The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, and the rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the room with a monotonous drone. John stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as the blindingly white ceiling came into focus. A dull ache throbbed through his entire body, a painful reminder of the fight he'd barely survived. His mind was foggy, disoriented, but as he tried to push himself upright, a sharp pain shot through his side, forcing him back down onto the bed.
"About time you woke up, dumbass."
That sharp voice snapped him into full consciousness. His eyes finally focused, and there, standing at the foot of his hospital bed, was Eunhwa, arms crossed, her expression as stern and unyielding as ever. Her rifle was propped up against the wall next to her, close at hand.
John blinked, then grinned despite himself. "Well, well, well… never thought I'd wake up to find you standing guard. You must've fallen in love with me while I was out. Couldn't stay away, huh?"
Eunhwa's eyes narrowed dangerously, her lips curling into a sneer. "Shut up. You've barely been awake for two minutes, and you're already running your mouth."
John's grin only widened. "It's a gift. But seriously, I knew I'd grow on you eventually. Standing vigil over my bedside like this? How touching."
"Don't flatter yourself, idiot," she shot back, her voice as cold as ever. "If I didn't have orders to watch over your sorry ass, I wouldn't be within a mile of you."
"Sure, sure," John said, wincing as he shifted in bed. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. But come on, you're here. Deep down, you care. Admit it."
Eunhwa's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she resisted the urge to fire back. Instead, she pulled out her comms and flicked a switch. "He's awake. Yeah, I'll keep an eye on him until you get here."
John chuckled weakly, wincing at the sharp pang in his ribs. "Ah, I get it now. You're just playing the bodyguard role because you've fallen for my charms. Understandable, really."
Eunhwa scoffed, her expression hardening. "The only thing I've fallen for is the idea of smothering you with a pillow. Don't flatter yourself."
John laughed, though it quickly turned into a series of painful coughs. He glanced around the room, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, the IV drip feeding into his arm, and the dull hum of medical machinery that surrounded him. His head pounded as he tried to piece together his last coherent memories. Flashes of the battle with the white-haired Nikke flickered in his mind—those cold blue eyes, falling through the air, and then… nothing.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice more serious now. "I remember fighting that Nikke... and then, nothing."
Eunhwa sighed, exasperation creeping into her voice. "You were out for a week, dumbass. We found you passed out in the middle of a massive crater. Your condition was... terrible. But you're still alive, somehow."
John frowned, trying to recall. "A crater?"
"Yeah," Eunhwa confirmed, her arms crossing again. "Looked like a small bomb went off, and you were right in the center of it. Not much left of the lab or the area around it, either. We combed through the rubble, but... there was no sign of the white-haired Nikke."
John's chest tightened at the news. No sign of her? That didn't sit well. He remembered grappling with her, feeling the raw, unbridled power she wielded. His mind raced, trying to piece together the events that led to the crater.
"And you're sure she's gone?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing as he tried to fight the grogginess still lingering in his system.
"We didn't find a body, and trust me, we looked as much as we could before the area was overrun by Raptures," Eunhwa replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If she's out there, she's hiding well. Or she's dead, which I wouldn't mind."
The door to the hospital room swung open with a deliberate creak, and Deputy Chief Andersen stepped in, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. He was a tall man, his demeanor sharp and authoritative, with eyes that missed nothing. John watched as Andersen's gaze swept over him, cool and calculating, before landing on Eunhwa.
"Eunhwa, give us a moment," Andersen said, his voice firm but not unkind.
Eunhwa nodded, shooting a quick glance at John—one last warning not to say anything stupid—before she picked up her rifle and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that followed was thick, charged with unspoken tension.
Andersen took a moment, looking John over as he sat there in his hospital bed, still wrapped in bandages. He folded his arms and took a deep breath, his expression unreadable. "You've caused quite a stir, Commander. And not just because of your recent little adventure."
John tilted his head, his grin not quite masking the edge in his eyes. "Stirring things up is kind of my specialty. But I have a feeling this isn't about the mission, is it?"
Andersen ignored the bait, stepping closer and looking directly into John's eyes. "I know what you are, John. A sorcerer."
John's expression didn't falter, but there was a slight shift in his posture, a subtle tightening of his muscles. "I'm flattered you figured it out. I was worried I was being too obvious."
Andersen let out a low chuckle, though there was no warmth in it. "You weren't, at least not at first. But things didn't quite add up, John. Your academy records—average in every way, almost too average. Like someone was trying to blend in a little too well."
