Rather than feeling hollow or defeated, Isey's eyes shone with something dangerously close to excitement.
Hope.
It lingered in the way he left the Stopgap Mercenary building—not with slumped shoulders or dragging feet, but with a lightness that bordered on relief. Anyone watching from the outside might have assumed he was forcing optimism, clinging stubbornly to dignity after admitting his weakness.
They would have been wrong.
Completely wrong.
Isey did not go home.
Instead, he swung onto his motorbike, the engine's low growl cutting through the quiet afternoon. The vibration traveled up through the handlebars and into his arms—steady, familiar.
Real.
He kicked the stand up and rolled into the street, merging into traffic without hurry. Behind him, the Stopgap Mercenary headquarters shrank in the rearview mirror, fading into just another building in a city that had already moved on.
The city breathed around him in its usual rhythm.
Pedestrians crossed intersections without looking up.
Street vendors shouted half-hearted promotions.
Delivery trucks crawled through traffic like stubborn beasts refusing to yield.
Life continued—
As if nothing extraordinary had happened in the last few weeks.
As if Demon Kings had not fallen.
As if thousands had not walked into hell and returned.
Isey rode past it all.
The glass towers of the business district slowly gave way to older neighborhoods. Neon lights disappeared, replaced by faded signage and aging concrete structures stained by time and neglect.
The streets widened.
Then thinned.
Eventually, they unraveled into forgotten side roads where even streetlights flickered uncertainly, casting weak halos that struggled to hold back the encroaching dusk.
Mana density dropped gradually.
Within the city center, ambient mana hummed like static in the air—a constant, invisible pressure born from dense superhuman activity.
Out here—
It faded.
Not abruptly.
But steadily.
Until only a faint whisper remained.
The quiet echo of a world still recovering from the Apocalypse.
After nearly half an hour of riding, Isey slowed.
Ahead of him stood a closed train station.
Its once-white signage hung crooked from rusted brackets. The platform roof sagged under years of neglect, and boarded windows were layered with peeling evacuation notices from the early days of the Gates—warnings long since ignored, preserved only by inertia.
The parking lot was empty.
Weeds clawed through cracked asphalt like fingers reaching desperately toward sunlight.
A place no one watched.
A place no one remembered.
Perfect.
Isey parked beneath a broken lamp post and shut off the engine.
Silence fell instantly.
Not natural silence—
But the kind that pressed inward, as if the world itself had chosen to look away from this place.
He removed his helmet slowly and scanned the surroundings.
No movement.
No cameras.
No mana signatures.
Nothing.
Satisfied, he walked toward the entrance.
The station doors creaked faintly when he pushed them open.
Inside, dust coated the floor in undisturbed layers. Old ticket machines stood dark and lifeless, their screens cracked, their purpose long abandoned.
But the moment Isey stepped fully across the threshold—
The world changed.
The shift was subtle.
But absolute.
The air thickened.
Light bent.
The stale smell of rot and abandonment vanished as if it had never existed.
A runic barrier rippled invisibly across the entrance behind him. Symbols slid over one another like interlocking gears—precise, deliberate—before fading completely.
To anyone outside—
The station remained abandoned.
Inside—
It was something else entirely.
The cracked concrete floor dissolved into seamless alloy plating.
Broken walls reformed into reinforced panels lined with glowing arcane circuitry. Mana conduits ran parallel to fiber-optic cables, humming softly in perfect synchronization—a fusion of magic and technology refined beyond anything publicly known.
Security sigils layered over one another in impossible density.
Even high-level detection magic would shatter against them.
Unnoticed.
Unrecorded.
This was not a hideout.
This was a bunker.
At the center of the hall stood an industrial lift.
Its doors were sealed by both biometric locks and ancient runes etched into the metal frame—symbols that pulsed faintly, alive with dormant authority.
Isey stepped forward and placed his palm against the control panel.
A soft tone chimed.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED.
CLEARANCE: DEEP BLACK.
The doors slid open without sound.
Inside, the lift chamber was cylindrical, lined with reinforced plating and layered mana dampeners.
Isey stepped in.
The doors closed.
The descent began.
At first, the movement was gentle.
Controlled.
But as the lift dropped deeper underground, the hum of machinery grew heavier.
Mana pressure increased steadily.
Not hostile.
Not chaotic.
Contained.
Like standing beside an ocean held back by glass.
Isey leaned casually against the wall, waiting.
Unbothered.
Expectant.
Eventually—
The lift slowed.
Then stopped.
The doors opened.
Two figures were waiting.
Clara stood closest.
Her battlefield armor had been replaced with a fitted black combat suit reinforced with flexible plating. Her spear rested casually across her shoulder, but her posture remained alert—coiled, ready.
Her sharp eyes scanned Isey from head to toe.
Assessment.
Habit.
Then they narrowed.
"You actually came," she said.
