Vincent's POV
Meeting Felix was… honestly, weird. Not because he was strange — well, *he is* — but because, for once, someone didn't expect me to carry the whole damn planet on my shoulders. A guy who could actually keep up with me without turning it into a competition or kissing my boots.
Back in Junior High, I was *the guy*. Star student. Mr. Everything. Walk into a room and bam — instant silence, heads turning, admiration practically oozing out of people's eyeballs. Teachers loved me. Students either wanted to be me or date me. Probably both.
And yeah, it was great… at first.
My grandfather used to say, *"Be the light. Lead by example."* Real inspirational. Put that on a mug. And I did try. I worked my ass off, shook hands, smiled like a campaign poster, made sure my teeth practically sparkled. I was bulletproof — or at least, I tried to be.
But newsflash: standing in the spotlight 24/7? You go blind. Or catch fire. Maybe both.
After a while, the smiles got exhausting. My laugh started sounding like a glitchy audio file. And when I actually *needed* help? You know what people said?
*"You're Vincent. You'll figure it out."*
Ah yes. My name. Apparently that's a cure for burnout, depression, and existential dread. Who needs therapy when you have a shiny reputation?
I started drifting — late to class, zoning out in meetings, forgetting to eat, which really tanked my metabolism, by the way. But no one noticed. Or maybe they did and just didn't care.
Then I overheard the stairwell gossip.
> "The president's been acting weird lately, huh?"
> "Yeah, but I mean… he'll bounce back. He always does. Probably just tired from carrying the school on his perfect shoulders."
> "He's just pretending to care. Let him keep doing the work. Works out for us."
Cue the dramatic music and the slow zoom-in on my face as I realized: wow, I'm surrounded by leeches.
So, I stopped pretending.
And guess what? People didn't love the *real* me. Turns out when you stop being everyone's golden retriever, they get uncomfortable. But hey — at least I stopped lying to myself.
The funny thing? In those last few weeks of school, when I gave up the whole golden boy act, I felt something I hadn't in a long time.
Relief. Like breathing after holding your breath too long.
I laughed without thinking about sounding charming. I tripped over my words and didn't want to die from embarrassment. I was messy and flawed and awkward.
It was glorious.
Still, I was alone.
And then Felix showed up. Mysterious. Quiet. Way too serious for his age. But he kept up with me. Matched my sarcasm without flinching. Didn't treat me like a walking resume. I didn't have to perform for him — which, I'll admit, freaked me out a little.
And now here I am, lying in a *literal sci-fi hospital room* after surviving an explosion, a robotic murder-beast, and some weird glowing spirit thing that I may or may not have absorbed.
Fun.
---
Back in the Present
"You awake now?"
Felix's voice cuts through the beep of machines and the hum of sterile lights. He's on the bed across from me, flipping through some kind of nerd bible filled with battle diagrams or alien anatomy or whatever.
"You survived," he says, flashing me a smirk. "Congrats. Didn't expect that."
"Gee, thanks," I groan, trying to sit up — and immediately regret it. My spine feels like someone drop-kicked it with steel boots.
"Yeah, maybe don't move," he says, barely hiding his amusement. "Bia overload. Common rookie mistake."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I shoot back. "I didn't read the *'So You Accidentally Bonded with a Ghost Weapon'* handbook."
He chuckles, and it actually helps. Even though I kind of want to punch him.
"Aren't *you* exhausted?" I say, eyeing his bandaged arm and the way he winces every time he shifts.
He shrugs. "Nothing new. Just a Tuesday."
"You're insufferable," I mutter, which makes him laugh harder.
Then it hits me. The Psytonoid. The fight. The rush. The moment everything lit up inside me — not metaphorically. Literally. My whole body felt like a lightning rod for something ancient and angry.
"I felt… alive," I say, quieter this time. "Like all the fakeness melted off."
Felix nods slowly, book now resting on his lap.
"This is what you've been disappearing for?" I ask. "While I was dealing with exams and drama club fundraisers, you were off playing *Doom Eternal* in real life?"
"Something like that," he says.
"I knew something was up. You'd ghost me for hours and then pop back in like, 'Hey bro, had stuff to do.' No details. Nothing. Just *poof*. Gone."
He sighs, scratching his head. "Yeah, I didn't want to drag you into it."
