The next morning, golden light filtered through the frosted hospital windows. It danced gently across the pale tiled floor, casting long, sleepy shadows that shimmered faintly with morning frost. The chill of the outside world hadn't quite left, even within the magically insulated walls of the city hospital.
Kaleem stirred.
He blinked slowly, eyelids heavy like steel. His body throbbed—an ache that sat not just in the muscles, but deep in the bones, in the soul. It felt as if every inch of him had been torn down and stitched together again in a rush.
He attempted to sit up.
Pain bloomed in his chest like fire. He hissed through clenched teeth and immediately stilled, sweat already forming on his brow from that single effort.
Then came a soft knock.
K-knock._
The door creaked open a moment later, and a woman stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the linoleum floor. She wore a long, sleek black coat, stitched with intricate silver insignia. A snake curled around a sword, fangs bared, eyes narrowed—it was the unmistakable mark of the Venom Serpents, a mystic task force known for efficiency and quiet brutality, a subsidiary squadron of the Silver Cresh.
It was Mei.
Her expression, always sharp and unreadable, softened briefly when her eyes landed on Kaleem. A subtle shift—barely a twitch in her brows, a momentary stilling of breath.
"You're awake," she said, more to herself than to him. "That's good."
Kaleem opened his mouth to respond, but only a hoarse croak emerged.
"Don't," Mei added quickly, moving to the chair beside his bed. "You've suffered severe backlash. Physical, mental, and spiritual exhaustion. You're lucky to still be alive."
She sat, legs crossed neatly, her presence radiating professionalism and quiet confidence. Her brown hair was tied back into a high tail, her skin pale under the hospital lighting. Her figure was elegant yet athletic—built not for beauty, but for survival. She looked like someone born from war and molded by structure.
Kaleem didn't react. His face remained still, blank. He simply watched her, eyes distant but alert—like a wounded animal too tired to flee, but too proud to look away.
Mei reached into her coat.
From a hidden inner pocket, she drew out a small metallic cube no larger than a fist. Runes danced across its surface, glowing with a cool, pale blue light. Each rune shimmered for a brief moment before vanishing, only for another to take its place— almost like a living, breathing artifact.
"This is for you," she said, placing the cube on the table beside him with a light metallic clink. "Captain's orders."
Kaleem's eyes moved to the object.
He didn't reach for it—his body wouldn't allow it—but his gaze lingered on it with suspicion and curiosity.
"It's... something you left behind at the lake," Mei continued. "The characteristics from the Class 3 entity, you defeated it—on your own." with clear emphasis to the last part
Kaleem's brows furrowed.
His cracked voice finally escaped in a whisper. "I killed... two" Kaleem says this with a lot of effort as he clearly felt two mysterious entities in that lake when he activated the Sequence state.
His throat burned. Mei's sharp eyes caught the confusion in his gaze, and she nodded slightly as if expecting the question.
"You did," she said. "But you only get one characteristic."
Kaleem's expression darkened, thoughts racing. "Why?" he managed.
Mei answered without hesitation, her tone even and direct.
"Because you didn't have the right."
She folded her arms. "Mystics like you who are new or not in any squadron in our organization are considered legal mystics in another term—freelance, unaffiliated to any group —meaning they don't get to keep everything they kill. It's not written down, but it's real. If someone stronger or more established had been there before the captain arrived, this other characteristic would've disappeared without explanation. That's the nature of our world. Organizations, prestige, hierarchy—they define everything."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze hardening.
"You were lucky we accepted your help request and found you. Others wouldn't have been as kind."
Kaleem absorbed her words silently.
He didn't react with anger, or protest, or disbelief. No—his expression didn't even shift. Instead, he simply nodded once, slowly.
"As expected," he said, his voice dry and bitter.
Because in the end, mystics were still human.
And humans… well, humans hadn't changed.
Ambition. Jealousy. Fear.
Even among those blessed with power beyond mortals, the same darkness lingered. Only now, it wore better clothes and wielded better tools.
The chair creaked as Mei stood up, snapping him from his thoughts.
She reached out, tapping his shoulder gently—a rare show of something close to kindness.
He looked up to see her gaze soften again, though it remained sharp beneath the surface.
"You did good," she said firmly. "I have no doubt you'll make an excellent mystic in the future."
Kaleem blinked.
For a moment, he wanted to say something back. A thank you, perhaps. Or ask a question—about her team, about the world, about what happens next.
But his body didn't cooperate, and his throat refused the words.
So instead, he just nodded again.
Mei turned toward the door, her long coat flaring slightly as she walked. Just before exiting, she paused and added over her shoulder:
"Rest while you can. You're not out of the storm yet."
The door clicked shut behind her.
---
Kaleem was alone again.
The hum of medical machines filled the silence. The cube on the table continued to pulse gently, its soft light casting a calm glow across the room.
But his thoughts were far from calm.
The weight of his own actions—and the cost of them—pressed on his chest like lead.
He had survived. But at what price?
His soul had stretched so much that it aches. His body had nearly failed. And now, he was truly entering and understanding this world where rules are twisted or non-existent.
A world where strength was everything—and belonging was survival.
Kaleem closed his eyes.
The cube's light reflected in his darkened hands, still swollen from the mana overdraft and blood coagulation.
One thing was certain.
He would not be powerless again.