Arthur's silence wasn't awkward. It wasn't cold.

It felt grounding — like standing next to someone who had made peace with the weight he carried.

Ryan's sore body didn't feel as heavy when they walked like that. Arthur's presence had always been something steady, the type that quiets your mind just by being nearby.

When they reached their class, Ryan sank into his chair as gently as he could. His muscles protested, and his ribs throbbed again. Arthur sat down next to him, arms crossed over his chest, legs straight, posture perfect.

He didn't look at Ryan.

He didn't need to.

The teacher droned on in front of them, writing on the board, talking about something related to their current subject — but none of the words reached Ryan. They passed through his ears like wind. His mind barely stayed in the classroom.

He saw Maya pointing at the map.

He saw Leon's grin.

He saw Arthur's silent approval.

He saw the mission routes.

Front gate.

Back alley.

Side wall.

Three entrances.

One goal.

When the final bell rang, the sound hit him like a bell for war.

Arthur stood immediately, gave Ryan one quiet glance, and said, "See you."

Those two words carried more weight than usual.

Ryan forced a little smile. "Yeah. See you."

He walked home alone that evening.

The sun had fallen lower, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. The shadows stretched across the street like long fingers.

When he entered his apartment, the silence inside swallowed him instantly.

He closed the door behind him with his foot, took three tired steps, and tossed his bag onto the bed. The bag landed with a heavy _thump_, bouncing once before falling still.

Then he crashed onto his bed face-first.

Every muscle in his body loosened at once.

His arms flopped beside him.

His legs felt like dead weight.

He didn't even realize how exhausted he was until he touched the bed.

But the silence didn't last long.

A familiar voice echoed in his mind, smooth and calm and slightly detached:

[Host, the big event is awaiting you.

I have my full trust in you.]

Ryan didn't lift his head.

His voice was muffled into the pillow.

"Yeah… system. I know. I'll handle it. I can't let them down."

[Yes, host.

Don't let your spirit waver even a bit.]

A digital chime echoed.

[DING!

New addition to Main Quest:

Defeat West High Crew with your team

– Without any casualties.]

A glowing panel appeared in his mind

bright blue

firm

unforgiving.

Ryan smirked, tired but determined.

"Without casualties? Please. I wasn't planning to let anyone get hurt anyway."

He closed his eyes.

The world faded.

Sleep came fast and heavy.

---

### **One Quiet Day Later**

The next day passed without anything happening.

No fights.

No drama.

No tension.

Just a calm day where nothing bothered him.

Almost like the universe was giving him one last breath before it tightened both hands around his throat.

He didn't train that day.

He didn't move much.

He conserved every drop of energy.

Because he knew —

tomorrow would be hell.

---

### **The Evening of the Mission**

The sky turned into a soft blend of orange and deepening blue.

Streetlights blinked on one by one.

The air cooled.

Ryan stood in the bathroom of his apartment, looking into the mirror.

A tired boy stared back.

But behind the tired eyes… was someone tougher.

Someone who had bled, learned, trained, taken hits, gotten up again and again.

Someone who had a team now.

He rubbed his face, exhaled slowly, and whispered,

"Will I even be able to do it? What if they get hurt? What if we lose? What if—"

[Host, don't think too much.]

Ryan shut his eyes.

"You're right… yeah. Enough overthinking."

He slapped both cheeks lightly until they stung.

He pulled his mask up, fixed his hoodie, grabbed his keys, and stepped out of his apartment.

---

### **Walking to the Meeting Spot**

The streets were calmer than usual.

Shadows fell across the pavement.

Small sounds echoed in the distance — a dog barking, a bicycle passing, a car turning somewhere far.

Every step Ryan took felt heavy, but not because he wanted to stop.

The anticipation sat in his stomach like a stone.

As he approached the school from the right side, he slowed down — not intentionally, just naturally. His eyes scanned ahead.

That's when he saw them.

First — Maya.

She stood near the gate, coat zipped, hands in her jacket pockets. Her hair swayed gently under the streetlight. Her eyes stayed locked on the road Ryan was coming from. She didn't look scared. She looked focused. Prepared. Like she had accepted the fight ahead of them.

Then Arthur.

He leaned against the tall iron gate, arms crossed, head slightly tilted down. His eyes were closed, but it wasn't rest — it was concentration. He looked like someone sharpening his mind before a battle. His breathing was slow. His posture unmoving. The wind brushed his hair but nothing shook him.

And finally — Leon.

He sat on top of the school wall like it was his personal couch. One leg dangled off the edge, the other folded comfortably. He yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head, and then spotted Ryan.

His face lit up with his classic grin.

He waved both hands like he was greeting a celebrity.

"Yo, CAP! Ready to throw some punches?"

Ryan rotated his shoulder. It cracked audibly.

"Always," he said, voice steady.

Maya smirked.

"Took you long enough, Cap."

Ryan rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah, I was trying to get mentally ready."

Arthur opened his eyes, the streetlight reflecting faintly in them.

He stepped away from the gate.

"We're getting late," he said simply. "Let's go."

"Yeah," Ryan nodded. "Let's."

Maya stepped toward them.

Leon hopped off the wall with a small thud.

Ryan walked at the front.

Arthur walked on his right side, tall, steady, silent.

Maya and Leon walked behind — Maya watching their surroundings, Leon with hands behind his head, relaxed but alert in his own way.

The four of them walked together under the soft streetlights.

Their shadows stretched across the road like long dark lines weaving behind them.

In that moment, they didn't look like kids.

They didn't look like students.

They didn't look like amateurs.

They looked like a unit.

A crew.

Four people stepping into something dangerous, something big, something that could change everything.

No one talked.

No one joked.

No one hesitated.

Only their footsteps echoed in the quiet night — each step pulling them closer to the storm.

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