The order did not stop at surveillance.

  Within twenty four hours of the Crimson Moon event, the Hero Associations shifted posture from observation to concentration.

  Of all flagged locations worldwide, one city was marked in red.

  First manifestation of the Blue Demon.

  Highest recorded residual mana distortion.

  Repeated artificial amplification incidents.

  And now, a rising student hero with abnormal resilience.

  In a regional command hall, a projection hovered over a circular table.

  “This is the epicenter probability zone,” an analyst said. “If the Doom User reappears physically, statistical likelihood places him here.”

  Silence followed.

  Then a single name appeared on the screen.

  Vane Thorne.

  Alias: Thunder Tyrant.

  S Rank.

  The ranking system had been created after the Blue Demon erased a city and fought Moloch beyond the atmosphere.

  Before that catastrophe, heroes were informal. Disorganized. Local.

  After it, nations restructured power.

  D Rank. Licensed beginners.

  C Rank. Field operatives.

  B Rank. City level combatants.

  A Rank. National strategic assets.

  S Rank. Deterrents.

  Publicly acknowledged weapons.

  Most countries had a handful.

  Some had one.

  Vane Thorne was considered among the most destructive reinforcement specialists alive.

  Physical mana amplification pushed beyond safe thresholds.

  He did not dodge.

  He did not strategize.

  He overwhelmed.

  And he was known for one particular habit.

  Testing rising heroes through violence.

  “Deploy him to Kibou Municipal High,” the director ordered.

  No one objected.

  The sound came before the sight.

  Students leaving school paused as wind suddenly tore through the courtyard.

  A military helicopter descended low over the campus.

  Backpacks flew.

  Papers scattered.

  Teachers shouted for order.

  The side door of the helicopter slid open.

  A tall figure stood inside.

  No harness.

  No rope.

  He stepped forward.

  And dropped.

  Five stories.

  Then four.

  He hit the courtyard like a meteor.

  The ground cracked outward in a violent spiderweb.

  Concrete split beneath his boots.

  Dust exploded into the air.

  Gasps echoed across the school grounds.

  When the dust cleared, he stood upright.

  Not crouched.

  Not braced.

  Just standing.

  Hands in his coat pockets.

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  Expression faintly amused.

  Vane Thorne had arrived.

  Whispers spread instantly.

  “That’s him.”

  “Thunder Tyrant.”

  “No way…”

  His eyes scanned the courtyard lazily.

  Then he heard it.

  “Nozu!”

  A student waved from near the training area.

  Nozu turned toward the voice.

  And Vane’s gaze locked onto him.

  “There you are,” Vane murmured.

  He walked forward.

  Students instinctively parted.

  The air felt heavier near him, not mystical like Doom, but dense with compressed mana.

  Nozu stepped forward and bowed slightly.

  “Sir.”

  Vane tilted his head.

  “You’re the bank incident kid.”

  “Yes.”

  Vane studied him for a moment.

  “You think you’re a hero?”

  Nozu opened his mouth to answer.

  Vane punched him.

  No warning.

  The impact detonated the air.

  The ground cracked again.

  Nozu’s body flew across the training field and smashed into the concrete boundary wall.

  The shockwave was so intense that nearby trash cans were flattened.

  Students screamed.

  Silence followed.

  Then movement.

  Nozu pushed himself off the broken surface.

  Blood at the corner of his mouth.

  His uniform was shredded at the shoulder.

  He stood.

  Vane’s lips curved slightly.

  “Oh?”

  He walked closer.

  “Most stay down.”

  Second punch.

  Nozu crossed his arms and reinforced.

  The impact numbed them instantly.

  He felt the bone in his left forearm groan under the pressure.

  He slid backward several meters, shoes carving lines into the ground.

  He did not fall.

  The crowd grew.

  Phones came out.

  Teachers shouted for distance but no one moved.

  Vane struck again.

  And again.

  Each hit sounded like metal colliding with a collapsing building.

  Shockwaves rattled classroom windows.

  Nozu’s breathing became ragged.

  His arms trembled violently from repeated impact.

  Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to drop.

  But he stayed centered.

  “You’re not strong,” Vane said calmly as he drove another fist into Nozu’s guard.

  “You’re not fast.”

  Another strike.

  “You’re not special.”

  Nozu was thrown to one knee.

  Blood dripped onto the cracked concrete.

  He felt a rib snap.

  He forced himself up.

  Students whispered frantically.

  “No one blocks his hits.”

  “No one stays conscious.”

  “He’s still standing…”

  Vane’s smile faded slightly.

