Keon's eyes flickered open, his vision still hazy from the aftermath of the sonic assault. His head throbbed, and for a moment, he lay still, letting his senses slowly return. The last thing he remembered was the sheer, crushing force of the sound wave—and then... nothing.
As his vision cleared, he noticed the ceiling above him. Smooth, metallic, lined with intricate glowing blue circuits that pulsed faintly in a rhythmic pattern. It wasn't stone, nor wood—this was something far more advanced. His fingers twitched, feeling the soft yet firm surface beneath him.
A bed.
Not just any bed—this one had a sleek, futuristic design. Metallic edges with glowing blue outlines traced its frame, forming patterns that resembled both technology and arcane runes. The mattress was unexpectedly comfortable, yet it felt reinforced, as if designed for durability rather than luxury. Along the sides, faint mechanical hums could be heard, like tiny servos adjusting their alignment.
Keon exhaled sharply. "Great. I wake up in a sci-fi bed now?" He lifted himself slightly, his body still sluggish.
The room around him was dimly lit, illuminated mostly by the same glowing blue patterns that adorned the bed. Walls of smooth, silver-toned metal stretched around him, some parts lined with complex interfaces, holographic displays flickering with unreadable data. The atmosphere was sterile—cold, calculated, yet undeniably advanced.
Keon frowned, rubbing his temples. "Where the hell am I now?"
Keon pushed himself up slowly, his muscles still stiff from whatever had happened to him. As he sat on the edge of the futuristic bed, he finally noticed something odd—his clothes were different.
His usual worn-out attire, the ones he had fought, escaped, and survived in, were gone. Instead, his body was covered in a sleek, synthetic suit—black with faint silver lines tracing its surface, pulsing softly like circuits coming to life. The material felt strange under his fingers, smooth yet firm, almost like reinforced plastic but with the flexibility of fabric.
"The hell is this…?" he muttered, pulling at the material. It stretched slightly but snapped back perfectly to fit his form. There were no seams, no zippers, nothing to suggest how he had even gotten into it. The suit clung to him, almost like a second skin, yet it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it felt oddly natural—too natural.
He noticed subtle details: small nodes embedded at key points—his wrists, ankles, and chest—each faintly glowing with the same blue hue as the bed. Testing it further, he pressed against his arm, feeling a slight resistance, as if the suit had some hidden reinforcement beneath its surface.
Keon's brows furrowed. "This isn't normal…" He exhaled, scanning the room again. Whoever had put him here had not only changed his clothes but had also dressed him in something that looked far from ordinary.
That was never a good sign.
The door slid open with a smooth, mechanical hiss. A man stepped inside, his presence calm yet purposeful. He was dressed in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, paired with dark slacks, and carried an air of authority—like someone who had seen enough to not be surprised by anything.
Keon barely had time to react before the man glanced at him, his sharp eyes assessing. "Oh? You've finally woken up," he said casually, as if Keon had just been taking a nap.
Before Keon could get a single word in, the man continued, "Stay in bed. You won't be there for quite a while."
And just like that, he turned on his heel and exited, the door shutting behind him with the same mechanical precision.
Keon stared at the empty doorway, his mind racing. "What the hell does that mean?"
Keon took a deep breath, his body feeling strangely light yet stiff at the same time. He pushed himself up, his fingers pressing against the smooth surface of the bed as he slowly swung his legs over the edge. A dull ache pulsed through his muscles, like they hadn't been used in a while.
His bare feet touched the cold floor, sending a slight shiver up his spine. He inhaled sharply, steadying himself as he shifted his weight forward. His knees wobbled at first, his balance unsteady, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to stabilize.
One step. Another. His body adjusted, regaining a natural rhythm. He exhaled, staring down at his hands, then at the strange suit clinging to his frame. It felt durable yet unnervingly light—almost like a second skin.
"What the hell happened to me…?" he muttered, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Keon raised a hand to his head, fingers brushing through his hair before settling on his ears. He pressed against them gently, testing for any soreness or damage.
Nothing.
They were perfectly fine—no pain, no unusual sensations. Just his ears, exactly as they should be. He let out a small breath of relief, though the lingering confusion in his mind didn't fade.
