Jack Thompson was no fool. He knew exactly what kind of situation he was in.

The annoying girl standing before him made him want to crush her, but reason told him to get out of the bank immediately, before the SWAT team stormed in.

The moneybag was already prepared, lying right there on the floor. All he had to do was grab it, burst through the police cordon, and make it to the escape point—then he’d be gone. No one here could stop him, not even this girl. She had no way of holding him back. Just ignore her and run.

But when Jack’s eyes flicked toward the bag, Mai immediately caught on to his intention. She stepped forward, deliberately blocking the bag, extended her hand toward Daniel, and spoke calmly: “May I borrow two guns?”

Daniel standing not far away, didn’t believe Mai had any chance against Jack Thompson—a level-15 super with [Iron Skin] and formidable martial arts. But this was no time for debate. He tossed her his pistol, signaling Lucas to do the same.

Jack didn’t think two pistols would help Mai accomplish anything, but he didn’t want her to have them either. The moment the first gun left Daniel’s hand, Jack lunged forward, launching a flying karate kick aimed straight at Mai—intending to take her out and seize the bag in one move.

Mai bent backward in a sudden backflip, just barely evading Jack’s kick. At the same time, she grabbed the money bag, flung it aside, and caught both guns as she landed.

Jack landed, narrowing his eyes. "I think I’ve caught sight of you on the streets before—You’re from the Outer too, right? Playing the part of those who spit on us pretty well there. You must’ve been cursed at often enough to act it out so convincingly, huh? If you’ve suffered like that, why protect their money? Play dog for these people, and in the end, you’ll be no different from me.”

Mai gave no answer. She had lived long enough to know that arguments like these never ended with resolution.

Jack had no interest in philosophical debate either. He had decided to deal with her. He’d meant to spare her, but if she blocked his path, she had to bear the consequence. One move was all it would take.

He advanced in quick, heavy steps. His left foot stomped down, his right hand drew back, coiling with force—then shot forward.

Mai read the blow the instant his shoulder pulled back. She slipped aside, evading it by a hair.

Jack was startled that she managed to dodge; a fifteen-level gap was no laughing matter. But he pressed on, twisting his hips as his right thigh snapped upward, shin whipping through a crescent arc aimed straight at Mai’s head.

Jack was much faster than her, yet his techniques were elaborate—long arcs, overly telegraphed movements. They gave Mai just enough time to read which limb he would strike with, trace its trajectory, and slip aside before it landed.

She ducked, dodging the kick. But in that split second, her pupils shrank as Jack’s knee twisted slightly.

Smash! His leg snapped downward mid-arc, turning the high roundhouse into a crushing downward kick that slammed into Mai’s cheek.

[Karate: Mawashi-geri — Gaeshi!]

The sheer force spun her body midair.

“Oh? Not bad—quick reflexes,” Jack remarked. He could tell Mai had rolled with the blow to bleed off much of the impact. But his combo wasn’t finished yet.

His right leg recoiled as his left leg snapped upward in a high kick aimed at Mai’s airborne body.

Bang!

Clang!

Two sounds rang almost simultaneously. Before Jack’s leg could fully extend, a powerful shot intercepted him, smoke curling from the top of his foot as bullet fragments clattered on the floor. Mai landed, pistol barrel smoking faintly.

[Intercept Shot — Close Range!]

Her cheek was swollen, her head spinning. She forced a bitter smile. She had underestimated Jack—and the martial arts of this world.

She had assumed they relied only on superpowers or weapons, believing their martial arts had faded after the Age of Firearms, leaving only sports, exhibitions, and simple, practical styles like boxing.

But that kick proved real combat techniques had quietly endured. If she hadn’t rolled with it, her skull might have shattered.

Mai focused, eyes cold. She gripped the pistols tight as Jack charged again, refusing to give her even a breath.

Frustration burned in him. Even after unleashing a full combo, he hadn’t downed her. Yet he could tell—she was keeping up by predicting his strikes in advance.

He changed tactics. Instead of loading power into his rear fist, his lead hand snapped out in a sudden jab.

The punch surprised her, but it was still slower than the jabs of Inferno Knuckle. Jack’s strike retained the habit of focusing force at the end; the start required a tell, making it not truly unseen.

Mai tilted her head; the fist brushed through her hair. Then his elbow bent slightly, fingers snapping straight as his hand swept sideways in a knife-hand strike.

She let her head flow with the motion of the chop, twisting downward so the strike only skimmed the nape of her neck.

The blow whipped her long hair up, revealing Jack’s other fist driving straight toward her.

Bang!

