Troy's fingers hovered over the wheelchair controls, his eyes gleaming with childlike excitement. The chair had four speed settings—Slow, Moderate, Fast, and one ominously labeled Madman.
The fact that Madman came with a flashing warning label only made it more enticing.
"Godspeed, Celia," Troy declared with a smirk, pressing the fourth option without hesitation.
A moment of silence. Then—
VROOM!
The wheelchair shot forward like a jet-propelled missile, tearing through the pristine corridors of Bastion's headquarters. The sudden acceleration sent a gust of wind through his hair, and Troy cackled as he zoomed past bewildered scientists, startled janitors, and the occasional guard who barely had time to step aside.
Celia, his so-called 'handler,' was not amused.
"TROY, YOU ABSOLUTE MANIAC!" she shrieked, sprinting after him like a mother chasing her hyperactive child.
"This isn't funny! Act your age!"
Troy disagreed. In his heart, he was five years old and proud of it.
The hallways of Bastion were a technological marvel, their walls lined with shifting blue holograms and intricate circuitry that pulsed like veins in a living organism. It felt like he was inside a high-tech dream—or a cyberpunk nightmare.
"This must be how that bald guy from Fast and Furious feels," Troy mused as he cranked the speed up even further.
As Troy zoomed through the cyberpunk-lit hallway, a silver flash flickered in his peripheral vision. Before he could react, an invisible force brought his wheelchair to an abrupt stop.
"Hello, Troy," a soft yet firm feminine voice greeted him. "You're just on time."
Before Troy could respond, his wheelchair moved on its own, gliding smoothly through an open doorway. He found himself inside a stark white room—pristine, clinical. A dozen or so chairs were arranged in a perfect circle, and a large whiteboard stood at the center, like a classroom waiting for its students.
Troy's senses snapped back as he turned to face the one who had intercepted him.
She was a woman in her sixties, or so Troy guessed. Gray hair, neatly cut to neck length, framed a face that exuded both elegance and wisdom. She wore an intricately designed yet conservative silver-gray dress, her jewelry—delicate silver ornaments on her neck and ears—perfectly complementing her attire. The most striking feature, however, was the pair of large, opaque black sunglasses that concealed her eyes.
Troy, ever quick to adapt, smirked. "So, fairy godmother, why have you kidnapped me?"
A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "Kidnapped? No, I simply knew where you'd be. And I stopped you from crashing into Noel—which is exactly what would have happened had I not intervened."
Troy blinked. "Crashing into the director?" He had barely noticed where he was going, but that was new information.
"That aside," the woman continued, her tone composed yet slightly amused, "hello, Mr. Troy. I am Irina—your teacher for the day. I assume Noel mentioned me?"
Troy's blank stare was answer enough. His expression practically had a question mark stamped on it.
A tired sigh left Irina's lips. "I see. He didn't tell you any details. That Noel—always forgetful." She shook her head, as if this was far from the first time she'd dealt with the director's absentmindedness.
Then, suddenly, her demeanor shifted. Her gaze—despite being hidden behind the dark lenses—seemed to pierce through him.
"Troy," she said, her voice quieter now, "I want to ask you something before the others arrive."
Troy raised an eyebrow. "Sure?"
"Do you love this world? The world we live in?"
A strange question. Almost out of place.
"As much as I love Nina," Troy replied effortlessly, the answer second nature.
Irina nodded, her expression unreadable. "And would you love a world without Nina?"
Troy's smirk faltered slightly. "A world without Nina? How's that supposed to happen?" He let out an awkward chuckle, but there was an uneasy undertone.
"Would you love that world?" Irina pressed, her tone more serious now.
Something about the question unsettled him. He didn't know why. It wasn't just the words—it was the weight behind them, as if she was forcing him to consider something he wasn't ready to think about.He didn't even need to think about the answer. "No. Absolutely not." But saying that out loud would be admitting something—something he wasn't ready to deal with. So instead, he kept his voice light.