John's smile faded slightly as Andersen continued, pacing slowly around the room. "Then there was that break-in at the Ark's record-keeping facility. No sign of anything stolen, but the area that was breached? It contained records of deaths—specifically those of orphaned children around your age. Coincidence? Maybe. But I don't believe in coincidences."
Andersen paused, letting the words sink in, watching for any sign of reaction from John. When he got none, he pressed on, his voice turning sharp. "But the real confirmation came during your first mission. A single frame, easy to miss, showing you pulling the Blacksmith's tentacle with your bare hands. No weapons, no advanced tech—just you and something no ordinary human could have done. The mission to the underground lab was just to act as a final confirmation"
John leaned back against the bed, his expression a mask of casual indifference, but the flicker of tension in his eyes betrayed him. "You've been paying attention. I'm flattered."
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. John slowly exhaled, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"So, you've done your homework," John muttered, a trace of grudging respect in his voice. "But let me ask you something, Andersen—why do you care? I've been doing my job, haven't I?"
Andersen's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "It's not about whether you've been doing your job. It's about your motivation. Your entire identity has been a lie since you walked into the academy. That's a problem for someone in my position."
John leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. "And here I thought you were going to congratulate me for being such a model soldier."
Andersen's gaze didn't falter. "I don't deal in flattery, Commander. I deal in facts, and the fact is, I've seen enough to know you're not aligned with the goals of the sorcerer society's elders. So the question is, what are you after? What's your motivation?"
John studied Andersen for a long moment, weighing his words. He could feel the tightrope he was walking, the precarious balance of revealing too much or too little.
"I want something different from what the elders want," John finally said, his voice steady, but with a hardened edge. "They're content with maintaining the status quo, hiding underground, keeping things 'safe.' But I'm not. I want to fight for the surface, for reclaiming what humanity lost. Sitting in a hole waiting for the Raptures to finish the job isn't my idea of a life worth living."
Andersen raised an eyebrow. "So you're telling me you want to lead humanity back to the surface? Sounds ambitious."
"Ambition's never been my problem," John replied, a touch of cockiness returning to his tone. "Look, I'm not some puppet for the sorcerer society. They've had their time, and all they've done is manage humanity's decline. I'm aiming for something bigger—freedom. A future. Even if that means stepping on a few toes along the way."
Andersen regarded him in silence for a moment, then took a few steps closer, his voice dropping slightly. "And you think one sorcerer is enough to change the tide?"
John leaned forward, a cocky grin forming on his face. "Well, if that sorcerer is me… maybe."
Andersen didn't react to the bravado. Instead, he studied John with cold calculation, as if weighing the sincerity behind the words.
Andersen turned to leave, but then paused, his gaze lingering on John. "Look, Smith, you and I—we want similar things. You want the surface back. I want to see humanity rise again. We can work together. I'll keep your secret... for now."
John's expression sharpened. "And what's the catch?"
Andersen glanced at his watch, feigning impatience. "I'm late for a meeting," he said, moving toward the door.
John frowned, sensing there was more Andersen wasn't saying. "Wait. Just one question."
Andersen hesitated, then nodded slightly. "One."
John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Was that lab we found created by the Ark government?"
Andersen's expression darkened slightly, but he answered without hesitation. "No. And before you ask, we didn't find any evidence that any sorcerers from the Ark were involved either. The lab was discovered after one of our seismographs recorded unusual activity underground. When our forces got there, they couldn't get past the first half of the lab—the metal door and that barrier. So, they sealed it up."
John snorted. "Yeah, well, the talisman they used was super shoddy."
Andersen's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "We're investigating the combat footage recorded by Absolute. Right now, the only thing we're sure of is that there's some third party out there experimenting on Nikkes, and whoever they are, they've got enough resources to make it a serious problem."
As Andersen turned to leave, he spoke over his shoulder, his tone casual but laced with underlying significance. "Oh, and since that lab ended up in ruins, you're technically being 'punished' for failing the mission. You're being assigned to the outpost, far from the eyes of the central government or the Jujutsu Society. Your team's already there."
John blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Wait, my team? You mean Eunhwa and Absolute?"
The door swung open, and Eunhwa stepped back inside. Andersen looked at her and then back at John with a knowing smirk. "No."
John's mind raced. If Absolute wasn't his new team, then who was? As Andersen left the room, Eunhwa shot him a sharp glance.
"What the hell did he mean by that?" John muttered, mostly to himself.