Mai dodged while firing a shot, the recoil knocking Jack’s punch slightly off course so it only grazed her cheek, leaving a red streak. But that wasn’t the end—his fist didn’t stop.

Carried by its own momentum, his hips rolled forward, the strike sweeping in an arc before reversing, driving his elbow straight at Mai.

[Karate: Empi-uchi!]

The elbow strike drove straight at her chest—Mai had no time to evade with her whole body.

In that instant, the Vorn in her meridians surged into her elbows. Her arms extended in a slight bend, pistols crossed before her chest. When Jack’s steel-hard elbow slammed toward her, she relaxed, letting the crushing force sweep her whole body away.

Clang!

The impact rang out like a hammer on an anvil. Mai’s elbows folded to absorb the blow, then sprang straight again—her Vorn-laden arms turning into a giant spring. Her small frame was flung clear of the strike’s path, hurled across the room.

The collision with the wall exploded in a deafening crash. She hit hard, dropping like a sandbag, every muscle screaming as though torn apart. Mai had escaped the lethal force of Jack’s iron elbow, but the backlash left her wracked with pain, her breath crushed from her lungs.

Jack was astonished by Mai’s combat skill; he could hardly believe a sixteen-year-old girl could fight like this. A master of traditional karate himself, he had no doubt that if she were on his level, he would lose miserably.

But now was no time to admire an opponent. He had already wasted too much time on her. He lunged forward, throwing out a jab—only for Mai to slip swiftly out of range.

“What’s wrong? Scared?” he sneered, lifting his leg to chase after her.

Mai gave no reply. She simply waited calmly for him to draw closer—slipping past a jab, firing to intercept a knee strike, retreating from a sweeping kick.

Jack unleashed combo after combo, yet none landed as cleanly as before. Mai evaded, stepped back, and intercepted each strike with well-timed gunfire.

The bank had fallen into eerie silence, broken only by the hiss of Jack’s fists and kicks cutting the air, the crack of gunfire, and the occasional metallic clang.

Veins bulged across Jack’s forehead as his blows failed again and again. Then he caught sight of the faint smile curving Mai’s lips. His fury cooled in an instant, and at last, the realization struck him.

Retreat. That was it. Her defense now had something extra—a retreat.

After only a single exchange, Mai realized that before every strike he always had to drop his weight and channel power into his legs. The solid stance made his blows fast, strong, and steady.

That was the very core of the traditional karate Jack practiced, a foundation firm as a fortress, strong in both attack and defense.

Yet that very solidity robbed him of mobility, making it hard to chase a nimble opponent—and in this situation, it turned into a fatal weakness, because his opponent didn’t need to win. She only needed not to lose.

Mai held her ground at the very edge of his [Zone]—close enough to make him believe he could land a hit, yet always a single backward step from safety.

Even when he swung with wider blows, her gunfire cracked out to break them.

She lingered on the fringe, feeding him the illusion that one more effort would be enough to crush her—while at the same time blurring his sense of time.

Realizing this, Jack quickly calmed himself. Mai had all the time in the world to play cat and mouse, but he didn’t. He had already frightened her into not daring to face him head-on—that was enough.

With that thought, his cold eyes locked on Mai. Without another word, he gave a sharp grunt and lunged toward the moneybag.

But just as he launched forward, another gunshot rang out.

Switching supporting leg—that was an unavoidable step in running.

At the instant his left foot had already pushed off while his right had yet to touch the ground, his body was nearly suspended—unsupported by anything. That was the moment Mai had aimed for.

The bang of the shot, followed by the harsh clang of metal, echoed off the bank’s walls. The bullet struck precisely at Jack’s ankle, twisted his foot aside. His massive frame faltered, tilting as he nearly toppled over. He staggered, arms flailing to keep balance, face contorting—not from pain, but from the realization that with shooting like this, Mai could easily pin him down and keep him from escaping.

Mai stood a few meters away, lips curled into a mocking smile. Suddenly, she shouted over her shoulder: “Officer! How much longer until the SWAT team arrives?”

From the distance, Daniel’s voice came back—surprised, yet answering all the same: “Three minutes!”

Jack heard it, and it was like oil poured onto fire. Three minutes? He didn’t have time to waste. Fighting her wasn’t working, running was no longer an option. His face flushed crimson, muscles bulging as if ready to burst.

He hurled his whole body forward, charging at Mai like a hunting beast. No techniques, no finesse—just raw speed, weight, and momentum, intent on crushing her beneath sheer force. With this, those weak little bullets of hers wouldn’t matter; as long as he rammed straight through, every trick Mai had would be useless.

