Ryan took a deep breath, a flicker of unease flashing in his eyes, as though recalling something unpleasant.
"They were bludgeoned to death—heads smashed in with a blunt weapon and multiple fractures all over their bodies. During the time they went missing, Ethan happened to be out of his house. Based on the traces left at the scene, it's almost certain that Ethan was the one responsible. But…."
"But what?" Sam's lips curled into a slight smile, as if he had stumbled upon an intriguing prey.
"I don't really understand the forensic terminology, but their deaths were strange. It looks like they were killed by some kind of blunt metal weapon. Yet, bizarrely, their bones show clear fist imprints. Chief, could it be that Ethan used some kind of metal knuckle dusters to beat them to death?"
Upon hearing this, Sam let out a silent laugh. The faint glint in his eyes shone through, barely concealed by his amber-tinted glasses.
Ryan's face paled. "You mean to say… Ethan is one of those legendary extraordinaries? But I had people investigate his background. He's just a poor student, an orphan, and… and he…."
His voice trailed off, growing quieter as a sense of unease crept over him. His expression turned fearful, and he hesitated to meet Sam's gaze. Suddenly, he realised something chilling: the description of Ethan sounded uncannily similar to Sam's own past.
Sam was also an orphan, also a poor student, and undeniably, an extraordinary. So why couldn't Ethan be one too?
Wait… could it be that…?!
Ryan's thoughts raced as he stumbled upon a possible connection, a hidden truth. Could the key to becoming extraordinary lie in…?
But Sam paid no attention to Ryan's growing unease. Instead, he turned away, picking up a crystal decanter from the desk. The crimson wine inside swirled hypnotically with the motion of the bottle.
"Finally… I've finally found one!" Sam murmured, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and anticipation.
Ding!
The crisp sound of glass meeting glass echoed as the bottle's rim gently tapped the edge of the wine glass. Aromatic red wine flowed smoothly, pooling within the delicate goblet.
Sam picked up the glass, took a small sip, and a faint blush appeared on his otherwise pale face. Closing his eyes, he seemed to savour the taste.
A moment later, he opened them again, his brows furrowing slightly. "As terrible as ever."
He couldn't get used to the taste of red wine. Compared to its bitterness, he much preferred the crispness of beer or the rich aroma of spirits. But unfortunately, given his current physical condition, red wine was the only thing he could manage. He used its mild alcohol to dull his senses and alleviate the constant pain in his head.
"Continue," he said, swirling the wine lazily in his glass.
Ryan quickly picked up the conversation. "Right, Chief. Should we send more people to keep an eye on Ethan?"
"No need," Sam replied calmly. "Surveillance was only to confirm whether he's extraordinary. That's now almost certain. A mere student who could crush the skulls of two Viper Gang members barehanded, leaving fist imprints on their bones—this isn't something that can be explained by raw physical strength alone."
"So… what's our next move?"
Sam raised the glass slightly, the gleaming surface reflecting the enigmatic curve of his smile. Then, with a single motion, he drained the wine, the crimson liquid disappearing as his lips parted. His voice was soft, yet carried a chilling resolve, slipping out like a whisper wrapped in alcohol fumes:
"Hunting... the extraordinary."
Ryan trembled, his expression a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Hunting a legendary extraordinary? That was something he'd never dared to dream of.
A black sedan drove down the dilapidated streets, flanked by rows of low, crumbling houses. Behind the buildings, towering smokestacks puffed out dark smoke, scattering fine black particles into the air.
Sam sat quietly in the back seat, gazing out of the window. The passersby all wore dull-coloured clothing—deep grey or navy-blue work uniforms—and moved briskly, their faces blank and lifeless.
Occasionally, the monotony was broken by small houses glowing faintly with pink neon lights. Outside these homes stood provocatively dressed women, their bright outfits a stark contrast to their drab surroundings. Most wore short skirts in garish yellows or reds, like vivid flowers blooming in a grey and white world.
Sam wasn't sure if he truly qualified as one of these so-called extraordinaries. In fact, before taking control of the Viper Gang, he hadn't even known that extraordinaries existed.
After all, he was just an ordinary citizen of Star City's District 13, one of seventy-two cities governed by the Scarlet Flame Empire.
In Star City, Districts 1 to 10 made up the Upper City, home to society's elite—officials, celebrities, wealthy tycoons, and even nobles of the empire.
Districts 11 to 20 were the Lower City, populated by workers and farmers. These areas were plagued by rampant crime, with gangs, prostitutes, and pickpockets around every corner.
The Lower City was packed with factories, farmland, livestock pens, and sprawling landfills—all serving the Upper City by providing food, goods, and waste disposal.
The Upper City enjoyed abundant resources, leaving behind the pollution, poverty, and squalor for the Lower City to endure.
The divide between the Upper and Lower City was like an insurmountable chasm, forcefully separating people into rigid classes, with towering walls acting as the boundary. It was as though the two were entirely separate worlds.
In the Upper City, extraordinaries might not be a secret. But in the Lower City, extraordinaries were synonymous with mystery—mythical beings entirely out of reach for ordinary folk crushed under the weight of grueling daily labour.
Through the Viper Gang's information network, Sam had learned of the existence of these individuals. They possessed powers beyond the comprehension of normal people—powers collectively known as the Extraordinary.
He didn't know how one became an extraordinary, nor did he understand the source of their abilities. He wasn't even sure if he himself qualified as one. But none of that mattered. It wouldn't stop him from his next step: hunting down an extraordinary.
Hunting Ethan Reed.
Sam's physical condition was deteriorating at an alarming rate, and conventional medical methods offered no solution. But Ethan's existence had given him a glimmer of hope.
With nothing but his fists, Ethan could crush skulls and leave imprints on bones. Such extraordinary physical prowess needed no further explanation. If Sam could obtain this power, he could finally gain temporary control over his endlessly expanding mental energy—and live.
Half an hour later, the black sedan pulled to a stop near a school. Hanging over the gate was a brass plaque, weathered by years of sun and rain. The words Elite High School were barely legible.
The school's name was apt, for it prided itself on producing "elite" graduates. Its students were practically guaranteed jobs in local factories upon graduation, earning it the nickname "The Holy Forge of Screw-Turning Prodigies."