  “You’re stubborn.”

  He accelerated.

  Mana surged visibly around his arm now.

  Blue sparks danced across his knuckles.

  Each strike carried more force.

  Nozu’s vision blurred.

  His ribs screamed.

  Something in his shoulder tore.

  He fell.

  Silence.

  Then he planted a hand on the ground.

  And stood again.

  “I won’t fall,” he said, voice shaking but steady.

  Vane stared at him.

  “Why?”

  Nozu glanced behind him.

  Students.

  Friends.

  People too slow to escape the blast radius of someone like this.

  He knew that if he moved, the person behind him would die.

  “Because someone has to stand.”

  Something in Vane’s eyes darkened.

  Annoyance replaced amusement.

  The test was over.

  This was an execution.

  “Fine.”

  He stepped back.

  Mana flared violently around his body.

  The air crackled with a lethal intent that made the skin of everyone nearby crawl.

  Teachers began dragging students away.

  This was no longer testing.

  This was escalation.

  Vane pulled his fist back fully.

  Intent shifted.

  Killing intent.

  Even the untrained felt it.

  Nozu saw it.

  And he did not move.

  If he dodged, the shockwave would reach the crowd.

  So he stayed.

  And accepted it.

  Vane swung.

  “Everyone leave. Now.”

  The voice cut cleanly through the chaos.

  It was not a request.

  It was a command.

  Calm.

  Sharp.

  Absolute.

  Miro stood between them.

  He did not shout.

  He did not panic.

  But something in his tone made even teachers react instantly.

  The students scattered, disappearing into the hallways as if driven by a sudden instinct for survival.

  The cameras on the outer walls flickered, then went black.

  Vane’s fist stopped mid strike.

  Caught.

  One hand held it in place.

  No explosion.

  No shockwave.

  Just stillness.

  Miro did not look angry.

  His face was expressionless.

  He did not even look at Vane's face.

  He looked through him.

  As if the S Rank hero was nothing more than a shadow.

  His arm did not shake.

  “Please,” he said quietly.

  “Be respectful toward my student.”

  Vane turned slowly.

  Then laughed.

  “You caught that?”

  He pulled.

  His arm did not move.

  He poured S Rank reinforcement into his muscles.

  Still nothing.

  The faintest crease appeared between his brows.

  “And who are you supposed to be?”

  Miro’s expression did not change.

  He didn't acknowledge the question.

  “Oh. I’m a nobody.”

  Vane laughed louder.

  Then tried to rip his arm free with reinforced strength.

  Nothing.

  Miro lifted his other hand.

  And placed it gently on Vane’s shoulder.

  What followed was subtle.

  There was no crimson sky.

  No distortion.

  Just a shift.

  Sound dulled slightly.

  The air thickened.

  Not suffocating.

  Just heavy.

  Temperature felt wrong.

  Cold against the skin.

  Burning in the lungs.

  Vane’s heart skipped.

  His instincts reacted before his mind could.

  Predator.

  Not power.

  Not rank.

  Something deeper.

  Older.

  He felt small.

  For half a second.

  And that half second terrified him more than any battle.

  He felt as though he was standing before a door that should never be opened.

  Miro leaned slightly closer.

  His voice was a ghost of a whisper.

  “I said,” he repeated softly, “please be more respectful.”

  The pressure vanished instantly.

  Sound returned.

  Air normalized.

  Vane stepped back.

  His boots scraped the concrete.

  He was breathing as if he had run a marathon.

  He laughed again, louder than before, but it lacked its previous edge.

  “Interesting.”

  His eyes lingered on Miro.

  Miro did not look back.

  He was already checking Nozu's pulse.

  Vane was no longer part of his reality.

  “You’re in an interesting place, kid.”

  Vane adjusted his coat.

  “I’ll be watching.”

  He turned and walked away as if nothing unusual had happened.

  But for the first time since earning S Rank, Vane Thorne had felt something he could not overpower.

  His hand was trembling in his pocket.

  Behind him, Nozu swayed.

  Miro caught him before he collapsed.

  He didn't look at the retreating hero.

  “You did well,” Miro said quietly.

  Nozu tried to speak, but he couldn't find the strength to do so.

  Finally, he allowed himself to lose consciousness.

  Sirens approached the campus minutes later.

  Above the school, the helicopter still hovered.

  And somewhere in the city, the damaged cameras showed only static.

  For Miro, one thought lingered as he watched emergency responders rush in.

  Staying a nobody was becoming increasingly complicated.