That hair. That build. That height.
The resemblance was uncanny. The man looked exactly like—
"Ver? Oliver?" Elijah blurted out before he could stop himself
"Huh?"
At the sound of his voice, the man turned around, his face coming into full view.
His features were strikingly similar to Oliver's—sharp jawline, piercing green eyes—but there was something different about his expression. It wasn't the warm, familiar face Elijah remembered.
"Huh?" the man said, frowning slightly.
For a moment, Elijah's heart stopped.
The face staring back at him wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but it wasn't Oliver either.
The man looked a bit older, and his features were sharper, but there was enough resemblance to make Elijah's stomach churn.
"You know me or something?" the man asked, his tone neutral but curious.
Elijah froze, realizing his mistake. "Sorry… you just—uh, you remind me of someone," he mumbled, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.
The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press further. "Name's Markus, your Level 5 mentor. You must be Elijah, Visconti, and Kieran." His voice was firm but not unkind.
The three of them nodded in unison.
Markus glanced at his pocket device. "Sky City, huh? Long assignment for newbies. Let's move. The train leaves in ten."
As they walked to the station, Elijah couldn't shake the strange feeling in his chest.
Markus was eerily similar to Oliver, but the sharpness in his tone and the subtle smirk on his face set him apart.
Without another word, Markus turned and began walking toward the station.
The bullet train ride was smooth and silent.
The speed at which they moved was exhilarating, yet Elijah's mind was elsewhere.
He kept glancing at Markus, trying to find differences between him and Oliver.
"Do you know him?" Visconti asked in a low voice, leaning closer to Elijah.
Elijah shook his head. "No… It's just... He looks like someone I used to know."
"Creepy," Kieran muttered, but his eyes remained on the passing scenery.
When they arrived at Sky City's station, the bustle of the massive metropolis hit them like a wave.
Sky City was nothing like what Elijah had expected. It was larger, louder, and far more crowded than the cadet training grounds they were used to.
Towering skyscrapers lined every street, their glassy facades reflecting the endless stream of hovercars whizzing through the air.
Shops of every kind sprawled along the sidewalks—selling clothes, gadgets, flowers, and even exotic pets.
It was a sensory overload, but there was something captivating about the sheer vibrancy of it all.
The city was alive with activity—hover vehicles zipped through the air, and holographic advertisements lit up every corner.
"Stick close," Markus ordered, his voice cutting through the noise.
Elijah, Visconti, Kieran, and Markus walked in formation, their corps uniforms standing out in the sea of bustling civilians.
Elijah's eyes darted around, taking in the sights.
A florist shop with glowing orchids caught his attention, followed by a street vendor selling holographic toys.
It felt surreal to be here, patrolling a city that seemed so full of life.
Just then, Elijah noticed a young boy and his mother standing a few feet away.
The little boy was staring at him with wide, curious eyes.
Elijah smiled and gave a small wave, hoping to ease the boy's shyness.
For a moment, the boy hesitated, almost smiling back—until his mother grabbed his hand and turned away.
The look she gave Elijah wasn't one of indifference or fear. It was pure disgust
Elijah froze, the sting of her reaction catching him off guard.
His smile faltered as he watched her drag the boy down the street, her body language tense and defensive.
His chest tightened. Were they avoiding me?
As they continued walking, Elijah began to notice it more clearly.
Pedestrians subtly shifted to the side when they approached, avoiding eye contact or stepping into shops until they passed.
It was as though an invisible barrier surrounded them, pushing others away.
It wasn't just him—they were avoiding all of them.
The realization dawned on him, sharp and cold.
"Ah," Elijah muttered under his breath. "It's not me… It's because we're Espers."
Visconti glanced at him, catching the subtle shift in his expression. "You're not wrong," he said quietly. "Normal people detest Espers."
Elijah turned to him, confused. "Why?"
Visconti sighed, running a hand through his hair as though trying to decide how to explain it. "Elijah," he began, lowering his voice, "the news broadcasts Esper crimes almost every week. You've seen it too, right?"
Elijah nodded slowly.
He had seen the reports—stories of Espers losing control, committing crimes, or causing destruction in moments of rage.
"It'd be weird if they didn't hate us," Visconti continued.
Elijah's brows furrowed. "But that's not fair," he said quietly.
"It's not about fairness," Visconti said softly, "It's about perception. And sometimes, we act on them. Unlike normal people, who might feel anger or grief but keep it under control, we lose rationality. That makes us unpredictable—and dangerous in their eyes."
He paused, looking around at the people carefully avoiding their gaze. "To them, we're monsters in human form. Dangerous, unpredictable, and uncontrollable."
Elijah fell silent. His mind churned with thoughts, questions he couldn't bring himself to voice.
Monster.
Elijah felt a cold weight settle in his chest.
The word "monster" echoed in his mind.
It wasn't the first time he'd heard it, but hearing it now struck a different chord.
Is that what people think of me?
The word echoed in his mind, heavy and suffocating. Was that how people saw him? Was that what he was destined to become?
A memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp.
His brother Augustus, standing amidst chaos, his eyes wild and unrecognizable. The carnage left in his wake.
Elijah had always feared that part of his bloodline—the part that made them different, that made them... monstrous.
His hand unconsciously clenched at his side as his thoughts spiraled. He didn't like it—being seen as a monster.
But why?
Was it because he hated the idea of being lumped in with the others? Or was it because the word hit too close to home? He thought of Augustus—his brother, his shadow, the person he had always feared becoming.
Am I afraid of them seeing me as him?
"Elijah, are you listening?" Visconti's voice broke through his thoughts.
Elijah blinked, realizing he had fallen silent. "Yeah," he muttered. "I'm listening."
Visconti frowned slightly, as though he wanted to say more but decided against it.
Markus, walking ahead of them, suddenly stopped and turned around. "Keep your focus, cadets," he said sharply, his piercing green eyes scanning their faces. "We're not here to make friends. We're here to do a job. If you want their approval, you're in the wrong place."
The statement was blunt, but there was no malice in it. Just cold, hard truth.
Elijah straightened his posture, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Understood," he said quietly.
"Good," Markus said before turning back and continuing down the street.
As they resumed their patrol, Elijah couldn't shake the heaviness in his heart.
He knew Visconti and Markus were right—being an Esper meant being viewed as a threat.
It was an unspoken truth he had tried to ignore for years, but now it was staring him in the face.
For the first time, Elijah wondered if the fear in their eyes wasn't entirely misplaced. 'What if I really am a monster?'
As they continued their patrol, the group passed through a bustling market district.
Vendors called out their wares, the scents of street food wafted through the air, and holographic advertisements flickered above the crowds.
Despite the vibrant surroundings, Elijah couldn't shake the stares they received.
People moved out of their way, some subtly, others blatantly crossing the street to avoid them. Whispers followed in their wake.
"Espers…"
"Dangerous."
"Why do they let them walk around here?"
Elijah's ears burned.
He tried to focus on the task at hand, scanning the crowd for anything suspicious, but the weight of their gazes was suffocating.
Markus, walking ahead, seemed unfazed.
He didn't glance at the murmuring crowds or acknowledge the stares. His focus remained sharp, his posture unyielding.
Elijah envied that composure.
"Sky City might look shiny on the surface," Kieran muttered, breaking the tension, "but it's got its own rot. Criminals, gangs, rogue Espers. The usual."
"Don't forget the corrupt officials," Visconti added dryly.
"Sounds fun," Elijah said, though his voice lacked enthusiasm.