Deep beneath the unused train station, inside a chamber wrapped in layers of steel, runes, and absolute silence, the truth finally surfaced.
The fortified meeting room was circular, its walls reinforced with overlapping plates of alloy and ancient defensive inscriptions. Mana-dampening sigils ran along the seams like veins of pale light, constantly shifting in subtle patterns as if alive. Each rune formed part of a layered system designed to suppress detection, neutralize hostile magic, and ensure that nothing said within the room would ever leave it.
Even the air felt contained.
A long obsidian table dominated the center of the chamber. Its polished surface was etched with faint geometric sigils that reacted to mana fluctuations, glowing softly whenever power surged nearby.
Above it, a ring of white light illuminated the room.
The lighting was deliberate—bright enough to expose every expression, every movement.
No shadows.
No secrets.
At least, that had been the intention.
Seated around the table were individuals whose names alone could shake governments.
Isey the Strong Right sat quietly, his posture relaxed to the point of seeming careless. His hands rested loosely together on the table, fingers interlaced, expression calm—almost detached.
Clara the Spear Master leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her sharp eyes moving slowly from face to face as though she were reading invisible lines between them.
Ming the Thunder Fist tapped his fingers impatiently against the obsidian surface. Every few seconds, tiny arcs of electricity snapped between his knuckles and the table as excess energy discharged. Though only A-ranked, his ability to fight evenly against S-ranked superhumans had earned him his place here. He was Clara's right-hand man—trusted with the most dangerous assignments without hesitation.
Xuan the Time Merchant sat upright, perfectly composed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her gaze drifted between the others like a strategist evaluating the opening moves of a complicated game.
Ling the Truth Seeker sat with her eyes half-lidded, her expression serene. Anyone unfamiliar with her might have thought she was bored.
Anyone who knew her understood that she was listening—to far more than spoken words.
Geetha the Metal Shield occupied her seat like an immovable fortress. Her broad shoulders barely shifted as she rested her hands calmly on her knees. She had not participated in the Great Gate raid—not because she lacked strength, but because her abilities were designed for defense above all else. Where others broke through enemies, she ensured nothing broke through her.
And at the head of the table—
Sky Fist.
Or at least, the man the world believed to be him.
The silver mask reflected the overhead light like polished steel. His armored frame radiated quiet authority, the faint pressure of his aura pressing against the room's defensive enchantments like a tide testing the shore.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The air thickened with anticipation.
Then Sky Fist leaned forward.
"I'll start," he said.
His voice was steady.
Familiar.
Carrying the same quiet authority it always had.
Every eye turned toward him.
"First of all," he continued calmly, "I owe you all an apology."
Ming stopped drumming his fingers.
The room went still.
"I am not Sky Fist."
The words landed softly.
Then detonated.
Ming shot to his feet so violently his chair screeched backward across the floor.
"What?"
The single word echoed through the chamber, bouncing faintly against reinforced walls.
Geetha's eyes widened as instinct took over. Her posture shifted, shoulders tightening, as if preparing to shield the room from an unseen threat.
Xuan's composure cracked.
Shock flashed across her face—raw and unfiltered, an expression so rare it made the moment feel unreal.
Only Clara remained unmoved.
Ling, too, showed no visible reaction.
Sky Fist—no, the man wearing his face—reached up slowly and unfastened his helmet.
The silver mask lifted away.
And reality hesitated.
For several seconds, the figure sitting at the head of the table blurred.
His features smeared—unstable—as though the world itself struggled to determine what he truly looked like.
His towering frame shifted.
Broad shoulders narrowed.
His posture changed—less imposing, less absolute.
The oppressive aura dimmed.
Not vanished.
But altered.
Rewritten.
Then the distortion settled.
Where Sky Fist had been now sat a different man entirely.
An ordinary-looking Malaysian male in his late twenties.
Clean-shaven.
Oval face.
Light brown complexion.
Dark eyes that held a quiet steadiness.
His hair was straight, black, slightly unkempt.
His build remained athletic—
But no longer overwhelming.
