One week since the last mission
The training grounds were unusually quiet—no yelling, no instructors, no missions. Just three bodies lying flat on the grassy floor, staring at the dull sky above the open dome.
Seth let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
"Ughh... When are they going to send us out again? I'm starting to rot here."
Ethan groaned beside him.
"Yeah... Should we go scold Dominic or something?"
Seth perked up with a mischievous grin.
"Now that's an idea! Let's go give him a piece of our mind, haha!"
Rael, meanwhile, closed his eyes and thought to himself,
> "Scold him...? What are these two thinking this time?"
His memories flashed back over the past week.
Seth had spat in front of a new teacher just because she said she didn't like his hair.
Ethan kept sneaking video games into class—sometimes even plugging them in during lectures.
Both of them vandalized the training walls with doodles and dumb slogans, took naps during sessions, shouted across hallways, and never addressed teachers with an ounce of respect.
For Rael, that one week with them felt like months of chaotic survival. But somehow, they always dragged him along.
Seth stood up and shouted,
"Let's go see the weird gas mask guy!"
Ethan echoed,
"Let's gooo!"
Rael sighed inwardly as he followed.
"Did they just forget that guy might actually be important...?"
Without hesitation, the trio made their way to the elevator, heading to the deepest floor underground—like it was some casual walk to the vending machine.
As the elevator doors slid open, they were met with a familiar figure: Ris, leaning casually against a wall.
"Huh? What are you three doing here?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't remember anyone calling you."
Ethan shrugged.
"We're just here to see that weird guy with the gas mask. What's his name again?"
Rael answered politely,
"Sir Dominic."
Ethan and Seth turned to Rael, confused.
"What's with the 'Sir', dude?"
Ris crossed his arms and raised a brow.
"You kids really don't know anything, do you?"
The trio blinked.
Ris let out a half-laugh.
"You've been living here and training in our base, and yet you don't even know who runs this place?"
Ethan scratched his head.
"What do you mean?"
Ris's tone shifted to something a bit more serious.
"Dominic—the guy you're calling 'weird gas mask man'—is actually the chief of this Harbringer branch."
The trio's jaws dropped at the same time.
"Huh?!"
Seth froze as the memory hit him.
The first time they met Dominic… he said,
"Just call me Dom."
Ris added,
"You three really need to listen to your teachers more. Anyway, here's something that might help you treat him with more respect."
He stepped closer.
"In the world of Harbringers, Dominic is one of the Twenty Highest— in the elite ranks he owns one of the Seats of the Obsidian circle.The Stongest Black H in the world."
A long silence filled the hallway.
Even Seth and Ethan didn't have a comeback.
Then Ris said,
"Also… he's not even here today. So go back before you get in more trouble."
The elevator doors closed behind them as they made their way up—quiet this time.
After a while, Seth muttered,
"We… just called him weird without knowing he's actually cool."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"Come to think of it… that gas mask does look kinda sick."
Seth joined in,
"Yeah, it's got this dark-cool vibe to it now."
Rael sighed.
"You two only respect people when you find out they're strong."
Seth and Ethan proudly replied in unison,
"Exactly. Power deserves respect!"
Within the towering heart of the Ivory H Branch,
At the peak of its highest skyscraper, inside a vast room with blackened glass walls that overlooked the city below, five figures sat — each placed far apart, as if even their presence near each other sparked tension.
On the far left, a giant of a man, easily 7'5" tall, bald and broad-shouldered, sat with arms crossed. He was the Chief of Ivory H, a fortress of brute force.
Beside him, a woman with floor-length purple hair and a sharp gaze leaned back in her seat. Her black coat draped over one side of her chair like a shadow, and her boots thudded lightly as she shifted — the cold-blooded Chief of Ember H.
On the far right, slouched in an almost ceremonial seat, was an elderly man in a sleek suit, his cane leaning beside him. His body frail, but his voice sharp. He was the Chief of Crimson H.
Next to him, a man in his 40s with slicked-back hair and an ash-gray tie tapped his fingers on the table — the Chief of Ashen H, calm yet calculating.
And in the very center, at the edge of the long obsidian table, sat a man apart from the rest. Dominic.
Wearing a hockey-style jersey, loose black pants, boots caked in paint, and a cracked mask filled with graffiti, he didn't sit straight — he sprawled in his chair like a street king.
He was the Chief of Grime Zone H — and more importantly, one of the 20 Obsidian Circle seat holders, a level far above the rest.
The massive man from Ivory H broke the silence first.
"Dominic… even if you outrank us, we won't tolerate your recklessness."
The one in his 40s added coldly,
"You violated protocol. The boy should've gone through the sentencing process before being placed in any branch. Or exterminated."
Dominic lazily tilted his head, mask gleaming in the dim light.
"Violated a rule? Which one, exactly?"
The old man from Crimson H coughed, voice sharp,
"That Eidolon boy… he has a history. Dangerous, unstable. He should've been isolated — studied — not dragged straight into your dump of a branch like a stray mutt!"
But before he could finish, Dominic cut in, his voice low but laced with venom:
"Only you four seem to be whining about it. And I didn't break any rule, old man. The Obsidian Circle voted. 20 seats. Majority agreed — he stays with me."
A pause.
"You all forget," Dominic continued, leaning forward just slightly, "You're Black H chiefs. Not Circle holders. You don't outrank me… and you sure as hell can't touch me."
The old man slammed his cane on the floor, furious.
"Watch your tongue, brat, or I'll tear it from your skull!"
Suddenly—
A crushing pressure filled the room like a collapsing void. The air grew thick. Reality itself warped slightly.
The four chiefs froze — unable to move, even breathe properly. As if the world was pressing down on them like a giant hand. Their bones screamed.
Dominic's voice was no longer playful.
It was cold. Heavy. Absolute.
"Go ahead. Try it."
"Even if all four of you strike at once… none of you could scratch me."
The pressure vanished as suddenly as it came.
Silence followed.
Dominic stood up. He exhaled.
"Tch. Waste of time."
Without another glance, he turned and walked out, the sound of his boots echoing through the still-crushed atmosphere of the room.