The sea breeze had that salty smell that stuck to everything.
He Min was sitting way up in the third tier of the "Heart of Olympia," spinning his overpriced soda around. Thing cost him twenty credits and tasted like nothing. The bubbles were barely trying to make it to the surface.
Down below, there was this fake ocean thing going on. Kailos was fighting some genetically modified octopus while holographic whale sharks swam around in the background. People kept gasping at the whale sharks like they'd never seen a projection before. He Min didn't get it. The only interesting part was watching Kailos himself.
The guy was famous, sure. Five-time champion of whatever they called this extreme sports thing. But there was something off about him that He Min couldn't quite put his finger on. Like he was running too hot, burning through something inside himself. There was power there, and something else. Something that felt almost divine, but not quite.
The arena had all these sensors everywhere, turning every move into numbers:
[Heart Rate: 183 BPM] [Muscle Load: 89.4%] [Divinity Factor Activity: 7.3/10] [Comprehensive Potential Output: 9.8/10 (Peak)]
Everyone around him was going crazy over those numbers. Like higher numbers automatically meant better. He Min thought it was stupid. It was like... taking apart a song to count the notes. You'd miss the whole point.
The octopus made this horrible sound when Kailos ripped off one of its tentacles with his electric gauntlet. Green blood went everywhere. Another easy win.
Kailos came up from the water with his arms spread wide, soaking up the cheers. The Olympic flame thing above them burned brighter.
He Min yawned. Time to go.
He stood up, hoping to get out before the crowds turned the exits into a nightmare. But then the announcer's voice boomed over everything:
"Thank you, Kailos, for another incredible victory! To celebrate our champion's fifth consecutive win, the Pan-Aegean Games Committee is launching something special—'Walk with the Champion'!"
Great. Now they were doing audience participation.
Spotlights started sweeping around randomly.
"We'll pick one lucky audience member to come down and spar with Kailos! Could it be you?"
Everyone around He Min jumped up, waving their arms like idiots. The crowd got so thick he couldn't move. The spotlight bounced around for way too long—they really milked the drama—then stopped.
On him.
For a second, nobody made any noise. Then everyone started yelling.
He Min squinted in the light. It was giving him a headache. He looked down at the host waving at him and knew immediately this wasn't random.
He could sense it—a thin data stream snaking out from one of the VIP boxes, quietly messing with the lottery algorithm. They'd targeted him specifically because he was the only person without an ID bracelet. In the system, his seat probably showed up as "empty" or "error."
Perfect for their purposes. No complications.
He Min spotted the guy in the box—slicked-back hair, expensive suit, rubbing his hands together like he'd just pulled off something clever.
Interesting.
He didn't fight it. Two security bots "escorted" him down through the crowd, which parted like he was carrying a disease.
"Hey, relax. Don't be nervous."
Kailos had changed into clean training gear. He was doing his PR smile, the one he probably practiced in mirrors. Up close, the guy was shorter than He Min expected, but built like a tank.
"What's your name?" The microphone picked up everything.
"He Min."
"Alright, He Min." Kailos gave him a light shoulder pat. His hand was hot—like, actually hot. Felt like touching a car engine. "Good to meet a fan. Ready for a little friendly sparring?"
He Min tilted his head, studying Kailos like he was some kind of weird bug. After a few seconds, he laughed.
"Fan?"
He kept his voice low, just for Kailos.
"Nah, you got that wrong." He Min waved his hand. "I don't really do the whole fan thing. But you..." His voice got softer, almost gentle. "You're pretty interesting."
Kailos's smile flickered.
"You know what I was thinking while watching you fight that octopus?" He Min's tone stayed casual, curious. "For someone so strong, you look really... empty. Why is that?"
The microphone didn't catch that part. Only Kailos heard it.
The friendly mask dropped. Kailos's eyes went cold, predatory.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Just some guy who ended up here." He Min shrugged. "Can we start? I've got places to be."