But in that instant he realized—Mai had leapt as well, as if she had been waiting for him to charge. Her body arced upward, twisting, hanging inverted in midair.

As Jack surged past and slammed into the floor, the tiles shattered, dust and debris exploding outward. Mai’s small frame descended squarely onto his back. Her long legs clamped tight around his iron waist.

Before Jack could react, two cold gun barrels pressed hard against his ears. A faint clang rang out as metals met—quiet, yet echoing deep inside each of his ears, enough to send a shiver through his whole body.

---

“Oh, you wanna learn a move that can drop those big, beefy guys? Easy—just smack right here.” Brawler said excitedly, slapping both sides of his own ears.

Shadow narrowed her eyes at him in exaggerated suspicion.

Unhappy with her attitude, Brawler crossed his arms and leaned right into her face.
“Hey, don’t underestimate this! This move’s got a badass name: Supreme Dual-Soul-Shaking Transcendent Void Mind-Blast Technique! Cool, huh? Wanna learn it?”

When Shadow pursed her lips and gave him that judging look, Brawler shoved his face even closer “I’m telling you, it’s deadly. I once dropped a King Orc with this move. C’mon, don’t you want to learn? Please?”

Shadow already regretted asking, but still gave a reluctant nod. That was when Brawler dropped the line that made her regret it even more. “This isn’t easy, you know. Smack it wrong and nothing happens. First you study the theory—step one, memorize the name! And if you don’t shout it when you use it, I’ll punch you myself. Now, repeat after me: Supreme Dual-Soul-Shaking Transcendent Void Mind-Blast!!!”

---

“Supreme… Dual-Soul-Shaking… Transcenden… Void Mind-Blastttt!!!”

Jack felt Mai’s warm breath brush against the back of his neck. He heard her whisper something behind him—he couldn’t tell what it was. A curse? A spell? He didn’t know. All he knew was the sudden, overwhelming terror flooding his body.

Bang!

Two gunshots roared at once, colliding with a shriek of steel against steel.

Jack froze mid-motion, his fist still buried in the shattered floor. Then his body gave out, collapsing face-first onto the tiles. Whether unconscious or dead was unclear. His iron skin receded, blood seeping from his ears, nose, and eyes. Two spent shells tumbled down beside him, clattering across the floor with a hollow clink-clink.

Officer Lucas stammered, “W-what… what just happened…?”

Daniel swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “We wear ear protection when training with firearms because the blast alone can rupture eardrums and knock us out cold at close range. [Iron Skin] shields Jack’s body from impact—even disperses the shock so it doesn’t pass inside—but his ears are a direct tunnel into the brain. The shockwave went straight through the skull, with nothing to stop it.”

He lowered his voice “Two shots at once, one from each side—the shockwaves resonated together inside his head, multiplying in force. Martial arts has the double-palm strike to the ears to stun an opponent—what Mai just did was a horrifying version of that.”

Daniel glanced at Klein’s assistant, still filming from behind the reception desk. He couldn’t help thinking that the police department and the army were about to get brand-new training material.

---

Outside, sirens wailed as the SWAT team finally stormed in. Soldiers in sleek black armor, weapons at the ready, quickly subdued the robber. They locked special restraints onto him while medics rushed to treat K-Pulse Klein—his shallow breathing proved he was still alive.

Daniel stood nearby with his arms folded, tossing a jab at the SWAT commander. “Late again, boss!”

The commander, a hulking man in heavy tactical gear, only grunted behind his mask. Emma had already briefed him on the situation en route, so he didn’t bother snapping back at Daniel.

Instead, he turned to Mai, who was still standing there, hands on her hips, catching her breath. A suspicious blush tinged her ears.

“Girl, I saw the whole thing on the camera feed. Solid fighting. Great psychological warfare too.” He raised a thumb, his voice lowering in a conspiratorial tone. “How about joining the SWAT team? The pay’s not bad.”

Mai glanced him over—from the gleaming combat boots to the assault rifle slung across his chest—then leaned in suddenly, asking in a voice equal parts curious and practical, “What’s the exact amount?”

The commander chuckled, leaning close as though sharing a state secret. “Not supposed to say this, but about seventy grand a year. Not bad, eh?”

Mai blinked, blurting out, “You guys run headfirst into danger every day for… that?”

Her blunt honesty froze the commander in place. Behind the mask, his face pinched up, like a monkey’s backside after being poked. He wanted to argue, but couldn’t—SWAT pay really was pitiful compared to the risk.

Mai gave an awkward smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Still, she quietly scolded herself. Just this morning, she’d shaken down that producer for nearly one and a half times the commander’s entire yearly salary, so her sense of money was a little skewed. She knew full well it wasn’t normally that easy to earn. With a sigh, Mai stepped out of the bank.

