Planet Kutol, known across the galaxies as the "World Trade Centre," was a paradox wrapped in shadows and steel. Here, the clang of hammers forging legendary weapons echoed alongside the whispers of deals struck in smoky backrooms. From small bombs to relics of untold power, Kutol's markets catered to villains, criminals, heroes, and anti-heroes alike—each walking a delicate line in this merciless marketplace.
Yet, despite the trade in tools of war, Kutol itself was a sanctuary of strict order. Violence of any kind was forbidden within its borders. Those who broke this sacred law—no matter their past deeds or reputation—were cast into the dreaded abyss known only as the "Void of Light" or the "Void of Darkness." A merciless exile where souls vanished without trace, swallowed by endless nothingness or blinding emptiness.
In this world of commerce and control, power was forged, alliances were made and broken, but above all, peace was brutally enforced—lest the fragile balance shatter and plunge Kutol into chaos
Our Heroes were settled among the worn and weary souls of Kutol's hidden slums. The people moved cautiously around Kiyomi, whose sharp gaze never wavered—ever watchful, ever ready. She was a guardian, silent but steadfast.
Seko, by contrast, walked with an openness that belied his inner vigilance. His relaxed posture, easy smiles, and disarming calm gave the illusion of guardlessness, but beneath it all, his senses were razor-sharp, always probing the shadows, always calculating.
Atama, seemingly indifferent to the tension around him, wandered curiously among the strange new sights. The locals' food—rough, pungent, and unfamiliar—would have repulsed many. Yet Atama inspected it with the fascination of a scholar, sniffing and poking at the odd fruits and fermented meats. A small, involuntary drool escaped his lips, betraying a rare, unguarded hunger.
Meanwhile, the Kid moved with purpose through the winding alleys, his eyes searching. At last, he stopped before a figure standing in the dim glow—a man marked by scars and kindness alike. The Kid's expression softened instantly.
"Father," he whispered.
The figure turned slowly, a faint smile touching his lips as he reached out to pull the boy into a steady, reassuring embrace. Here was a rare moment of peace, a fragile family forged in exile—offering hope in a world that had known too much darkness.
Kiyomi's voice cracked the quiet of the bustling marketplace. "Father?" she asked, eyes wide and confused as she stared at the figure approaching the kid—their adoptive father, calm and steady amid the chaos.
Atama, as usual, was absorbed in munching on some bizarre-looking delicacy, seemingly unaffected by the tension around them. Meanwhile, Seko's gaze was locked on a composite sword displayed nearby—a blade pulsating with a strange, swirling energy that seemed almost alive.
Suddenly, a villain strolled into their view. Bound by the planet's unbreakable law against violence, he carried no weapons, made no threatening move. Instead, he wore the indifferent expression of an ordinary customer, his presence unsettling in its quiet normalcy. Approaching Seko, he spoke in a low, measured tone.
"There are three types of energies," he explained, nodding toward the sword. "Positive, Negative, and Neutral. Their rarity and effectiveness? Neutral is the rarest and most powerful, then Negative, and lastly Positive."
He paused, eyes flickering around the room as if measuring the atmosphere itself. "These energies are tied to emotions and the environment. Positive energy blooms from hope and joy, Negative from despair and anger, but Neutral—Neutral is the balance of all, untouched by extremes, the most potent force when wielded correctly."
Seko absorbed the words carefully, understanding that here on Kutol, power wasn't just about strength—it was about mastering the subtle flow of emotion and essence surrounding everything.
"Not exactly," Atama said with a slow chew, clearly enjoying the odd flavor of his snack as he spoke. "It's not just about the type of emotions you have, but how they interact with your environment and the circumstances around you. The ratio between your feelings and your surroundings changes everything."
The boy's adoptive father nodded, stepping forward with a serious expression. "Think of it like this—when someone grows up in a negative environment, surrounded by hardship, hostility, or despair, but they also carry strong negative emotions like anger or resentment, the energy that comes from that is actually positive. It's like the negativity in the environment matches the negativity inside them, and that alignment creates a force that can be harnessed."
He paused, letting the complexity sink in before continuing. "On the other hand, if someone is raised in a positive environment, full of support, love, and encouragement, and they feel positive emotions like hope and joy, the energy they produce is also positive. The environment and emotions align once again, reinforcing that energy."
"But here's the twist," the man added, voice lowering. "If the emotions inside don't match the environment—say, a person is surrounded by darkness and suffering but holds onto hope and kindness, or conversely, someone grows up in a bright, happy place but harbors bitterness or hatred—the energy generated is negative. It's a clash, an imbalance. That mismatch creates a kind of energy that's harder to control and more dangerous."
Atama smirked slightly. "So, it's not just positive or negative in isolation. It's a dance between where you come from and how you feel inside. That's why rare energies are called 'neutral'—because they don't fully lean one way or the other, giving them unpredictable power and effects."
The boy's father looked at Seko with a hint of respect. "Understanding this is crucial. Your emotions and your history are intertwined. How you balance them—or fail to—shapes the kind of energy you produce, and ultimately, the kind of power you hold."
"So how will we know what type of energy we carry?" Kiyomi asked, her tone cautious but curious, as if trying to gauge how much of herself she could risk showing.
Her question hung in the air like a fine mist. Seko didn't respond. He stood a few steps away, eyes locked on the weapon behind the glass—the Composite Sword. Unlike the other weapons displayed in lavish or intimidating decor, this one sat in a silent cradle, as though aware of its own weight. Its blade shimmered with fragments—some metallic, others crystalline—shifting like they were alive. Seko tilted his head slightly. Could this thing detach like a whip? Could it reach far enemies, bend and twist like a serpent?
The Kid didn't answer either. He just stood near Kiyomi, but his gaze was on Seko, watching him with an unreadable expression. Like he was studying a question he couldn't form yet.
Then the air shifted—an old bell jingled gently overhead. The store owner stepped out from a back chamber. A tall figure cloaked in maroon silk, his eyes hidden behind circular goggles that reflected every light in the room. He had the unnerving calm of someone who'd seen every kind of war—and sold to both sides.
"You don't choose the energy," he said, his voice smooth like old wine. "It chooses you. And it doesn't reveal itself until you're pushed to the edge—until you've got nothing left but instinct."
He stepped closer to the Composite Sword, laying a hand on its casing like he was petting an old companion.
"This one," he said, eyes briefly flickering toward Seko, "is forged from shattered oaths and salvaged hope. Each fragment represents a failed wielder… yet it still remains whole. That's not just craftsmanship—that's Neutral Energy, bound in contradiction."
He looked to Kiyomi now. "When your emotions and your reality align, you will know. It won't be a voice. It will be action. The energy will answer—not politely, but clearly."
Seko didn't blink. His eyes were still locked on the weapon.
And it almost seemed... like it was staring back.