"Fine."
Kailos stopped pretending. He stepped forward and threw a hand strike that looked slow but covered all the angles. Standard pressure move, designed to make opponents panic.
He Min did something weird.
Instead of blocking or dodging, he just... looked up. Like something had caught his attention. His eyes followed a seagull flying over the arena dome, and he smiled slightly, like he was watching something amusing.
Kailos's strike whiffed past his nose, close enough to mess up his hair.
He Min blinked and looked back at Kailos. "Oh, sorry. Got distracted. That bird was flying really nice."
He sounded like he was apologizing for being late to lunch.
Kailos stared at him.
Had to be luck. He tried again—a leg sweep this time, aimed low.
He Min's foot slipped on some octopus blood and he staggered backward, accidentally avoiding the kick that could have broken steel.
"Whoops." He Min looked down at the blood. "Slippery."
The next thirty seconds were the strangest thing anyone at Zenith of Prowess had ever seen.
Kailos unleashed everything—punches, kicks, elbow strikes, each one powerful enough to kill. He Min kept avoiding them through the dumbest possible accidents. He'd trip on debris, sneeze and duck at the right moment, or get distracted by someone in the crowd.
Every dodge looked clumsy and accidental, but worked perfectly.
And every time, He Min would explain what happened:
"Nose was itchy..."
"That guy's hair is weird..."
"Shoelace came untied..."
Like it really was all coincidence.
Kailos stopped, breathing hard. He stared at He Min, finally understanding.
This wasn't luck. This guy was messing with him in some way he couldn't figure out. Making him look like a fool without even trying.
"Are you mocking me?" Kailos's voice cracked slightly.
He Min blinked. "Mocking? Why would I mock you? You're pretty good."
He paused. "Just... kind of sad, though."
His tone was gentle, almost pitying. Somehow that was worse than any insult.
Being beaten by a worthy opponent was one thing. Being toyed with like this was humiliation.
Something snapped inside Kailos.
"Enough." His voice went ice-cold. "You want to play games? Let's play."
He stopped holding back. Divine energy erupted from his body, way more intense than anything in the match. His right gauntlet split open, revealing the hilt of an ion blade.
The blade ignited with a sound like tearing silk. White-hot energy extended from the hilt. The temperature jumped. The air started to shimmer.
"Show me what you really are," Kailos snarled, pointing the blade at He Min.
He Min stopped smiling.
His face went completely calm, like still water. He sighed—not dramatically, just tired.
"That's disappointing," he said quietly. "I thought you might be different."
He Min rubbed his lower back, the way office workers do after sitting too long.
Then, as Kailos swung the blade down to cut him in half, He Min raised two fingers.
Just his index and middle finger.
He caught the ion blade between them.
Time stopped.
That blade—hot enough to melt steel, charged with divine power—was held perfectly still between two pale fingers. No explosion, no energy discharge. Just silence.
The blade's violent energy died instantly, like a flame being snuffed out.
Everyone watched the light fade from the weapon.
Kailos felt something cold and incomprehensible flow back through the blade, freezing the divine power in his own body.
A tiny sound: "crack."
The supposedly indestructible blade started to fracture where He Min's fingers touched it.
Cracks spread like a spiderweb.
The whole thing—blade and hilt—crumbled into dull metal powder that sifted through He Min's fingers.
Kailos stood frozen, still in his attack pose, holding nothing.
He Min brushed the dust off his fingertips, like he was cleaning crumbs off a table.
"Nice sword," he said, looking at the pile of metal dust. "Shame."
He looked back at Kailos. Still smiling, but there was disappointment in his eyes.
"Your performance was... underwhelming."
His voice was casual, like he was reviewing a restaurant. Somehow that casual dismissal cut deeper than any insult could have.
He Min cocked his head. "You know what's funny? They give you numbers, and you actually believe those numbers mean something. That's..."