"Of course," Isey replied with a small grin. "I said I would."
The second figure stood a few steps behind her.
He was unmistakable.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Encased in black reinforced armor threaded with anti-mana filaments designed to resist high-tier abilities. Every line of the armor spoke of purpose. Of violence. Of overwhelming force contained within discipline.
And over his face—
A silver masquerade mask.
Smooth.
Expressionless.
Elegant.
Sky Fist's trademark.
The pressure rolling off him was immediate.
Absolute.
It pressed against instinct before thought—triggering that primal certainty that something overwhelmingly dangerous stood nearby.
Even Clara felt it.
Her grip on the spear tightened slightly.
"So," she said, eyes still locked on Isey, "care to explain why an E-ranked civilian just walked into a place even governments pretend doesn't exist?"
Isey grinned.
"Because I stopped pretending."
Sky Fist stepped forward.
The silver mask caught the overhead light, reflecting Clara and Isey back at themselves in warped fragments—distorted, incomplete.
"You told them the truth," Sky Fist said calmly.
"About losing your power."
"I told them what they needed to hear," Isey replied.
"I can't use my ultimate skill. That part's real."
Clara frowned.
"And the rest?"
Sky Fist raised a hand.
Slowly—deliberately—he reached up and removed the mask.
The silver surface tilted away.
Clara froze.
Isey didn't.
Because the face beneath the mask—
Was his.
The same sharp jawline.
The same eyes.
The same calm expression carrying a weight far beyond its years.
Not similar.
Identical.
No illusion.
No disguise.
Clara's breath caught.
"…What?"
Isey scratched his cheek sheepishly.
"Yeah," he said. "That reaction's normal."
The man who had been called Sky Fist met Clara's stunned gaze without flinching.
"The public sees a symbol," he said.
"A name."
"A mask."
Clara turned slowly back toward Isey.
"You know the truth."
Her mind raced, trying to reorganize everything she thought she understood.
"So the power you lost—"
"Not just know," Isey interrupted.
"This whole situation was my plan."
He stepped forward casually.
"My ability had three parts," he explained.
"Everyone only ever noticed the first two."
He raised one finger.
"First skill: simple reinforcement. Double stat multiplication. Minor. Forgettable."
A second finger.
"Second skill: major stat multiplication. Four times. Spammable."
He smiled faintly.
"That's the one people noticed."
Then he raised a third finger.
"The third skill…"
His voice lowered slightly.
"…has a grave cooldown."
"Once a year."
Silence settled into the chamber.
"When activated," Isey continued, "it multiplies my base stats by the number of days in a year."
He shrugged lightly.
"Three hundred and sixty-five times."
Clara's eyes widened.
"An E-ranked superhuman," Isey continued, "barely has a hundred total stat points."
He gestured lightly.
"Two hundred is D-rank.
Three hundred is C-rank.
Four hundred is B-rank.
Five hundred is A-rank.
A thousand puts you into S-rank."
Then he looked directly at her.
"When I used that skill…"
"…my base stats reached roughly thirty-six thousand."
The air grew heavier.
Even the hum of the bunker seemed to dim under the weight of that number.
"Even SS-ranked superhumans," he said quietly, "don't reach that level."
Clara swallowed.
"And the cost?"
Isey's smile sharpened.
"One hour."
"Absolute dominion."
He lowered his hand.
"And then one full week without power."
No reinforcement.
No enhancement.
Nothing.
"After using it," he continued, "my skills burned out completely."
"My body couldn't sustain the feedback."
He shrugged.
"So now I'm what everyone saw today."
"E-ranked."
"Barely stronger than a normal human."
Clara exhaled slowly.
"That's not a power."
"That's a curse."
"Exactly," Isey replied.
"And not everyone has the guts to use it."
He paused.
"But most Joker-class abilities are like that."
"Power that borders on self-destruction."
Sky Fist quietly placed the silver mask back over his face.
His voice softened slightly.
"No worries, boss."
"You still have us."
Isey chuckled.
"You barely qualify to protect me."
Clara stared at him—
At the man who had willingly traded godhood for mortality.
"No wonder you kept a low profile all this time," she said.
It had always been a question—why Isey remained E-ranked for so long. In truth, he could have easily passed as D-ranked, given that his first skill could be used continuously.
But if his ultimate power had ever been revealed—
Even if he used it to save humanity—
No one could guarantee he wouldn't be betrayed during the one week he was powerless.
Certainty in exchange for consequence.
Staying hidden had never been cowardice.
It had been survival.
"…So what now?" Clara asked.
Isey straightened.
Hope burned openly in his eyes now.
"Now?"
He smiled.
Bright.
Certain.
"Now we plan."
"For real."
He looked between them.
"And when the year comes around again…"
Even Sky Fist remained silent.
The air itself seemed to wait.
"…I'll decide," Isey finished calmly,
"whether the world is worth saving again."