Morning arrived without warmth.
Light filtered into the Scantum facility not like sunlight, but like something manufactured—precise, controlled, stripped of mercy. Pale rays slid down the curved stone walls, illuminating the mess hall where fourteen bearers sat scattered across long tables, their voices low, their movements restrained.
No one laughed too loudly here.
No one moved too freely.
Except Harun.
He leaned back on the stone bench, plate barely touched, eyes wandering across the hall like this was just another hostel mess back home.
He exhaled.
"Man… I really want shawarma."
Sahil froze mid-bite. Slowly, he turned his head. "What?"
"Shawarma," Harun repeated, dead serious now. "Juicy. Spicy. That garlic sauce? Bro, it hits different. I haven't had one in forever."
For a second, Sahil just stared at him—then burst out laughing. "You're unbelievable."
"What?" Harun frowned.
"This place is older than half the civilizations we studied in school," Sahil said. "You think they'll suddenly pull out a shawarma stall?"
Harun shrugged. "Hope is important."
Sahil shook his head. "First of all, pav bhaji is way better."
Harun snapped his head toward him. "No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Pav bhaji clears shawarma easily."
Before Harun could launch a full defense, a calm voice interrupted them.
"Wrong."
Both of them turned.
A man stood near the edge of the hall—tall, broad-shouldered. His presence felt… different. Not heavy like Gohan's. Not sharp like the guardians'. But metallic. Precise.
Both of his arms were mechanical.
Not crude prosthetics—these were refined, layered with dark steel plates etched with faint glowing lines. His legs, too, were reinforced, joints humming softly as he moved.
"Pizza is superior," the man said flatly.
Harun blinked. "…Who are you?"
The man stepped closer, metal fingers flexing with a soft click. "Name's Kunal. One of the fifteen bearers."
He lifted his hand and pointed casually at Harun. "You're Harun."
Then Sahil. "And you must be Sahil."
Sahil raised an eyebrow. "How do you—"
"I heard about you," Kunal said. "You guys cleared the Scantum last. Took your time. Made everyone nervous."
Harun smirked. "Are you praising us or insulting us?"
Kunal chuckled. "Praising. Definitely praising."
Sahil crossed his arms. "So what power did you get?"
Kunal tilted his head. "Mechanis."
Sahil frowned. "You're not answering."
"That is the answer."
Harun leaned forward. "Explain."
Kunal raised his arm.
The metal shifted.
Plates slid, rotated, locked. In less than a second, his forearm reshaped itself—edges sharpening, internal gears humming. A blade extended from his wrist, gleaming coldly.
"I can turn my mechanical limbs into weapons," Kunal said calmly. "Any configuration I imagine."
Harun's eyes widened. "That's sick."
"This is how I defeated my guardian," Kunal added.
Harun grinned like a kid. "Bro, show me more later."
Kunal studied him for a moment. "You seem like a close-combat type. Fighting power?"
Harun hesitated. "…Knucklis."
Silence.
Sahil turned slowly. "Idiot. There is no Dravillian stone called Knucklis."
Harun shrugged. "There is now."
Kunal laughed—genuinely. "I like you."
Then his expression softened. "Would you… be my friend?"
Both Harun and Sahil blinked.
"No one here talks to me," Kunal continued. "They get uncomfortable. Mechanical limbs freak them out."
Harun stood up instantly and slapped a hand on Kunal's shoulder—metal clanged softly.
"From today, you're with us, Steel Man."
Sahil winced. "That's a weird name."
Kunal smiled. "I kind of like it."
Before anything else could be said, Kunal glanced at the clock etched into the wall. "Eat fast. If we're late, we don't eat."
He paused. "Also… today, we meet Rohan."
Harun's grin sharpened. "Good. I'll beat that unknown guy today."
"Shut up," Sahil muttered.
A while later, footsteps echoed.
Gohan entered the hall.
The room quieted instantly.
"Today," Gohan said, "you'll be divided into teams. Missions will follow."
A pause.
"But before that—someone wants to meet you."
The corridors twisted deeper into the facility. Older stone. Darker walls. The air itself felt thicker.
Harun frowned. "Why does Rohan get a special room while all fourteen of us are packed together?"
Sahil whispered urgently, "Shut up, you'll get killed."
Gohan stopped.
"You will understand," he said.
He placed his palm on the gate.
It opened.
Crimson light poured out.
Not light—aura.
It felt alive.
Kunal's breath hitched. "That's… terrifying."
The other twelve bearers felt it instantly—knees weak, stomachs twisting, instincts screaming danger.
Except Harun.
And Gohan.
They stepped inside.
Gohan's eyes narrowed.
So it's true, he thought. The aura doesn't affect him.
In the corner of the room sat a boy.
Black hair. Red eyes. A body carved with restrained violence.
Rohan.
"So," Rohan said softly, "you brought them here."
Harun tilted his head. "Bro, are you depressed or something? You've been sitting in the dark like a villain."
The air exploded.
Rohan vanished.
A hand clamped around Harun's neck.
The ground left his feet.
"I hate people like you," Rohan growled. "Smile too much. Talk too freely."
"Free me, Gohan," Rohan snarled. "Or I kill him."
"Let him go," Gohan said.
Suddenly—
Sahil moved.
A kick slammed into Rohan's ribs.
Harun dropped.
For half a second—hope sparked.
Then Rohan placed a hand on Sahil's shoulder.
Sahil collapsed.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
"Pretending?" Rohan whispered, gripping Sahil's hair. "You think I'm pretending?"
Punches fell.
Again. Again. Again.
"STOP!" Harun roared.
He struck.
Brass knuckle connected—
And Rohan caught it.
Slowly.
Twisting.
Harun felt bones scream.
Rohan smiled.