"AAAAAAAAAAAH!!"
The scream had not stopped.
Jordan watched Glasses vibrate in the center of his office like a human tesla coil, electricity snapping off his skin in crackling arcs, and considered, not for the first time, whether he'd calibrated the Potential Guidance session correctly.
He had.
Seven-colored light shimmered at the edge of his irises as his gaze turned inward — past the surface, past the skin, through muscle and bone and blood until the cellular level resolved itself in sharp relief. The picture it showed him was not a crisis. It was a revelation.
Every cell in Glasses body was rubbing against its neighbor at high speed, generating friction, generating charge, generating current. The electric arcs erupting from his skin weren't a side effect. They were a product. Current Propulsion — the prerequisite state that King had been drilling into his own biomagnetic field for years, the foundational motion that preceded Magnetic Field Rotation itself.
Glasses hadn't just responded to the guidance.
He had awakened something King spent decades forging.
Jordan let his vision extend further, this time backward into the river of time rather than inward into the body. The thread of causality was easy enough to find: a student who listened harder than anyone else in the room, who had stayed after King's lectures to ask questions, who had sat across from the world's strongest man and absorbed something deeper than instruction. The seed of magnetic field power, planted by proximity and persistence. Then the Potential Guidance technique acting as sunlight and water.
That was all it took, in the end.
Not everyone can replicate what Saitama did. Jordan released the timeline and let it sink back into the river. But some people carry their own path without realizing it.
He extended the Mind Network.
It settled over Glasses like a hand placed gently on a struck tuning fork. The abnormal excitation — the body's shock at its own sudden transformation — began to bleed off. The electrical discharge tapered. The screaming decreased in volume, if not quite in enthusiasm, until it finally wound down into ragged breathing.
Glasses stood in the middle of the office, glasses crooked, sportswear singed lightly at the collar, chest heaving.
Jordan straightened a pen on his desk. "Feel better?"
"I—" Glasses stared at his own hands. Sparks played between his fingertips, then stilled. "I feel like I could run through a wall."
"You could. Please don't." Jordan glanced at the floor. "I was actually more concerned about the floor."
Glasses looked down. Black scorch lines radiated outward from where he'd been standing, etched into the expensive hardwood like a lightning strike seen from above.
His face went pale. "Super Cop—I am so sorry, I didn't mean—I can pay for this, the damage isn't—"
Jordan flicked a finger.
A red light swept the room in a single smooth pass, and the floor restored itself to pristine condition: grain unburned, finish unbroken, as though nothing had happened.
Glasses let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. "...Right. Of course."
Jordan patted him on the shoulder and steered him gently toward the door. "Your power is genuine. It'll take time to master, but what you awakened today is real." He opened the door for him. "King is still in the camp. Go to him, ask him everything. Your abilities share the same origin — he'll understand what you're experiencing better than most."
Glasses looked up at him with an expression that sat somewhere between overwhelmed gratitude and pure awe. The electricity had quieted, but the energy in his eyes hadn't.
"Yes, Lord Evans." He straightened his glasses. "I'll go right now."
Jordan watched him head down the corridor at a pace that was not quite a sprint but was clearly the fastest dignified walk he could manage. Then he closed the office door.
"...And could you send King over on your way?" he called after him.
A few minutes later, a crisp knock at the door.
"Jordan." King stepped inside, calm as ever, the low-frequency hum of his biomagnetic field a constant presence at the edge of Jordan's perception. "You wanted to see me?"
"Perfect timing." Jordan set down the copy of Hero Weekly he'd been flipping through — an article on the recent Demon-level incident in J-City that he had, incidentally, already resolved through a shadow clone three days ago — and stood. "Come with me. I've got a piece of equipment I want your opinion on."
King didn't ask for details. He simply nodded.
A deep blue portal split the air between them, its edges rippling with quiet dimensional energy. Z-City dissolved behind them as they stepped through, replaced in an instant by the dense forest outskirts of W-City and the clean, faintly industrial smell of Dr. Kuseno's research compound.
The workshop was in its usual state of organized chaos: component arrays on every surface, a whiteboard dense with structural equations, tools organized with the precision of someone who treated engineering as a martial art. Dr. Kuseno stood at the center of it, wrench in hand, studying a metal arm guard that floated at eye level in a suspension of particle effects.
He registered Jordan's arrival and, after a beat, set down his wrench.
The arm guard dissolved — nanomaterial particles cascading apart, rippling as they shed their rigid configuration, until the whole structure came apart like a sand sculpture caught by wind and settled into the collection tray below.
Jordan made quick introductions. King studied the settled powder in the tray with measured curiosity, his expression thoughtful rather than uncertain. He glanced at Jordan.
"...This is what you wanted me to test."
It wasn't a question. The S-class instinct for situational reading was nothing if not efficient.
"That's it."
Jordan turned to the room's electronic grid.
Dr. Kuseno pinched the bridge of his nose with the weary acceptance of someone who has learned that his workshop being commandeered was simply part of the partnership. Jordan extended the Mind Network outward and took quiet control — every device, every monitoring terminal, every interface in the building — and then gathered the scattered nanomaterials from the collection tray, drawing them upward into the air above the center of the room.
They moved like mercury in zero gravity, slow and purposeful, catching the light as they reorganized themselves. Particle by particle, the mass consolidated, stiffened, shaped itself.
Then it locked into form.
Gold.
The armor was magnificent in the way that certain things simply were — not due to decoration, but structure. Clean angular lines, deep metallic luster, overlapping plates with the proportional weight of something designed for actual use rather than display. The design carried echoes of Thanos's Monarch armor in its bearing — sovereign, absolute — but recontextualized entirely. Where the Infinity Gauntlet's wearer used power to impose, this armor was built to amplify what its wearer already had.
"This is the Type One," Jordan said. "Nano-metal chassis over a vibranium substrate. Weight-adaptive to the user's combat state. It can decompose and reformat on command — weapons, remote artillery platforms, independent combat drones, any configuration within the material's mass limits." He let the armor rotate slowly in the air, light playing across its surface. "The key addition is an electromagnetic charging adaptive growth system. The armor doesn't just protect. It responds to the magnetic field powering it — and can extend that field into fully independent operations."
King was very still.
He looked at the armor the way Jordan had seen serious men look at things that changed the shape of a problem. Not with excitement. With calculation.
"...A nano-armor that runs on magnetic field power," he said. "That can operate independently."
"Exactly what you're thinking." Jordan smiled. "Your magnetic field doesn't just power it. It gives it direction. The suit can accept complex targeting parameters from your field and execute them without requiring your direct attention on each movement. In practice, that means you could sustain a defensive perimeter, deploy artillery, run interference operations — all simultaneously, all from your position."
The armor continued its slow rotation between them.
King studied it for another long moment.
"Want to try it on?"