He smiled wider. "Cute."
The arena went dead quiet. Millions of people watching—in person and on streams—all holding their breath.
Then chaos exploded.
"What just happened?!"
"Did Kailos just lose to some random guy?!"
"Get his readings!"
"Can't! All the sensors are down!"
Media drones swarmed in like angry wasps, breaking through the arena's shields. Cameras and scanning equipment surrounded He Min in a storm of flashing lights.
"Sir! Who are you?"
"What facility trained you?"
"Are you challenging for the championship?"
He Min stood in the middle of the light show, eerily calm.
He turned slowly, looking at all the reporters and their equipment. His smile was almost childlike.
"Wow. So many new friends."
His voice carried through the arena microphones.
He paused. When he spoke again, his tone was sweet as poison:
"But I really, really don't like being stared at."
The last words came out cold enough to freeze blood.
The air temperature seemed to drop. The reporters, who'd been frantically taking pictures, suddenly felt ice crawling up their spines.
He Min's smile got even sweeter. "So maybe you should all... back off?"
It sounded like a suggestion. It wasn't.
He turned to leave.
But first, he had one more thing to take care of.
He Min found his way to the VIP box where Mr. Slicked-Hair was still on his phone, excitedly planning how to monetize "the mystery fighter."
The promoter—Vic—didn't notice his door opening silently. Didn't notice the young man in casual clothes appearing behind him like smoke.
He Min listened to Vic's phone conversation for a while. Plans for contracts, endorsement deals, media appearances. How to "package" the mysterious newcomer for maximum profit.
He Min chuckled softly.
"Packaging, huh?"
Vic spun around, phone still in his hand. "Who—?"
"Someone interested in your... creative process." He Min stepped closer. "Mind if I try some packaging of my own?"
Before Vic could answer, He Min reached out and tapped him once on the stomach.
A flicker of dark light, gone before anyone could really see it.
"Stay healthy," He Min said with a sweet smile, already turning to go.
At the doorway, he paused. "Oh, and I think you're really going to love your new look."
The tone was playful, like he'd just told a joke.
Vic stood there, confused. Then he felt it starting.
His expensive, drug-enhanced physique began to change. The muscle he'd built with designer treatments and personal trainers started to... convert. Solid pecs became saggy fat. Washboard abs turned into a beer gut.
In under a minute, the fit, successful promoter became a wheezing, overweight mess.
His personal medical system went haywire:
[WARNING! Unknown genetic contamination!]
[Irreversible muscle degradation detected!]
[Health rating downgraded from B+ to F-!]
[LIFETIME SPORTS BAN ACTIVATED!]
Vic collapsed, clutching his new gut, making sounds like a dying animal.
Meanwhile, He Min was already at the maglev station.
He stood on the platform with an old black umbrella, looking back at the city he'd just turned upside down. He shook his head.
"Too loud. Boring."
He needed somewhere new. Somewhere more chaotic, where he could blend in again.
The news screens were showing footage from other places. Some old kingdom where politicians were screaming at each other in parliament, nearly coming to blows over some stupid debate.
It looked messy. Primitive. Real.
He Min watched the news feed from something called the Celestial Axis Demesne and smiled like he'd just found a new toy.
"That looks fun."
He closed his umbrella, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the ticket machines.
The line ahead of him was going through all the usual bureaucratic nonsense—identity scans, credit checks, background verification. The works.
When his turn came, He Min didn't even look at the destination menu.
He just flicked the screen with one finger, like he was shooing away a fly.
[Destination Confirmed]
[From: Aegean—Zenith of Prowess]
[To: Central—Celestial Axis Demesne]
Inside the machine, the payment systems had a brief electronic seizure, flashed some incomprehensible error codes, then decided the easiest solution was to just approve everything.
A ticket slid out, still warm from the printer.
He Min picked it up, checked the departure time, and walked toward the gates like any other passenger.