Morning light slipped quietly through the hospital blinds.

  The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linens. Machines hummed softly beside the bed, their steady beeps marking time in calm, mechanical rhythm.

  Nozu’s eyes opened slowly.

  For a moment he stared at the ceiling, confused.

  The last thing he remembered was pain.

  Vane Thorne’s fists crashing into his body. Bones cracking. His lungs refusing to draw breath. The feeling of being pushed far past the limit of what his body could endure.

  He remembered falling.

  Then standing again.

  Then falling again.

  And again.

  Until finally everything had gone dark.

  Nozu blinked.

  Then he tried to move.

  He expected agony.

  Instead, his arm lifted easily.

  He froze.

  Slowly he sat up in the hospital bed.

  His ribs didn’t scream.

  His muscles didn’t protest.

  The thick bandages wrapped around his torso slipped slightly as he moved.

  “…Huh.”

  He flexed his fingers.

  Nothing hurt.

  The door opened at that moment.

  A doctor stepped in while reviewing a clipboard.

  He stopped mid-step.

  “You shouldn’t be sitting up.”

  Nozu scratched the back of his head.

  “I feel fine.”

  The doctor frowned and approached the bed.

  “That’s not possible. You had multiple fractures, internal trauma, and severe muscle damage.”

  He quickly began checking the machines.

  Then he ordered new scans.

  Minutes later the results appeared on the monitor.

  The doctor stared.

  Then leaned closer.

  Then stared again.

  “No…”

  Every bone was intact.

  Every fracture completely healed.

  Even the bruising had disappeared.

  It looked like the body of someone who had never been injured.

  The doctor whispered under his breath.

  “This level of regeneration isn’t medically possible.”

  Nozu chuckled awkwardly.

  “Maybe I just slept really well.”

  The doctor did not laugh.

  He stared at the screen for several more seconds before finally saying,

  “You’re… free to go.”

  Nozu blinked.

  “That easy?”

  The doctor rubbed his forehead.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Honestly I don’t have a better explanation.”

  Nozu stood up from the bed.

  His body felt light.

  Stronger than usual, even.

  He stretched his arms.

  Muscles moved smoothly.

  Not a single trace of the brutal beating remained.

  As he clenched his fist, something strange happened.

  A tiny spark flickered across his knuckles.

  A faint crackle.

  Then it disappeared.

  Nozu froze.

  “…What?”

  He opened and closed his hand again.

  Nothing happened.

  He shrugged.

  “Guess I imagined it.”

  Still, the strange sensation lingered in the back of his mind.

  Like distant thunder that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

  The school was buzzing with rumors by the time Nozu returned.

  Students gathered in small groups across the courtyard.

  Phones in hand.

  Whispers everywhere.

  When Nozu walked through the gate, several people immediately noticed him.

  “That’s him.”

  “The guy who fought Thunder Tyrant.”

  “No way he’s already back.”

  More students turned.

  Some stared in disbelief.

  Others whispered excitedly.

  One first-year ran up to him.

  “Are you really the one who survived Vane Thorne’s punches?”

  Nozu rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I mean… survived is a strong word.”

  Another student spoke.

  “I heard he shattered the ground with every hit.”

  “And you kept standing.”

  Nozu laughed nervously.

  “Well I did fall eventually.”

  But the rumors didn’t care about the truth.

  The story had already grown.

  To them, Nozu had faced an S Rank hero and refused to stay down.

  That was enough.

  Feeling awkward under the attention, Nozu quietly slipped toward the training field.

  The ground had already been repaired, but faint cracks still marked where the battle had taken place.

  He stepped into the center.

  Took a deep breath.

  Then began training.

  Punch.

  Step.

  Turn.

  Punch again.

  His body moved smoothly.

  Better than before.

  He increased his speed.

  Stronger punches.

  Sharper movements.

  As he threw another strike, a faint spark flickered across his fist again.

  This time he saw it clearly.

  Electricity.

  Just for a moment.

  Nozu stared at his hand.

  “…Okay that definitely happened.”

  He tried again.

  Another punch.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Nothing.

  He focused harder.

  Circulating his mana the way he had practiced a thousand times before.

