Liu Xian stared at the glowing options on the slick, glassy clipboard as the room buzzed faintly around him. The interface pulsed with artificial calmness—two neat little boxes, polished text like a damn brochure:
SIGN
DECLINE
It was ridiculous.
He scoffed. Loud and bitter. A short bark of sound that almost startled himself.
What the hell kind of choice was this?
Stay here—in the metal belly of this hellhole, strapped to tables, drained, broken, laughed at by lunatics like Omicron-7… Or go to some mysterious school that once dangled the promise of belonging, only to cruelly toss him in a fucking laboratory, and now, out of nowhere, decided he was worth offering anything to?
Like life was giving him a prize after throwing him through ten miles of shit.
He tilted his head back against the cold, metal chair and stared up at the ceiling. Blank, flat. The kind of ceiling that didn't care if you lived or died. He closed his eyes for a second. Just one. And in that small moment, silence filled the air like thick water.
Then...
He laughed.
A low, strained sound that clawed its way up his throat and broke loose like a feral animal. There was no joy in it.
Just dry, cracked madness.
It echoed off the walls, unsettlingly sharp in a room that hadn't heard laughter in forever. Not this kind.
The laughter of someone completely out of options.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, barely audible. His lips twisted into a tired grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why not?"
His life was already shit. He'd been chewed up and spit out by the world over and over again. The only thing that kept him alive was sheer, stupid rage—and maybe that tiny flicker of promise he'd muttered like a curse into Dr. Omicron-7's smug fucking face.
I'll kill you.
He remembered it. Oh, he fucking remembered it like a brand on his brain.
It was a promised.
The screen flickered again, urging him to decide. Almost mockingly polite.
"Yeah, yeah…" he muttered, dragging a hand across his face. The skin felt strange—too dry, and too tight. He hadn't looked in a mirror for days. Maybe weeks. But he didn't need one to know he looked like walking death.
Didn't matter.
He jabbed his finger at the screen. It didn't even make a sound when he hit the SIGN box. Just a low hum, like a breath being taken in the walls.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, the clipboard vibrated gently in his lap. A faint hiss of energy coiled around the edges as ancient runes bled across the screen, curling like smoke, symbols he didn't understand flashing for a moment before fading into digital nothingness.
And then, a voice—not robotic, not metallic. A voice that sounded almost too human—crisp and female—spoke softly from the device:
"Contract confirmed. Identity registered. Trial period initiated."
Liu Xian blinked.
Trial?
Before he could process it, the door to the lab hissed open again.
Click. Click. Click.
Those same crisp heels echoed into the room, and there she was—Q24. That too-bright smile still staining her lips. Her white coat flared faintly behind her as she stepped in.
"I see you've accepted," she said, her smile beaming so hard it hurt to look at.
Liu Xian didn't answer.
She didn't seem to mind.
"Welcome to Arcane Academy, Liu Xian," she chirped warmly. "We're thrilled to have another Hero in our midst."
"Hero," huh?
Yeah, that was rich.
His eyes drifted away from her and scanned the room again. This lab. This awful, sterile tomb. White walls that had watched him scream. Cold surfaces that had burned. The metal frame of the mana extractor still hummed in the corner like it hadn't just tortured a kid days ago. The smell of antiseptic and sweat lingered in the vents, always sharp, always there.
He wanted to burn it.
All of it.
The sound of the door being opened echoed through the room.
It wasn't loud. Just the soft hiss and click of airlocks disengaging. But it sent a shiver through him that he couldn't stop. He stiffened instinctively, every muscle in his battered body twitching like live wire beneath thin skin. His fingers curled slightly, his nails digging into the medical cot's synthetic padding.
Two armed men entered.
Their weapons were compact and efficient-looking, strapped across their chests with magnetic clips. They moved like shadows trained to kill, precise and utterly silent.
Liu Xian's body moved before his mind caught up. His breath hitched, his entire posture shifting, defensive—feral. His shoulders locked up, one leg swinging down from the cot with effort. He braced himself like a cornered animal, eyes wide and sharp.
"Don't worry," Q24 said quickly, stepping into view like a sunbeam in the middle of a thunderstorm. "They're just here to escort you."
Her voice was too sweet. Too light. Like syrup on a corpse.
Her golden lashes fluttered slightly as she tucked a strand of her hair behind one pointed ear, expression completely unaffected by the twitch in Liu Xian's jaw or the way his hands had curled like claws.
His heart was pounding. Blood rushed in his ears, too loud to ignore. Every nerve in him screamed not to trust it. Not after what happened to Koro. That image still burned in the back of his eyelids every time he blinked. The sound of the shot. The quiet thump of his limp body hitting the floor.
That was what "escort" looked like.
He swallowed hard. His throat was raw. He didn't trust himself to speak.
The two soldiers stood like statues, saying nothing. Waiting.
But the trembling had already started.
No matter how much he tried to clench his fists tighter, to lock his knees, to pull himself together, he couldn't stop the quiet, betraying shiver running through his spine. It wasn't fear. Not exactly. It was the kind of trauma that doesn't just sit in the brain—it leaks into the bones, into the blood.
"Don't worry..." Q24 said again, a little softer this time. "You're safe."
Safe??!
That one word snapped something.
Liu Xian turned slowly toward her, disbelief radiating off him like heat. He didn't yell. Didn't flinch. But his eyes… gods, his eyes.
The glare he gave her could've cut through titanium.
Those sunken, hollow eyes practically screamed the words his cracked lips didn't say: "Safe?" The fuck are you even talking about?
And for a single moment, Q24's smile faltered.
Just the tiniest crack. The faintest twitch of her brow, the smallest hitch in her breath.
Liu Xian turned his head toward the guards and forced himself to stand, every movement stiff, like his limbs were only just remembering how to function.
He didn't look at Q24 again.
He didn't need to.
The walk out of the lab felt unreal.
The guards flanked him like shadows, one on each side, their boots silent against the polished floor. Their weapons held low but steady. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Liu Xian knew how quickly those hands could move. He remembered.
Koro's skull didn't stand a chance.
The moment the memory surfaced again, his breath hitched. His hands clenched involuntarily, trembling slightly despite himself.
The hallway stretched long and pale ahead, sterile lights casting everything in a soft, cold white. The hum of machines buzzed behind walls, and distant mechanical clicks echoed down the corridor like ghosts.
They passed rooms. Doors with red lights over them. Slabs with restraints. Tanks filled with softly glowing liquids and shapes that might've been bodies.
Every now and then, he thought he saw another face behind the glass—other kids, maybe. Other victims. Some stared back blankly.
Some didn't move at all.