"Was she testing me? Or just messing with me? No way to tell. She had that unreadable look again. Like she already knew the answer."
For a split second, the words almost slipped out, but he swallowed them down.
Before he could answer, a sharp clap echoed from the doorway.
A tall man with scars lining his face stood there, grinning.
"Hopefully you find the answerto that sooner rather than later little one," Irina whispered, her words barely audible.
"You're finally here, Noel," she said, glancing at the clock. "And sharp as ever, too."
Noel's grin, though casual at first, held a trace of worry. "Madam Irina," he sighed, shaking his head. "I came as fast as I could after hearing you slipped past your guards again."
"What is inevitable will happen, Noel." Irina's voice was calm—too calm. "If I were meant to die today, I would. Even if you tried to protect me."
She wasn't being arrogant. She wasn't even stating an opinion. She was simply speaking the truth.
Noel exhaled sharply, then turned to Troy.
"Troy, meet Madam Irina—the most valuable asset of our organization. One of only three Seers in the world."
"And Madam Irina, I hope you weren't trying to scare our new recruit?" Noel said, his tone half-serious.
"Oh no, Director," Troy cut in with a forced smirk. "Fairy godmother was just asking me about the stay."
Before Irina could respond, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway.
"Huff… huff…" Celia rushed into the room, panting. Her hair was slightly disheveled from sprinting, and she paused abruptly upon seeing both the director and the seer.
"Director Noel… Madam Irina…" She hastily bowed, struggling to catch her breath.
A chuckle slipped from Troy.
Celia snapped her head toward him, her eyes darkening with unmistakable murderous intent.
Irina, amused, chuckled as well. "My, my… little Celia, as serious as ever."
Celia's cheeks turned a faint shade of red.
"Well then," Noel said, glancing at the clock, "the new recruits and their aids will be here any moment now."
"How about we have an introduction when they arrive?" Irina suggested, excitement creeping into her usually composed voice. "Like an inauguration."
Noel sighed. "You're really playing teacher today, huh?"
Before anyone could comment further, the door creaked open again.
Madam Irina sat comfortably in her chair, hands folded neatly in her lap. The dozen or so chairs were arranged in a perfect circle, the white walls of the room almost too clean, giving the space an artificial sterility. The only thing breaking the uniformity was the whiteboard standing at the center.
Troy rested his arm on the side of his wheelchair, watching the entrance with mild curiosity.
Then, the door creaked open.
As a guard outside relayed this information to the people who entered the inauguration ceremony? Began.
The first to walk in was a rugged-looking young man, his broad shoulders making him appear larger than he probably was. His face, though young, had a hardened look to it—his sharp features and faint scars suggesting a background different from the usual city life. His brown hair was only half-combed, sticking out in places as if he had rushed through it this morning. He wore a standard esper uniform, a crisp white shirt and black slacks, but the most notable thing was the bamboo stick hanging from his waist, completely out of place in an otherwise formal setting.
Behind him, his aide followed—a girl who looked more like a rebel than an official assistant. She was dressed in fitted jeans and a maroon jacket over a black T-shirt. Her long black hair fell effortlessly to her shoulders, and the faint blue glow in her eyes made her presence all the more striking. Unlike the first guy, she exuded confidence, the way she walked carrying a quiet but firm authority.
The young man stopped, glanced around, then gave an awkward nod before speaking.
"I'm Erwin Hush. Sixteen."
A brief silence filled the room.
Sixteen?
That was the collective thought of everyone present.
"And this is my aide, Melvina Abeywickrama."
Melvina simply popped the gum she was chewing and blew a bubble before lazily letting it pop.
"Do we, like, say our hobbies and stuff too?" she asked, eyes flicking between Erwin and Irina.
"Names and age are enough for now," Irina said with a small smile.
"Great," Melvina muttered before taking a seat, stretching her legs comfortably.
Irina chuckled, clearly entertained.
Before the silence could stretch too long, the next pair entered.