At least, whatever had happened to him, he hadn't been physically injured.
The door slid open again with a quiet hiss.
A man stepped in, flanked by two guards in armor that looked too advanced for any standard military—sleek, reinforced plating with a war-ready design. Their visors glowed faintly, scanning the room as they moved with a precision that screamed discipline.
The man between them wasn't armored, but his presence demanded attention. He carried himself with authority, his gaze sharp as it locked onto Keon.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, the man spoke.
Keon's gaze snapped toward it at three figures that stepped inside. Two of them were clad in advanced armor, their sleek visors glowing faintly as they moved with disciplined precision. Their presence alone was enough to signal authority—but it was the man between them who truly commanded attention.
He was tall, his posture effortlessly exuding control. His dark suit was sharp, tailored perfectly to his frame, with subtle silver accents tracing the edges. He didn't need armor to assert dominance—his presence alone was enough. His cold, calculating gaze locked onto Keon, scanning him with an intensity that felt almost dissecting.
Then, he spoke, his voice smooth yet firm.
"Good. You're awake."
Keon didn't respond immediately, still assessing the situation. The man's expression remained unreadable, his stance unwavering. He took a step forward, and the air in the room seemed to shift, the weight of his authority settling in.
"I am Chief Director Victor Jhon," he finally said, his tone carrying the weight of someone who was used to being obeyed. "And you, Keon, have a lot to explain."
Keon narrowed his eyes, scoffing as he shifted his weight, arms crossing over his chest.
"Answers? Seriously? After you guys threw me against that robot thing in the name of a 'test,' and now I wake up in a damn bed?"
His tone was sharp, laced with irritation, but beneath it was a quiet demand for an explanation. His body still felt off—lighter yet stiff, as if it had been through something beyond just a simple knockout.
Victor Jhon didn't react immediately. He simply studied Keon, his expression unreadable, before offering a calm yet pointed response.
Victor Jhon's gaze remained steady, unfazed by Keon's frustration. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve before speaking in a composed, matter-of-fact tone.
"It was a test to match 100% accuracy with the reports on your Espria."
Keon's eyes narrowed.
Victor continued, his voice smooth yet carrying an underlying weight.
"And I must say, everything was well within expectations—your agility, adaptability, and even your resilience. The results confirmed that you can defend against anything thrown at you... except for sound."
Keon clenched his jaw. He hated how calm this guy was about it, like throwing him into that fight was just another routine analysis.Keon let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head with a smirk.
"Okay, okay, I get it. Ruthless, detail-oriented, probably enjoys watching people suffer in the name of science—real stand-up guy." He rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. "But hey, at least you didn't throw me into a pit with an actual monster. Oh, wait—you kinda did."
He gestured around the room. "So? What now? You gonna tell me this was just the warm-up before round two? Or maybe you're here to offer me a membership card to 'People Who Get Their Ass Kicked for Research'?"
Keon crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Alright, jokes aside—what do you want from me?"
Victor Jhon folded his arms, his sharp gaze locking onto Keon. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a weight behind his words.
"Kid, we've analyzed everything about you—your abilities, your combat style, even how you react under pressure. But there's still one thing that doesn't add up."
He took a step closer, his voice calm yet firm. "Your background. It's a complete mystery. No records, no past, nothing that explains where you came from."
Victor's eyes narrowed slightly. "And that... is something we intend to figure out."
Keon leaned back slightly, flashing a smirk. "Didn't you hear about my backstory from Stella?" he joked, though deep down, he knew he had completely made up that story. No one actually knew the truth—because he had never told it.
Victor Jhon remained unfazed, his eyes studying Keon with the same calculating intensity. "Everything we've tested from your Espira matches what was reported about you. But there's still one problem."
He took a slow step forward. "We still haven't seen you teleport. That's questionable, considering the reports stated your Espira was unstable. Yet somehow, you teleported far away from your city, and now—" he paused, his gaze sharpening, "your Espira has evolved into a purely defensive type."
His tone carried both curiosity and suspicion. "So tell me, Keon... how does that happen?"