"Well, great job. Mission failed. I'm fully dragged."
Felix leans forward, expression more serious now. "You did good out there. You didn't die. That's more than most first-timers can say."
"Oh, what an honor," I say. "Let me print that on a T-shirt. *I didn't die: Vincent's First Monster Fight.*"
"But seriously," I add, voice softer now, "why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think you'd want to hear it," he says. "Or maybe I just didn't want to share the weight."
There's a long pause.
"Well," I say finally, "I've carried enough fake weights. Might as well try the real ones."
He stares at me, then smirks. "You sure you're ready?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You kept up with me. Now it's my turn."
And in that moment — despite the pain, the bandages, the utter chaos of what my life has become — I feel something click.
This isn't about proving anything anymore.
It's about belonging. Being seen. Fighting not to impress, but to protect.
Maybe I don't need to be the light anymore.
Maybe I just need to be real— with someone who sees me.
Absolutely — keeping Vincent's sarcastic edge while still letting his emotional growth shine through will give his character more texture and balance. Below is the continuation and ending of the chapter, with Pico as the Tagbilaran branch operator, and Vincent maintaining his signature sarcasm even during serious moments:
---
The door slid open again with a soft hiss. Another stranger stepped into the room — this one carried herself like she owned the entire building.
Sharp boots. Tactical gray coat with a black Eden insignia on the shoulder. Short-cropped hair. Cool stare. And zero hesitation.
She didn't waste a second before speaking.
"Vincent Amador?"
"Unfortunately, yeah," I muttered, raising an eyebrow from the bed. "Let me guess — you're here to lecture me about unauthorized robot-slaying?"
She smirked faintly. "I'm Pico. Tagbilaran Division Operations. I manage Psytonoid cases in this region… and reckless new Bia users, apparently."
"Oh good," I replied, "so we're both doing jobs we didn't sign up for."
She gave a soft huff through her nose, half a laugh, and then glanced at her console. "Based on the report from Agent Felix and the surveillance logs, you manifested a Bia-type resonance mid-combat. No prior training. No Eden clearance. Yet here you are — alive, mostly intact, and still able to throw around snark."
"Give me five more minutes, I'll start throwing things too," I quipped, stretching an arm and immediately regretting it.
Pico didn't flinch. She closed the console and folded her arms.
"Eden has two options for people like you. The first is standard: we suppress your Bia, give you a memory inhibitor, and let you return to your oh-so-glamorous student life."
"Oh yes," I said, eyes wide with fake wonder. "Please, let me go back to pretending I'm perfect while slowly dying inside. I miss wearing a plastic smile and attending budget meetings with people who don't even like me."
She stared at me for a second longer, then nodded once. "Figured as much. Option two, then."
She stepped forward, her tone now sharpened with purpose.
"You join Eden. On record. With full training. We'll teach you how to stabilize your resonance, unlock your Bia's potential, and if necessary — how to survive when everything goes to hell again. Because it will. That wasn't your last Psytonoid."
I sighed and leaned my head back against the pillow, staring at the flickering light above.
"So let me get this straight. I either go back to pretending I'm okay in a school that only likes me when I'm useful, or… I fight interdimensional nightmare machines with the same guy who ghosted me for six months and almost bled out last week?"
Pico's brow rose. "That about sums it up."
"…Wow. Choices, choices," I muttered, then tilted my head toward her. "Do I at least get dental?"
That made her blink. Then she grinned — just a little. "You'll get a mouthguard."
"Close enough."
I looked at Felix — still dozing, breathing slow but steady. This world of his was dangerous, yes. But it wasn't fake. It wasn't about appearances or handshakes or student council pageants.
It was real. Brutal. But *real*.
"…Screw it," I said finally. "I'm in."
Pico didn't look surprised. "Then rest up, Vincent. Because the next time we send you out there, it won't be just for survival."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"And one more thing," she added. "Try not to die. You're already a pain to paperwork."
"Love you too," I replied with a lazy salute.
She disappeared into the hallway.
I let out a breath and stared at the ceiling again.
Me. Fighting monsters. Wielding some ancient force. Dodging bureaucracy and sarcasm-slinging my way through a shadow war.
Maybe this life won't be so boring after all.*l
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End of Chapter