The aide walked in first—a woman with a striking wolf-cut hairstyle, her black eyeliner making her sharp eyes even more intense. A piercing glinted on her nose, another on her eyebrow. She wore the official aide suit, but hers had been custom-tailored to match her goth aesthetic. An oversized, upside-down cross dangled from her neck, completing the look.
Without wasting time, she introduced herself.
"Kanika Kohasa. Eighteen."
Her voice was cool and disinterested, as if she'd rather be anywhere else.
Behind her, a guy stepped in, flashing a grin so confident it bordered on obnoxious.
"Chad Whitecastle!" he announced proudly.
Troy had to resist the urge to groan. Even his name is Chad.
The guy had short brown hair, broad shoulders, and stood like someone who was used to being the center of attention. His standard Proto uniform was worn perfectly, pressed and neat, but somehow, the way he carried himself made it look like he was in a sports team rather than a high-level organization.
"I'm sixteen, leader of the school committee, and captain of the lacrosse team."
That last part was pure bragging. No doubt about it.
Troy leaned closer to Celia and whispered, "He's got protagonist energy. Next thing he says better not be—"
"Nice to meet you all!" Chad finished with an award-winning smile.
Troy sighed. Of course.
The next two walked in together.
The first was an imposing man with dark skin and braided black hair. His suit was the same as Celia's, but unlike the others, his had a cape attached—for some reason. He moved with an air of self-importance, stopping just past the doorway and placing a hand on his hip before speaking.
"I am Njoubu Damvi," he declared. "Twenty years old. And a Level 5 Esper."
The room seemed to pause.
Troy, who had been slouched in his wheelchair, suddenly sat up straighter.
Level 5?
There was a ranking system? What level was the Director? What level was he?
Before he could ask, Njoubu gestured behind him, and a small girl with caramel-colored hair stepped in.
"I'm Amelia Peres," she announced firmly.
Troy immediately recognized the energy radiating off of her.
Short person. Height complex.
"I'm eighteen. Yes, eighteen years old, contrary to my height," she added, already on the defensive.
Yup. Confirmed.
She wore a skirt suit, her arms crossed as if daring someone to comment. Her entire presence screamed easily irritated.
Troy smirked. He just found his next source of entertainment.
Finally, the last pair entered.
"…Y-Yeah, okay…"
The girl who stepped in looked deeply uncomfortable. She had short brown hair, a completely normal suit, and dark red glasses that were just a bit too bold for her otherwise timid demeanor.
"I—I'm Princy. Princy Angel," she mumbled, like she was embarrassed by her own name.
Behind her, her aide followed.
Troy immediately recognized one of his own.
A slightly overweight guy with overgrown hair. His T-shirt had an anime girl printed on it.
This guy was a hikikomori.
"Kohei Arata," he said, trying to sound confident but clearly failing. "Seventeen. Uh… I'm on break. From life. At least I was."
Troy narrowed his eyes. That guy is definitely a dropout.
"…Yeah, that's it?" Kohei turned to Princy, who only looked more confused than before.
As they took their seats, Madam Irina turned her attention back to Celia, nodding for her to continue.
"I'm Celia Devereux. 17 years old Aide to Troy," she said curtly, her tone clipped but composed.
Troy beamed. "And I'm Troy, the unfortunate soul who—"
"Just say your name," Celia interrupted, her fingers twitching like she was resisting the urge to smack him.
"Fine, fine. I'm Troy." He cleared his throat dramatically. "A man of culture, refinement, and overwhelming charm—"
Celia stepped forward and placed a hand on the back of his wheelchair, tilting it back just enough to make him flail for balance.
Troy coughed. "Ahem. And a humble participant of the Proto Program. I am 16 years old, my hobbies are—"
Celia nudged him.
Troy sighed. "My legs didn't work way before the serum incident, for anyone wondering."
Irina smiled, seemingly enjoying the exchange.
Troy, on the other hand, was very aware of the sheer amount of glares still being directed at him from the other aides. He was starting to suspect that they had all been trained in the fine art of silent intimidation.