---

Old man Nite’s expression was rather telling when Mai returned with her face swollen and bruised. But he said nothing, only gesturing for her to sit on the examination chair as he carefully prepared the medicine.

She obeyed without complaint. His aged yet steady fingers dipped into the ointment and gently dabbed it over her bruises. The bitter scent of herbs spread through the room, silence weighing heavily between them.

In the end, it was Mai who broke the stillness.
“You’re not angry?”

Old man Nite paused briefly, then spoke with calm composure.
“I’d already prepared myself for this. I know everything you did was necessary—for me, for Mai. I should apologize for putting all the burden on you. It’s just…”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully before continuing.
“Take care of yourself.”

Mai knew he meant take care of this body, but the corner of her lips lifted anyway—because he had included her as well.

Of course, she understood his trust wasn’t baseless. She had already shared with him the basics of Soul Art. He must have tried it himself and realized her claims about treating Mai’s spirit had a solid foundation. And he knew they would need no small amount of resources to accelerate that process. To her, it was a transaction—and she would fulfill her part.

When the treatment was done, she stood up and said “Right. Next week we’ll head into the city for the Purification and to register for the National Hero Entrance Exam.”

Seeing old man Nite hesitate, she added,
“Don’t worry about the money. I swindled a fat sum from that Sidekick show this morning.”

With that, she gave a little wave of her hand and slipped into the bathroom.

---

The attic room perched above old man Nite’s clinic was small, but neatly arranged, radiating a gentle, feminine touch. Cream-white walls were adorned with lavender canvas prints and inspirational quotes. A large window dominated one side, flooding the space with natural light, its pale-pink linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze.

A single bed stood in the corner, covered with a pink-and-white striped cotton blanket and a scatter of small floral pillows. Beside the window sat a little wooden desk, on top of which lay a laptop, a vase of dried flowers, and a neat stack of paperbacks. In the corner, a low bookshelf held rows of textbooks, manuals, and a few trinkets—paper lanterns, scented candles. A beige wool rug stretched across the dark wooden floor, lending the room a warm, homely feel.

Mai sat cross-legged on the bed, damp black hair catching the light from the window. She pulled a small leather notebook from the drawer and began writing. Today had been a triumph. The Sidekick show had promised her a fee of twenty thousand dollars—but she had squeezed an extra hundred thousand on top, bringing the total to a hundred and twenty thousand. Smiling, she drew a firm red line across the page in satisfaction.

She turned the numbers toward old man Nite. Each Purification cost about fifteen thousand dollars, to be performed every two months. With a hundred and twenty thousand, she could cover eight sessions—enough to sustain old man Nite for sixteen months.

That was the worst-case scenario. She believed the matter of his veteran’s insurance would be resolved soon—she already had a plan in mind. Still, she knew she couldn’t afford to slack off on making money. She had a few ideas, but they needed more thought.

She set the notebook aside and reached for her phone. Opening [HeroNet], the screen lit up with her profile: Raiser, Level 1, Medal: Stone.

Beneath it gleamed thirty Honor Merits—her reward from the morning’s bank heist and her takedown of Jack Thompson. Normally, a Level 15 criminal wouldn’t yield nearly that much, but this one was far more dangerous than usual, and the fight had left one Trainee and a civilian injured.

Just twenty more Merits, and she would advance to Medal: Iron. That would unlock the core features of the app—the Shop, the Library, the Forum. Right now, with Medal: Stone, HeroNet really was just “a stone”—little more than info access and mission listings.

Mai itched to read The Way Vorn Works by Master Macauley, an introductory book on Vorn. But it was locked behind the HeroNet Library, accessible only at Medal: Iron.

Frowning, she flipped to the mission board, planning to scan for quick Merit jobs. But before she could, she felt something strange in her body.

Beyond the swelling on her face, she carried deeper bruises from the fight and the crash into the wall. Ever since the battle with Jack ended, she had been circulating Vorn through her body, letting it slowly repair those hidden injuries.

Opening her meridians and cycling Vorn wouldn’t let her level faster than others. It only compensated for her poor absorption rate—feeding her cells bit by bit. At best, she kept pace with an ordinary Raiser; compared to those who could gorge themselves on Vorn, she lagged far behind.

She had thought healing injuries with Vorn would be the same—slow, steady. But now that her mind had settled in the quiet of her room, she realized something. The damaged muscles were devouring Vorn greedily to heal themselves—and more importantly, the energy didn’t disperse afterward. It stayed within her.

Mai thought she was close—Level 2.