Who is Nina?
The question echoed in Troy's mind like a haunting melody, each repetition gnawing at his certainty. The Nina he had known—warm, kind, and full of hope—couldn't have been an illusion. Could she? Every smile, every gentle word, the way she encouraged him to dream of a future beyond the cold steel of his wheelchair… Was that all a lie?
Troy clenched his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palm.
No.
The people around him—this organization—claimed she wasn't who she pretended to be. But what did they know? The Nina he remembered wasn't a manipulator. She had promised they would meet again if he became stronger. That meant there was still a chance.
A new fire burned in his chest. He would use this organization, climb its ranks, and sharpen himself into something more. If Nina had been forced into something beyond her control, he would find out the truth.
His thoughts settled, no longer a chaotic storm but a focused, razor-sharp resolve.
I will find her. No matter what it takes.
Crystal chandeliers bathed the enormous banquet hall in golden light, their shimmer bouncing off the polished marble floor. A long table, stretching far enough to seat a royal court, was adorned with gold-plated utensils and an array of untouched delicacies. Every inch of the room exuded wealth, but the air carried a tension thick enough to suffocate.
Nina stood before them, her white lab coat neatly buttoned, raven-black hair tied in a bun. Her usually vibrant blue eyes held no emotion—just a quiet, calculating stillness.
"You disappoint me, Miss Nina."
The voice belonged to an older woman draped in a luxurious gray fur scarf, her fingers adorned with glimmering rings. Her lips curled into a disapproving frown, reminiscent of a villainess from an old fable. She was Scarlet Pendragon, the matriarch of one of the most powerful families in the underworld.
"You were our most ambitious recruit," Scarlet continued, swirling the wine in her glass before setting it down. "Did you forget what we stand for in the one year you spent in that hospital?"
A sharp pause.
Her gaze darkened. "Or did you think we wouldn't find out that you gave the green serum to some random boy?"
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Nina kept her expression unreadable. "That wasn't my intention, ma'am."
Scarlet's brow twitched.
"The location was compromised," Nina continued, her voice steady. "They were closing in. We couldn't risk the serum being discovered, so I made the best possible choice."
Scarlet's fingers tapped against the table in irritation. "The best possible choice?"
Nina met her gaze. "The serum didn't go to waste. We don't even know if the boy survived."
The room echoed with a slow, deliberate chuckle.
"Oh, he survived."
A man stepped forward from the shadows, his presence commanding instant attention. His short, crimson-red hair was slicked back, a single lock falling slightly over his forehead. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his watch alone worth a small fortune.
Arthur Pendragon.
Scarlet's son.
He stopped a few feet from Nina, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before speaking.
"The boy survived, Nina." His voice was devoid of warmth. "I presume you find that news reassuring?"
Nina's lips parted slightly, but before she could speak, Arthur tilted his head.
"Don't bother pretending," he said, voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with venom. "You think I didn't know about the disabled boy? That little charity act of yours?" His eyes narrowed. "One year as a cheerful nurse… playing pretend. Did you actually think we wouldn't notice?"
Nina's fingers twitched.
Arthur leaned in slightly, his tone almost mocking. "Or did you forget your family? Your sisters?"
Nina's entire body stiffened.
No. He wouldn't—
Arthur took a step back, his expression unreadable once more. "That one year wasn't a year of leisure, Nina. You knew the stakes. The serum was Professor Harland's life's work. You did a fine job retrieving the last of the vials." His gaze turned cold. "And then you gave it to some kid."
The utensils on the table trembled. The polished silver seemed to stretch and twist, edges growing sharper, as if the very metal was responding to Arthur's emotions.
Scarlet sighed, waving a delicate hand. "Enough, Arthur." The metal instantly returned to its normal shape. "Nina understands her mistake." She turned to Nina. "Don't you, my dear?"
Nina nodded, her voice carefully composed. "Yes, ma'am. But we are close to a breakthrough. Our team is finalizing the blue serum prototype. In a year, we will have a much more advanced version."
Arthur exhaled sharply. "A year?" His expression darkened. "The Pendragon family has poured an obscene amount of resources into this project. And you ask for another year?"
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration before pacing slightly. "The boy… Troy…" Arthur practically spat the name. "He was taken in by Bastion. That damned organization." His hands clenched into fists. "Their seer always manages to stay one step ahead."
Scarlet closed her eyes in thought. "And he's under Noel's custody." Her voice was measured. "Attacking them would be unwise. We would lose too many valuable assets. The Third Division may be small, but they are powerful."