  Then another spark appeared.

  Small.

  Weak.

  But real.

  His eyes widened.

  “Wait… seriously?”

  He clenched his fist slowly.

  A faint crackle ran along his fingers.

  Not strong enough to hurt anyone.

  But unmistakable.

  Lightning.

  Memories flashed in his mind.

  Vane Thorne.

  The overwhelming power of his attacks.

  The lightning that had torn through the courtyard.

  Nozu stared at his hand.

  “…Did my body adapt?”

  Recovery magic specialized in healing and endurance.

  It forced the body to rebuild stronger after damage.

  Maybe surviving that fight had triggered something.

  A small echo of Vane’s power.

  A whisper of thunder inside his own mana.

  Nozu grinned.

  “Well… that’s kind of awesome.”

  He threw another punch.

  A small spark followed the strike.

  Still weak.

  But growing.

  Miles away, inside the Hero Association headquarters, the mood was far less enthusiastic.

  The directors sat around a massive conference table.

  Screens displayed endless streams of data from the previous night.

  Miro’s sudden appearance.

  The disappearance of mana inside the room.

  The destroyed table.

  And the final warning he had given them.

  One of the S Rank heroes slammed a fist on the table.

  “So we just let him walk away?”

  A scientist spoke nervously.

  “You felt it. His presence erased mana from the environment.”

  Another strategist added,

  “If a public confrontation occurs, the resulting panic alone could destabilize several countries.”

  The hero scoffed.

  “So we do nothing?”

  The debate grew louder.

  Containment strategies.

  Secret operations.

  Monitoring systems.

  None of them sounded convincing.

  Because every person in that room understood the truth.

  They had faced monsters before.

  But Miro was something else entirely.

  A quiet knock interrupted the discussion.

  The door opened.

  A man stepped inside.

  He wore a long coat and carried himself with the relaxed posture of someone completely uninterested in the tension filling the room.

  The guards at the door didn’t stop him.

  They simply stepped aside.

  One of the directors frowned.

  “You’re late.”

  The man shrugged.

  “I heard you had a Doom problem.”

  The room fell silent.

  Several heroes immediately recognized him.

  But none of the analysts did.

  One director leaned back in his chair.

  “You shouldn’t be involved in this.”

  The man walked toward the table casually.

  His eyes drifted to the screen displaying Miro’s file.

  For a moment his lips curled into a faint smile.

  “Well…”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets.

  “Looks like my old friend is making headlines again.”

  A strategist frowned.

  “You know him?”

  The man chuckled softly.

  “Oh yeah.”

  His gaze remained on the screen.

  “I knew him before he decided to become a walking apocalypse.”

  Several people in the room exchanged uneasy looks.

  One of the heroes spoke carefully.

  “If you know him, then you know how dangerous he is.”

  The man leaned against the table.

  “Oh I know exactly how dangerous he is.”

  Then he looked up.

  “But you people don’t.”

  The director crossed his arms.

  “Can you help us stop him?”

  The man laughed quietly.

  “Stop him?”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re asking the wrong question.”

  The room grew tense.

  “Then what should we be asking?”

  The man glanced once more at the image of Miro on the screen.

  Then his smile widened slightly.

  “You should be asking how to survive him.”

  Silence followed.

  Finally the director spoke again.

  “Why help us at all?”

  The man straightened.

  His expression carried a hint of amusement.

  “Because I want to see the look on his face when he realizes I figured everything out.”

  He tapped the screen displaying Miro’s photo.

  “After all these years of disappearing and keeping secrets…”

  He chuckled.

  “I think I deserve a little payback.”

  The room remained silent.

  None of them knew whether the man in front of them was joking.

  But one thing was certain.

  He knew Miro.

  And whatever history they shared…

  It was about to catch up with the quiet teacher.

  Back at the school training grounds, Nozu threw another punch.

  Lightning flickered faintly around his fist.

  Students nearby gasped.

  And for the first time since the fight with Vane Thorne…

  Nozu smiled.

  Not because he wanted power.

  But because now he had a chance.

  Next time someone like Vane appeared…

  He might actually stand his ground.