is deliberate, a silent reminder of the leverage Ren holds over the man.
The bag floats gently onto the table behind him. Ren narrows his eyes at Ivan, his voice cool and commanding.
"You can leave now."
Ivan swallows hard, fear flickering across his face. He nods hastily, taking a step back.
"Y-yes, of course," he mumbles, his words stumbling over each other. "And—uh—I remember what you said. I made sure the others remember too."
Ren's smirk, "Good." His tone is flat, but the threat lingers beneath the surface. He turns to close the door, but just as his hand reaches for the handle, Ivan hesitates.
Something shifts in his demeanor—fear, but also desperation.
Ivan suddenly drops to his knees before Ren, his hands trembling, taking a deep breath. His fear is evident, but there's also determination, almost desperation.
He looks up at Ren, eyes filled with a strange mixture of hope and terror.
"My lord... please," Ivan says, his voice shaky but firm.
"Let us serve you. I swear, we will be loyal. My men and I… we can be useful to someone like you."
Ren narrows his eyes, surprised. His gaze falls on Ivan, cold, almost bored, as he speaks.
"Useful?" The word drips with disdain. "And what makes you think you—a bunch of low-life thugs—are worth my time?"
Ivan winces at the blunt rejection but pushes on, desperation clawing at him.
"W-we can do things for you! My lord. Things you wouldn't want to dirty your hands with. We know the streets, we know how to handle people—control them. Whatever you need to be done, no questions asked."
Ren clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "I don't need anyone's help to handle my business. I don't see why I should waste my energy on keeping you around." His words are sharp, cutting through Ivan's resolve, but the thug refuses to give up.
Ivan shifts forward on his knees, almost groveling now.
"No, my lord, please! I—I don't ask for much. Just a chance! With you, we'll be protected, we'll grow. I know you're more than you appear to be. I can see it. You… you're something powerful, something far beyond us. If we work for you… it's like having the favor of a god."
Ren pauses at that, intrigued by the unexpected flattery. His lips twitch into a smirk, but his eyes remain cold.
"A God, you say?" His voice carries an edge of amusement. "And what makes you think a God would waste divine favor on scum like you?"
Ivan's eyes widen, and he hurriedly nods, mistaking Ren's amusement for consideration.
"Y-yes! That's exactly it! We know we're small, but that's why we're willing to serve you. You have power—real power—and we want to be on your side before it's too late. You could crush us anytime, we know that… but if we're with you, we'll do anything to stay useful. Anything you need—just say the word."
Ren's expression hardens, and he steps back slightly, crossing his arms.
"You think I need you to crawl around, licking my boots? I have no use for weaklings who can't even fend for themselves. If you think groveling at my feet will change anything, you're wasting your breath."
Ivan's face falls, panic flickering in his eyes. "Please, my lord—don't say that!" His voice cracks as he lowers his head even further, forehead nearly touching the ground.
"I beg you. We'll do anything. We can gather information, we can deal with threats, and collect more money. My men... my men will follow me, and they'll follow you."
Ren watches him, considering the sight of this grown man on his knees, utterly pathetic in his desperation. Part of him wants to laugh at how easy it would be to dismiss him. But then again, he thinks about the potential benefits. He lets his mind wander over the possibilities—money, loyalty, men willing to do the dirty work that Ren can't be bothered with.
Minions, he thinks, the idea slowly taking root. If I let him work under me, I can have them handle things I don't want to deal with. Less attention on me… more resources flowing in. And if they prove useless, I can always discard them later.
Ren tilts his head, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chin as he stares down at Ivan. The thug is practically trembling, clearly expecting another harsh rejection.
But instead, Ren sighs, playing up his disinterest even though he's already made his decision.
"So, you think I'll just accept you because you're on your knees, begging for scraps of power?" Ren's voice is colder now, a dangerous undertone creeping into his words.
"What happens when you can't deliver? What happens when your usefulness runs out?"
Ivan shakes his head frantically, still kneeling. "It won't, I swear! I'll make sure we're always valuable to you. Whatever it takes, we'll do it. You'll never regret having us serve you."
Ren narrows his eyes, watching Ivan closely. His lips curl into a predatory smile.
"Alright then, let's see how long you can prove that worth. But let me be clear—if you mess up once, even slightly, I'll make sure you regret it. Do you understand?"
Ivan's face lights up with a mixture of relief and fear. He nods quickly, still on his knees. "Yes, yes! I won't disappoint you, my lord. I swear it."
Ren leans down slightly, bringing his face closer to Ivan's, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with cold amusement.
"Serve me well, and maybe, just maybe, I'll allow you to prosper under my shadow."
Ivan shivers at the intensity of Ren's gaze, nodding once more. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you…"
Ren straightens up, his expression smoothing back into one of detached calm.
"Get out of my sight. I'll contact you when I need something."
Ivan scrambles to his feet, his face pale but filled with gratitude. He quickly hands Ren his card before backing away, bowing several times.
"Thank you… thank you!" he mutters, before fleeing down the hall.
Ren watches him disappear, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "Pathetic." He mutters the word under his breath, but there's a glint in his eyes as he turns back to the leather bag, already envisioning the benefits of his new arrangement.
Minions… money… control.
It was a gamble, but one Ren was willing to play—after all, what's the point of power if not to enjoy the spoils it brings?
With that thought, he closes the door, a sense of satisfaction settling in as he goes to check the hefty payment inside the bag.