The moon was a pale coin in the blackness of night, casting silver light across the academy grounds. Students slept within their quarters; the guards patrolled lazily, expecting no trouble.
But outside the academy walls, deep within the hollow of a grove where trees leaned like conspirators, a lone figure stood.
Arata Kurogane.
The strange book lay open on a moss-covered stone, its dark pages glowing faintly as the symbols pulsed with otherworldly life.
He ran his fingers across the spiral runes, murmuring.
"…If my theory's right, this isn't a formula for simple circuit flow. It's accumulation. A coil of power compressed into a singularity until… detonation."
His lips curled faintly.
Not a spell. Not a circuit art. A principle. A concept.
He closed his eyes, letting his imagination take hold. His mind summoned the memory of stars, documentaries from his old world, the endless lectures he had half-listened to about astrophysics. He remembered a word that had fascinated him as a child:
Nova.
When a star dies, it collapses and unleashes unimaginable energy, searing through the void. A flare so bright it can blind galaxies. That was science. This is fantasy. But my imagination makes fantasy into reality.
He exhaled, steadying himself.
"Let's test it."
The formulas from the book bent themselves around his imagination, twisting into a framework. His left eye flared—no longer dull, but alight with a deep crimson hue, faint black lines radiating from the iris.
At once, the air grew heavy. Leaves froze mid-fall. The grove itself seemed to pause.
The eye throbbed, circuits within it roaring alive. His vision layered—he could see threads of energy weaving from the world into him, spiraling into a core. He reached out, grasping nothing yet drawing power all the same.
A point of light formed in his palm.
Small at first. Harmless. A glowing bead, no brighter than a candle flame.
But it pulsed.
With each breath, it swelled—two inches, then five, until his palm held a sphere of blinding white-blue light. The pressure around it cracked the stones beneath his feet, rattled the branches of trees.
Arata's lips parted in a whisper.
"…Beautiful."
He tilted his head, analyzing even as the raw power buzzed dangerously in his grasp.
It works exactly as I thought. Energy stored, compacted, condensed into a singularity. The release would be devastating. The scale depends on how much I feed it—seconds, minutes, hours…
He smirked.
Cities would vanish. Continents could crumble. And all of it in the palm of my hand. Nova… fitting.
The sphere flared brighter, humming. He closed his fist around it, and the light imploded—snuffed out without sound. The air quivered, leaving only silence, as though nothing had happened.
He exhaled, steady. His left eye dimmed, fading back to normal.
"…It works. Which means…"
He glanced down at the pages again, then at the mask he had already imagined into existence—a white face with black markings, resting on the moss. Beside it, the black suit with its self-regenerating weave, resistant to flame, blade, and spell alike.
Slowly, he picked up the mask, letting it turn in his hand.
Arata Kurogane can't wield Nova. He's too weak, too pathetic in their eyes. But John Merciless…
He placed the mask against his face. His voice, when he spoke, was altered—distorted, low and cold.
"…John Merciless can burn the world with it."
The words vibrated through the night air. He stood straighter, his presence darker, heavier. The shift was seamless: from ordinary, slouched Arata to something else entirely. A villain birthed from shadow and intellect.
I'll be two men. One they'll ignore. One they'll fear. It's the only way to keep the game interesting.
He raised his hand again, imagining the glow of Nova forming, though this time he let it fade before it manifested.
Not tonight. Not here. But soon, the world will see a flare that cannot be forgotten. The name John Merciless will burn into their bones.
He closed the strange book carefully, tucking it under his arm. His circuits still hummed faintly, body adjusting to the aftershock of channeling such raw accumulation.
The forest seemed quieter now.
Almost reverent.
Arata glanced at the academy walls glowing in the distance. He thought of Kaede Honjou's soft voice, of her sharp eyes that had already noticed too much. He thought of the trials ahead, the classmates who mocked him, the endless arrogance of prodigies blind to anything beyond their own flames.
And then he thought of cities reduced to craters, of rulers trembling at the mention of a white mask.
A small smile tugged at his lips beneath the mask.
"…Yes. This will be fun."
With that, he vanished into the shadows, slipping back to the academy before dawn, leaving only the faint scent of scorched earth where his Nova had briefly flickered into being.