A young, frail-looking boy stood by the corner of his locker. It was open, but not because he was searching for anything inside. The truth was, he was using it for a completely different purpose.
His name was Klein Winchester, and right now, he was staring at a group of girls a few lockers away. They were laughing together while one of them rummaged through her locker, clearly frustrated. Klein's glasses were long overdue for replacement—his lenses were loose, and the frame hung awkwardly on his face. Yet, he just stood there, staring. Not at all of them—just her. The girl struggling with her locker.
From the looks of it, she couldn't find what she was searching for. Klein could tell because her movements were getting sharper, more impatient. The school wasn't full yet—just a few students walking by, a clear sign that the bell hadn't rung. Meaning classes hadn't started either.
The way Klein was watching her, though, looked more like stalking than simple admiration.
He took a deep breath and glanced back inside his locker.
"You can do this, Klein," he muttered under his breath. "How hard could it be to just walk over there, huh?"
He grabbed a notebook, shut his locker, adjusted his crooked glasses, and started walking toward the group. One of the girls noticed him coming and immediately frowned.
"What does he want?" she muttered in disgust.
That wasn't anything new for Klein. He ignored the comment and kept walking. As soon as he got close, the girls stepped back, one of them even spitting on the floor and gripping her bag like he carried a disease.
"Hey," Klein said softly, holding out the notebook. "I believe this belongs to you."
"Thanks," the girl said awkwardly as she took it from his hand—but she only touched it with the very tips of her fingers, as if she were picking something out of the trash.
Klein saw the look and tried to ignore it. "Don't worry," he said, forcing a small smile. "Those are the notes you'll need for today's test."
The girl froze. She probably thought he'd come over to ask her out. Now she just looked guilty.
"Thank—" she started to say, but was immediately cut off by a voice behind her.
"What are you doing next to my girlfriend, you reject?"
Before Klein could answer, the boy shoved him hard against the lockers.
Klein didn't fight back. He never did. This was his life, and it had been this way for as long as he could remember—mocked, teased, and bullied. All because he was different. Because he didn't come from a special bloodline. Because he couldn't afford to be taught by the Ancestors.
This was the thirty-first century—a time after an event that had changed the face of the world. People now possessed extraordinary abilities, gifts that allowed them to perform superhuman feats. But Klein wasn't one of them.
The boy towered over him, gripping his shirt tightly. "I asked you a question, loser. What do you want from my girlfriend?"
Klein said nothing. He knew what would come next. The girl avoided his eyes, pretending not to know him.
The boy looked like he'd been on strength enhancers his whole life. His body was massive, muscles taut beneath his uniform. Seeing Klein glance at the girl only enraged him further.
"You son of a bitch."
He clenched his fist, and flames erupted from it, swirling into a fiery beam. Without hesitation, he punched Klein in the stomach. The impact sent Klein flying, blood splattering from his mouth as he hit the ground hard.
The wall behind him cracked—an enormous hole marking the sheer force of that one strike.
Klein gasped for air, his body trembling. Around him, the corridor that had been empty just moments ago was now filled with students, all watching. None stepped forward to help. Not one.
The girl rejoined her friends.
"I can't believe you took something from him," one of them sneered.
"I—never mind," the girl sighed, looking down.
Meanwhile, the boy turned his attention back to Klein, who was now weakly crawling away.
Some students were whispering, watching him struggle.
"What are you all looking at?" the boy snapped. Then he noticed their stares were directed behind him.
He turned—and saw Klein, still trying to drag himself away.
"For someone who just got hit by me, you sure move fast," the boy growled. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
He stormed over, grabbed Klein by his black hair, and yanked his head back so he was forced to look up.
"You think you can crawl away from me?" The boy's fists ignited again—two blazing beams forming around each hand. He swung at Klein, but this time Klein rolled aside just in time.
The blows slammed into the floor, cracking it open and shattering tiles.
Before the boy could hit again, Klein grabbed a loose tile shard. As the boy reached to pull him up, Klein swung it with everything he had.
CRACK!
"ARGHHH!" the boy screamed, stumbling backward and clutching his bleeding face.
Klein didn't wait. He dropped the shard and bolted.
He ran through the hallways, through the front gates, and out into the streets. He didn't stop. Not once. He knew going back wasn't an option. That boy would kill him if he did.
Eventually, he found himself standing in front of the hospital.
He hesitated at the door before slowly opening it. "Is it safe to come in?" he asked softly.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" His grandfather didn't even turn around. He was staring out the window from his bed.
"You know today's the last day of school," Klein said, pulling a chair beside him. "They let us out early."
His grandfather turned and frowned. "What happened to you? You look roughed up."
"Oh, nothing," Klein said with a weak laugh. "You should see the other guy."
The old man didn't smile. He looked frail, his skin pale and his body thin—almost lifeless.
"But how are you doing? Are they treating you well?" Klein asked, pouring a glass of water and handing it to him.
The old man took a sip, then said quietly, "You know it's time for me to ascend from this world to the next."
"Come on, Grandpa," Klein sighed. "You shouldn't joke about that."
"I'm not joking," his grandfather said, his tone suddenly firm. "I've kept the Astral away from you for sixteen years, as your parents wished. But my time is up, Klein. I can feel it."
"Grandpa, don't move," Klein said quickly, propping up pillows behind him. "You're too weak."
Once his grandfather was comfortable, the old man pointed toward a strange black bag sitting by the chair. "Bring that here. There's something I need to give you."
Klein grabbed the bag and handed it to him.
His grandfather rummaged inside and pulled out what looked like a golden pen—only it wasn't just a pen. A glass tube ran through its center, glowing faintly from within.
"Come closer," his grandfather said.
Klein obeyed hesitantly.
Without warning, his grandfather sliced open his own wrist and pulled Klein's face toward it, pressing the wound against his mouth.
"Grandpa—what the hell!?" Klein shoved him away, coughing and spitting. "Why would you do that!?"
The old man only smiled faintly. "You'll understand soon enough."
Then, his eyes closed.
"Grandpa?" Klein whispered. "Grandpa!"
He shook him, but there was no response.
Panicking, Klein ran for the door—only to slam into something invisible. A shimmering barrier blocked the exit, throwing him backward into the wall.
"What's happening!?" he shouted.
Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through his head. His vision blurred, and darkness began to creep in.
A glowing message appeared before his eyes—floating in the air like a hologram.
[ Congratulations, you are now a— ]
Before he could finish reading it, everything went black.
Klein collapsed.