After class, Ned lingered by the entrance, chatting with Reena for a few moments. But even as they joked and teased, his mind wandered to darker places. He was always joyous and had a jolly attitude but as his peers started getting stronger, and his family's financial state was going down, he started to think if he should start worrying about life?
The final evaluation loomed over him like a storm cloud, and the pressure felt unbearable. He couldn't shake the thought of what failure would mean. His father, drunk and defeated, was barely holding the family together, while his mother's endless optimism couldn't pay the bills. Both had been stripped of their jobs due to the palace scandal, leaving them trapped in poverty with little hope for reprieve.
As he rode his hoverboard through the city, his thoughts churned with worry. He'd tried everything to make sense of his talent, to awaken its full potential. But what could a "Spectator" do? Watch things really well? Observe the world better? How was that supposed to feed his family or secure his future?
Every citizen awakened their talent through a process called the First Spark, a magical revelation of their innate abilities accompanied by a status window outlining its capabilities. Talents like "Red Thunder" or "Titan Strength" were straightforward—train your body or your mana and get stronger. But Spectator? The awakening hadn't told him much beyond vague hints of heightened perception. No guide, no instructions. Just… figure it out.
He briefly entertained the idea of becoming a psychiatrist, using his observation skills to hep people. Maybe even con his way into wealth. But the thought only made him hate his talent more. His chest tightened, and he pushed his hoverboard faster, trying to outrun his frustration.
The streets blurred past him until he noticed a commotion up ahead. Two burly teens were roughing up a skinny kid in an alley. For a moment, Ned considered riding past—it wasn't his business. But old habits from his palace days tugged at his conscience. He'd studied law and governance as a prince, and despite everything, he still felt a sense of duty to protect others.
With a sigh, he turned his hoverboard and glided into the alley. Landing gracefully between the bullies and their victim, he struck his best heroic pose, his cloak billowing behind him.
"By the law of Red Thunder, yield or perish!" he declared, his voice echoing dramatically.
The two teens blinked at him, then burst into laughter.
"If it isn't the banished prince," one sneered. "This ain't your fancy palace, kid. We'll beat you into the dirt right here!"
The other chimed in, "Yeah, royalty doesn't mean squat in the slums. Let's see you fight without your guards."
Ned sighed internally. Theatrics never worked on thugs. Still, he wasn't too worried. A few punches usually scared off kids like these.
As he sized them up, his gaze drifted to the scrawny victim. The kid didn't look like he belonged in the slums—green hair, oversized glasses, and a frail frame. He looked more like a lost scholar than a street urchin. But what really caught Ned's attention were the faint, glowing patterns around the kid.
He'd only seen those patterns around warriors with advanced awakenings, like his teacher Christine. They signified a power far beyond his understanding. But why would this beat-up, half-conscious kid have them?
Ned knelt down and placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's fine now," he said softly.
The boy didn't respond. He was mumbling something under his breath, his voice trembling with fear. "Why me… why me…"
Before Ned could process the strange behavior, the bullies lunged at him. He tensed, ready to fight, but then his talent kicked in.
For the first time in his life, his Spectator ability screamed at him. It wasn't a vague whisper or subtle hint—it was a gut-wrenching instinct, a primal command. Move. Now.
Without thinking, Ned powered his hoverboard and shot forward, knocking the bullies aside just as a blinding green light exploded from the boy. The force of the blast threw Ned off balance, and his hoverboard spun out of control.
He hit the ground hard, his vision spinning. The sharp pain in his abdomen was the first thing he noticed. When he looked down, his blood ran cold. A jagged piece of his broken hoverboard was lodged in his stomach, and crimson liquid was pooling around him.
The bullies were already fleeing, screaming in terror. Ned tried to call for help, but his voice wouldn't come out. His strength was fading fast.
He turned his head toward the green-haired boy, who was now shivering and wide-eyed. "Help…" Ned croaked, but the boy only stumbled back, his face pale. With a final, terrified glance, the boy ran away, leaving Ned alone in the empty street.
Pain blurred his thoughts as his life flashed before his eyes. Regret bubbled up in his chest—regret for the words he never said, the things he never did. His father's gruff love, his mother's warm smiles, even his devilish little sister's pranks—they all felt so far away now.
As his vision darkened, a faint spark drew his attention. His watch—the battered heirloom his father had drunkenly handed down—was crackling with energy. It buzzed and whirred, louder and faster than ever before.
Ned's mind latched onto the flicker of hope. "Am I finally getting my cheat?" he thought wryly.
The watch began to spin rapidly, its intricate gears shifting into motion. It absorbed the blood pooling around him, the crimson liquid vanishing into its depths. The device glowed brighter and brighter until it was almost blinding.
Just before losing consciousness, Ned's lips curled into a faint smirk. "About damn time," he muttered.
Then, everything went black.