Yet the faint echo of Sky Fist's presence still clung to him like a shadow that refused to disappear.
"My name is Aman," he said calmly.
"And my ability is Mimic."
To demonstrate, he inhaled slowly.
The air in the chamber thickened instantly.
Mana surged outward.
The oppressive aura returned—
Perfectly.
Identical in every measurable way.
The same crushing presence.
The same suffocating pressure.
So precise that even those who had fought beside Sky Fist could not distinguish the difference.
The room's defensive sigils flickered faintly as the pressure rose.
"Not just appearance," Aman explained. "I can mimic a person's body, voice… and aura."
Ming swallowed hard.
"Including Sky Fist's?"
Aman nodded.
Geetha spoke quietly.
"What rank are you?"
Aman rubbed the back of his neck.
"In truth?" he said with a small, almost embarrassed smile. "B-ranked."
Silence exploded.
Xuan stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Then where is the real Sky Fist?"
Aman didn't answer.
Instead, he raised a finger.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And pointed—
At Isey.
For half a second, no one understood.
Then—
"Yeah," Isey said casually. "That'd be me."
Every head turned toward him.
Xuan froze completely.
Her eyes widened as she stared at the man she had subconsciously dismissed from the beginning.
The weakest presence in the room.
An E-ranked superhuman.
A liability.
"You're… joking," she whispered.
Isey scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"I wish."
The room erupted.
Ming spun toward Clara.
"You knew?!"
Clara shrugged lazily.
"Figured it out a while ago."
Geetha turned to Ling.
"And you?"
Ling inclined her head slightly.
"Truth reveals itself to those willing to listen."
Xuan's gaze darted between them, disbelief sharpening into something heavier.
"You both knew?"
Ling answered calmly.
"Yes."
Clara nodded.
Aman raised his hand slightly.
"I knew too," he added.
Xuan slowly sank back into her chair.
The realization hit her like a collapsing structure.
But shock was not the only thing rising within her.
Memories surfaced.
Small ones.
Forgotten ones.
Moments she had never considered important.
Now—
They replayed with painful clarity.
She remembered the early months after joining Ultimatum.
She had been the leader then—strict, composed, distant. Not cruel, never unjust—but never warm.
There had been countless briefings.
She would sit reviewing battle projections while the others debated strategy.
And almost every time—
Isey had appeared beside her.
Quietly.
Holding a drink.
Coffee.
Tea.
Energy drinks.
Sometimes just bottled water.
He would place it beside her without interrupting, give a small nod, and return to his seat as if it meant nothing.
As if it were natural.
Xuan had accepted it every time.
Without thinking.
Without questioning.
Without even saying thank you.
In her mind, he had been the weakest member.
Someone trying to be useful.
Someone contributing what little he could.
She had never once wondered—
Why he always knew exactly when she needed it.
Why someone so supposedly weak remained calm in rooms filled with monsters wearing human faces.
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"…I never thanked you," she said quietly.
The room fell silent again.
Everyone looked at her.
Isey blinked.
"For what?"
"The drinks," Xuan said.
For a moment, he looked genuinely confused.
Then he laughed softly.
"Oh. That?"
He waved it off.
"You looked like you needed caffeine."
Xuan stared at him.
The strongest superhuman humanity had ever produced.
The man who had killed a Demon King.
The man she had unknowingly treated like an errand runner.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"…I see."
Isey tilted his head slightly.
"Don't overthink it."
He leaned back in his chair.
"I didn't mind."
The room slowly settled again.
But something had changed.
Not just the revelation—
But the weight behind it.
Because now—
Everyone understood.
Above them, beneath an abandoned train station forgotten by the world, the greatest secret humanity had ever carried sat calmly at the table.
No longer hidden.
No longer pretending.
And for the first time since the Gates had appeared—
The truth had been spoken.
A truth carried by only a handful.
Five people.
Five witnesses.
Five keepers of a secret that could reshape the world.
And in that sealed chamber—
For a brief, fragile moment—
Even the future seemed to hold its breath.