Eunhwa shrugged.
John watched the door swing shut behind Andersen, the questions piling up in his mind. Who was this third party? What were they trying to achieve? And who, exactly, was his new team waiting for him at the outpost?
It had been a week since John's tense meeting with Andersen, and those days had dragged by in the sterile confines of the hospital. His body was a patchwork of bruises, bandages, and stitches, a testament to the battle he'd barely survived. Each painful step on his crutches was a reminder of how close he'd come to the edge. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled his nose as he hobbled down the hospital corridor, every movement sending a jolt of pain through his battered ribs. The quiet hum of machines and the muffled voices of nurses were worlds away from the chaos that had put him here, but the memories still clung to him.
Trailing close behind were his doctors, Mary and Pepper. Mary, with her soft demeanor and immaculate blue uniform, maintained a composed distance, her expression a mix of concern and quiet disapproval. She was the kind of nurse who never hesitated to speak her mind, especially when it came to a stubborn patient like John.
"Mr. Smith, this isn't wise," she said, her voice firm but laced with genuine worry. "You need to stay for further observation. You're pushing your recovery too fast."
Beside her, Pepper's bright pink hair clashed with her current expression of focused concern. Usually, her playful demeanor was a comforting presence, but today, even she was all business. Adjusting her headset, she looked at John with a mixture of frustration and empathy. "John, you really can't keep doing this. Your injuries aren't something you can just walk off."
John's lips curled into a wry smile, but the pain behind his eyes betrayed the effort it took to keep up his bravado. "I appreciate the concern, ladies. But if I stay any longer, I'll start paying rent." He paused, wincing as another jolt of pain shot through his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself a flicker of genuine frustration—he hated feeling weak, trapped in his own body.
"Oh, by the way," he added, trying to keep the mood light despite the pain. "Can I drink while I'm on this stuff? Just a little?"
Pepper's eyes widened, and she gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. "Absolutely not! Alcohol is a big no-no, John. It'll interfere with your meds and mess with your recovery."
Mary crossed her arms, her gaze stern. "No alcohol on these meds, understood?"
John nodded, his grin half-hearted. "Got it. Drink plenty of fluids. Thanks, Doc."
Pepper sighed, shaking her head. "Just take care of yourself. We really don't want to see you back here any sooner than necessary."
John didn't reply, just gave a casual wave as he continued hobbling down the hallway. Each step was agony, his legs screaming with every movement, but he forced himself onward, unwilling to show weakness. The pain was a constant reminder of how vulnerable he was—how much he hated this slow, agonizing pace of recovery.
The automated taxi was waiting outside, its sleek design a sharp contrast to the crumbling figure that climbed inside. John winced as the door closed, the motion jostling his battered body. He let his head rest against the cool glass of the window, his eyes briefly closing as he tried to catch his breath. The taxi's smooth hum was a comforting reprieve from the hospital's sterile sounds, but John's mind was already racing ahead. He was supposed to be heading straight to meet his team at the outpost—a meeting he was already late for, thanks to his stubborn insistence on an early discharge.
He opened his eyes as the cityscape rolled by, a blur of neon signs and towering buildings that felt strangely disconnected from the battles he'd fought. Then, a familiar sign caught his eye: Selaphina's Café, a small, cozy spot he frequented whenever he needed a break from his chaotic life. The café had introduced a new special recently: an apple pie cheesecake fusion that had quickly become an object of his desire. His stomach growled at the thought, a small spark of desire breaking through the fog of pain.
John glanced at the time. He was already running behind, but the thought of a warm slice of pie was a rare temptation. For the past week, he'd been confined to bland hospital food and the constant sting of antiseptic. A little indulgence felt like reclaiming some part of his freedom, a moment of normalcy in the mess his life had become.
The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him—he was supposed to be at the outpost, facing whatever new responsabilites awaited. But his body ached, his mind was exhausted, and the idea of delaying his obligations for just a little while was almost too tempting to resist.
What's another half hour? he rationalized. I've earned this.
John's hand hesitated on the door handle as the taxi pulled up to a red light. His mind wavered between duty and desire, the constant pull of his responsibilities weighed against his need for just a moment of peace. He pictured the outpost, the faces of his team waiting for him, the battle-worn expressions that mirrored his own. But then he pictured the café, the soft chatter of customers, the smell of fresh coffee, and the promise of something sweet to ease the bitterness of the last week.
