Ron walked along the empty street, his wounds still fresh beneath the bandages.
A white shirt clung to him, tucked into black pants that swayed lightly with each step.
His thoughts wouldn't stop circling.
How did they find Bruce's base? What's Foster's real goal?
All I know is that its creator… is someone named George.
The city felt heavier than usual — too quiet, too still.
Without warning, someone collided with him.
A man in a black coat and face mask.
"Sorry," the stranger muttered.
"No problem," Ron said calmly.
The stranger walked past. Ron noticed an envelope on the ground, which likely belonged to the stranger Ron just tackled. Ron bent and picked the envelope, he froze when he saw the name on the envelope.
TO: Ron
Ron turned but the stranger had vanished. Ron looked here and there but the street was empty.
Ron looked down, opened the envelope. A card was present inside. A name was written on the card:
NACHIO
He stared at it in silence, unreadable, Ron slid the card into his pocket. Then, without lifting his head, he kept walking.
The hospital loomed ahead.
Ron entered and made his way to a familiar room — the one where the little girl slept.
Still unmoving. Still lost in her coma.
He sat beside her, the quiet hum of machines filling the space.
Elsewhere,
Inside Bruce's hidden base…
Carter stood across from Bruce. They spoke briefly — low voices, serious faces. When the discussion ended, Carter nodded and turned to leave.
Bruce's eyes shifted, glowing a faint green. He glanced toward Carter's sister. Her eyes glowed in answer.
Carter stopped. He felt Bruce's hand rest on his shoulder.
"Let's go to Akira's house," Bruce said softly.
A ripple of energy opened before them — silent, shimmering.
Without another word, both stepped through.
Carter and Bruce stepped through the portal.
A rush of cold air swept past them before they emerged in front of an old Japanese-style house.
Bruce adjusted his mask and hat, hiding his expression in the moonlight.
The name Akira Antonito hung above the bell plate in faint gold letters.
The house was a classic kominka — its wooden panels creaked faintly under the night wind, the porch wrapped in soft fog.
Bruce pressed the doorbell. A chime echoed softly inside.
Moments later, the door slid open.
Akira appeared, still drying his hair with a towel. Drops of water rolled down his face and glimmered under the porch light.
"Carter?" he asked, surprised. "You're out of the court mess already?"
His gaze shifted to Bruce — the man with a mask and a hat that shadowed his eyes.
"And who's this?"
"This is Jake Jacobs," Carter replied calmly. "We need to talk. It's important."
Akira nodded slowly. "Please, come in."
Inside, the lights were dim and warm. The scent of old wood filled the air.
"Would you like something to eat?" Akira asked.
"No need," Carter said. "We won't stay long. Just a few minutes of your time."
"Alright," Akira replied. "Wait here. There's something I'd like your help with too."
He disappeared into the kitchen.
Once he was gone, Carter whispered, "Bruc— I mean, Jake. Where's Ron?"
Bruce's voice changed — lower, unfamiliar. "He's at the hospital, west of here."
Carter nodded once.
Moments later, Akira returned carrying a tray with green tea and biscuits. The porcelain clinked softly as he placed it on the table.
He smiled faintly. "Alright, Carter. I'm listening."
"You live alone?" Carter asked.
Akira nodded. "Why?"
"I came to propose something to you," Carter said.
Akira tilted his head. "Funny. I was about to ask you for a favor as well."
"Oh? What kind?"
Akira's voice softened. "I'm tired of living alone. I want someone to share this house with — someone for marriage."
Carter smiled faintly. "That's exactly why I came. You see, my life's surrounded by danger. My family could be at risk. I need someone I can trust — someone to take care of my sister if I fall. You're one of the few I can count on."
Akira chuckled, giving a playful thumbs-up. "I agree. But can I at least see who I'm marrying?"
Carter stood. "Of course. Follow me."
The three men stepped outside.
Mist had thickened, curling around the garden lanterns. Bruce — under the name Jake Jacobs — pressed a hidden button. The air cracked open, forming a glowing, circular portal that hummed with faint static.
"Jake," Carter said quietly, "bring Ron."
Jake nodded and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Carter and Akira entered the portal.
Meanwhile — The Hospital
The corridor was silent except for the low hum of fluorescent lights.
In a quiet ward, The small girl laid on the hospital bed, unconscious, still in coma. Beside her, Ron sat slumped on a couch near the window, half-conscious. Moonlight spilled over his face, pale and tired.
The door opened softly.
A woman stepped in — the doctor who claimed to be Carter's sister. Her eyes fell on the girl then darted to Ron.
Ron was asleep.
She turned toward another patient, the door behind her creaked open again.
No one was there.
A chill moved through the room.
"Probably the wind," she murmured.
But it wasn't.
Someone — something — was standing right beside her, unseen.
The air shimmered faintly, and Bruce stepped into view, his eyes glowing a deep, unnatural green.
Or rather — the being inside Bruce.
The doctor couldn't see him, couldn't feel his presence.
But Ron's body reacted. His hand twitched. The whispers grew louder.
The entity approached, standing over Ron like a shadow come to life.
Moments later, the doctor finished her checkup and quietly left, unaware of the danger she'd been breathing beside.
Bruce's body didn't move. His voice was almost a whisper, yet it filled the room.
"I thought I was the only one who survived," he murmured. "But who would've imagined—you too, Ron."
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
"I saw you die eight hundred years ago. I watched it happen. So tell me… how are you still here? How did you awaken after eight centuries?"
Ron stirred in his sleep, muttering again in that strange tongue.
Bruce's expression darkened. He leaned in — and froze.
He recognized it.
The words of a dead civilization.
"The language of the Land of Bermuda…" he whispered, eyes flaring brighter.
Then his face twisted in pain. He clutched his head.
"Bruce's mind is resisting," the entity thought. "Impressive… but futile."
Inside, Bruce was fighting back — his consciousness pushing against the invader, trying to reclaim control.
The green-eyed man smirked. "We'll meet again, Ron. For now… goodbye."
The glow faded.
Bruce collapsed to his knees, gasping. The green light vanished from his eyes.
Then he fell unconscious — the room silent once again, except for the faint hum of the hospital lights and girl's quiet, breathing.