Arthur exhaled through his nose, his malice palpable. "Tch. Fine. I'll take my leave." He turned on his heel but paused at the doorway.
"Nina."
She met his gaze.
"You have one year." His voice was sharp as a blade. "Succeed, or your sisters won't survive." A cruel smirk followed. "That isn't a threat—it's reality. They're already suffering, aren't they? Our technology won't keep them alive much longer."
Nina swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms.
"I understand."
Arthur smirked slightly before vanishing beyond the ornate doors.
Scarlet studied Nina for a long moment before speaking. "The boy is nothing like his father," she mused. "He's reckless. But finish your work on time, dear. Too many lives have already been lost."
With that, she dismissed her.
Nina turned on her heels and exited, her heart pounding.
One year.
She exhaled slowly.
Even with all the threats, all the pressure, there was one small comfort in all of this.
Troy was alive.
And if he was in Bastion's hands…
Then maybe… just maybe… he had a real chance.
Troy woke up—or rather, he gave up on pretending to sleep. He'd spent the whole night in deep thought, hammering out his resolve. He needed to get stronger. That was the only way forward.
The room he was in now was nothing like the cramped, sterilized hospital ward he had lived in for the past six years. This place was twice as big, filled with a fresh scent—lavender, maybe?—and had a bed that felt like a cloud compared to his old one. A bookshelf lined one wall, and a sleek, high-tech screen was embedded into another. If someone had blindfolded him and dropped him here, he'd have thought he was in a luxury hotel.
A knock at the door.
"Can you get ready by yourself?" A young doctor from Bastion stepped in, his expression caught between professionalism and awkward concern.
Troy raised an eyebrow. He couldn't let such an opportunity slip by.
"You dare ask me such a thing?" He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "You ask a disabled kid if he can dress himself? The audacity! The insensitivity! Do you have no shame?"
The doctor instantly panicked. "No, no! I didn't mean it like that! If I offended you, I—"
Troy burst out laughing. "Relax, doc. I'm messing with you."
The doctor sighed in relief, muttered something under his breath, and made a swift exit.
With that little bit of morning entertainment out of the way, Troy focused on getting dressed. It wasn't easy—pants were the worst. He had to use his core strength to wiggle them on, rolling awkwardly in bed like a fish on dry land. But after six years, he had it down to an art.
Breakfast was served shortly after, and Troy had to admit—Bastion had good food. Not just "better than the hospital" good, but actual high-quality meals. That being said, it still wasn't as good as the abomination Nina had once called porridge. Most of the nurses had called it inedible poison, but to Troy, it had been the best poison ever. Because she had made it.
Another knock on the door.
"Come in," Troy said, lowering his voice dramatically as if summoning a servant.
The door opened, and in walked Celia, her red eyes fierce as always.
"Good morning, Troy."
"Ah, hello Flat—I mean, Celia," Troy replied, throwing on a terrible British accent. "A jolly good morning to you, madam."
Celia narrowed her eyes. "You were about to call me flat, weren't you?"
"I would never say such a thing."
"Right. Anyway," she ignored him, "today is an exciting day. You're going to start learning the basics of your powers. We even brought in a special instructor. Plus, you'll meet the other survivors."
Troy's playful expression faded slightly at that last part.
"Meeting new people... would love to avoid that, but I guess necessary sacrifices must be made."
Celia smirked. "Oh? I thought you were the fearless type."
"I am the fearless type," Troy shot back. "I just also happen to be the anti-social type."
Celia rolled her eyes. "Well, too bad. Let's go."
She turned to leave, but Troy cleared his throat.
"This may seem awkward, but could you push that wheelchair over here?" He motioned to the chair at the far end of the room.
Celia grinned. "Ohhh, you didn't know? We have technology here, smartass Troy."
She pointed at the chair. "Chair, here."
With a smooth mechanical whirr, the wheelchair moved on its own, stopping neatly beside her. She crossed her arms, looking very pleased with herself.
Troy's eyes lit up. "Wait, wait, let me try—Chair, here!"
The wheelchair rolled over to his bedside.
Celia chuckled. "You can set it up later to only respond to your voice."
The chair adjusted itself automatically, the side opening up slightly to make it easier for him to move in.
Troy smirked as he settled in. "Technology is wonderful."
Celia sighed. "Come on, genius. We've got work to do."
As she led him out, Troy couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. Today was the first step. The first step toward figuring out what he had become. And more importantly—toward finding the truth about Nina.