With a deep breath, John made his choice. "Take me to Selaphina's Café," he instructed, his voice firm despite the lingering doubt. The taxi adjusted course, and John leaned back, letting the faint vibrations of the road soothe his aching muscles. The meeting would still be there when he was done. But right now, all he wanted was a taste of something sweet to remind him that he was still alive.
Rapi and Anis stood near the elevator, each lost in their thoughts as they waited. The dim, flickering lights of the underground space cast long shadows, adding to the tense atmosphere that hung between them. The faint hum of machinery echoed off the cold, concrete walls, underscoring the quiet frustration simmering among the squad.
Rapi stood at attention, her grip tight on her rifle, the calm in her posture betrayed only by the faint crease of irritation on her brow. "He's late," she said flatly, her voice edged with quiet annoyance. "Very late. Not exactly the best first impression for a commander."
Anis crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently against the ground. She shot a sideways glare at Rapi, then back toward the empty entrance. "Can you believe this? We're stuck waiting here like idiots," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Feels like someone's playing a joke on us."
Before Rapi could retort, a sleek automated taxi pulled up, its door hissing open with a mechanical click. The squad's heads turned in unison, their expressions shifting from irritation to bewilderment as John stepped out, awkwardly balancing on crutches. His legs were heavily bandaged, and every movement looked like it came at a painful cost. In one hand, he clutched several paper bags, and tucked under his arm were two bottles of alcohol. Despite his obvious injuries, he wore a wide, unbothered grin that seemed to mock the very idea of caution.
John's steps were uneven, his face occasionally twitching with the effort it took to stay upright, but he pushed through, refusing to let the pain slow him down. He stumbled slightly, nearly losing his balance, but caught himself with a grimace before flashing a cheeky smile at the squad.
"Sorry I'm late," John said, wincing as he maneuvered out of the taxi without spilling the bags. His voice was light, almost casual, as if he hadn't just dragged himself out of a hospital bed. "Had a slight... detour."
Rapi's eyes narrowed, her expression controlled but strained with visible skepticism. "Commander John?" she asked, her tone clipped. "You're the commander we've been assigned to?"
John nodded, trying to adjust his crutches while holding everything else, a pained smirk still plastered on his face. "Obviously. Thought I'd bring some treats to make up for my grand entrance. Apple pie cheesecake… and a little something stronger to help it down."
Anis blinked, her irritation not entirely masked by the surprise in her eyes. She looked John up and down, taking in the crutches, the bandages, and the reckless smile that seemed completely at odds with the injuries he was nursing. "Isn't it a bit early for us to be assigned you as a commander again? And not to mention the fact that you're barely standing."
Anis tilted her head, her brow furrowing with a mix of confusion and concern. "Wait... is that cheesecake? And... alcohol?"
John nodded, his grin widening even though he could barely keep himself upright. "Couldn't leave you guys waiting without something special. Besides," he said, gesturing vaguely at his bandages, "needed an excuse to get out and stretch my legs."
Rapi watched him carefully, her calm demeanor hiding a growing unease. She had seen many commanders, but none quite like John. His injuries were severe, and yet here he was, trying to play it all off like it was nothing more than a scraped knee. "You shouldn't be here like this," she said quietly, but firmly. "It's reckless, and it's dangerous. Not just for you, but for all of us."
John's expression flickered, just for a second—a brief flash of something deeper beneath the surface, maybe pain or stubborn defiance—but he quickly masked it with a laugh. "What can I say? Duty calls. Can't keep the squad waiting."
Anis crossed her arms, her gaze hardening. "You're not fooling anyone, you know. You look like you're about to keel over. Are you sure you're up for this?"
John's smile wavered as he shifted on his crutches, the strain of the conversation beginning to show. "I've been through worse," he muttered, half to himself. His eyes darted to the ground, the bravado slipping just enough for the squad to see the cracks. "Besides, if I'm gonna be hobbling around, might as well do it with some good company."
Rapi sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to stave off a headache. She had expected many things from her new commander, but this reckless display wasn't one of them. It wasn't just about him showing up late—it was the careless defiance, the way he seemed to mock his own injuries with every step. "This is going to be... interesting," she finally said, the understatement hanging heavily in the air.
John looked at his team, the bags of desserts and bottles of alcohol hanging awkwardly at his side. He knew he was a mess but he was here, and that had to count for something. "It'll be fine," he said, trying to sound convincing. "We've got pie, we've got drinks, and we've got a job to do. Let's get started."