Chapter 7 — The Vanishing Origin Point
Ivan felt a small surge of emotion in his heart.
As a mugger, hearing that a complete stranger hadn't eaten all day—and then taking five dollars out of his own pocket to give to them—
Was this red-haired guy really not an angel?
"I've been through it," the young man said, looking at Ivan. "When you go hungry for a long time, your stomach cramps violently. That kind of pain… don't mistreat your stomach."
"Thank you." Ivan didn't take the five dollars. "Why do you mug people?"
"If I had a choice, I wouldn't do this low-class stuff either." The young man looked at him. "Just take it already."
After hesitating for a moment, Ivan accepted the five dollars.
"Can you tell me why you have to do it?"
"My boss told me to."
After Ivan took the money, the young man turned and walked back to the large tree he had been leaning against earlier.
"What happens if you don't?"
"He said the gang's been in a financial crisis lately. Forget it—this isn't something a kid like you would understand."
The young man leaned against the tree again, took out his phone, and started fiddling with it.
Ivan was speechless. Right—he had been fourteen in his previous life, and in this life he was still fourteen. Even though the two lives added up to twenty-eight years, he had never truly grown up. He had always remained a teenager.
Being called a kid… he really couldn't argue with that.
"You don't like robbing people," Ivan said.
"I'm sick of it. Especially since the boss put me here specifically to rob students. I hate it from the bottom of my heart. I just have no choice."
"Why do you listen to your boss?"
"If I don't get two hundred dollars today, I have to pay two hundred out of my own pocket."
"And if you don't?"
Hearing that question, the young man's pupils shrank slightly. Then he smiled faintly and replied in a casual tone, "There'll be some consequences."
"Will you get beaten?"
The young man hesitated, then slowly said, "I'll get beaten. If I can't endure it… I might even die."
"Then why stay in a gang like that?" Ivan asked.
"There's no option to quit. If you try, you'll definitely be beaten to death. The choice I made back then was permanent. I've already been beaten over small things before. I've thought about quitting many times, but I know… I can't escape it." The young man clenched the phone tightly in his hand.
"There's no such thing as 'destined.'"
"Kid, stop bothering me. Let me play for a bit. I still have to catch the next one later," the young man said, turning his full attention to his phone.
"You can break free," Ivan said.
The young man ignored him, focused on tapping the screen, apparently playing a game.
"If you don't resist, you'll just keep being used."
As if he hadn't heard a word. The young man didn't want to waste another sentence on Ivan. He was controlling the tank on his phone screen, bombarding virtual monsters.
The monster lunged toward his tank. He pressed the fire button, trying to blow it up—
but suddenly, the button wouldn't press down.
"What's going on?" The red-haired young man frantically pressed all the buttons on the phone. Every key felt like it had lost its elasticity—none of them would respond.
Then, the phone clenched in his hand suddenly slipped free like a loach, shooting straight up into the sky.
He looked up in shock, watching as the phone became a tiny dot in the sky—until even that dot disappeared.
"See? The phone didn't originally have an option to leave your hand," Ivan said, gazing at the blue sky. "But now it's escaped its grip."
"Y-you… my phone—" The young man stared wide-eyed, completely at a loss for words.
"I'm a superpowered individual."
At that moment, the young man froze. Having witnessed supernatural power with his own eyes, he finally believed the sensational rumors about the Townsend Harris opening ceremony incident.
"You're the Superpower Kid?"
"Uh—no, I'm not." Ivan shook his head. "My name is Ivan. Ivan Jones."
"The phone… can you—"
"Of course."
Like a meteor falling from the sky, the phone—wrapped in blue light—plummeted straight down. When the dust settled, it lay flat inside a shallow crater.
The young man hesitated for a moment, then quickly picked it up and checked it. He had no idea whether a phone could still work after something like that.
"That's amazing…"
He wiped the phone's surface, sighing in awe.
Protected by psionic energy, the phone was completely unharmed—exactly the same as before.
"So, how about I help you leave your gang?" Ivan smiled.
The young man froze. "Why would you help me? We just met."
"Look at this." Ivan pulled out the five dollars. "You already helped me. How could you forget?"
"Do superpowered people get hungry too?" the red-haired young man asked blankly.
"Of course not—I was lying. I was totally full at dinner."
"Ah… so I didn't really help you at all."
"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you were willing to help. So I decided to help you."
"Thank you, Superpower Kid. If I really can quit, I don't want to live like this anymore. I—I really need help! Can you help me?"
"I'll say this again—I'm Ivan. I have nothing to do with the Superpower Kid. We're not the same person. That guy's name is Angel!" Ivan corrected him.
"Oh—oh! I'm Cullen. Cullen Farrell. R-right, then… does that mean there are lots of superpowered people in this world?" The red-haired young man felt his understanding of reality starting to collapse.
"Probably some."
Ivan himself didn't know what kind of world this truly was. Maybe what he'd seen was only the tip of the iceberg.
---
Twenty minutes later.
An abandoned warehouse located a kilometer away from Townsend Harris High School.
According to Cullen, this was where he reported in and handed things over—a small nest of their gang.
Inside the warehouse, besides Cullen and Ivan, there were four others. Three sat casually on wooden barrels, while a white man wearing sunglasses lounged in a large wooden chair with his legs crossed.
He smoked, the eyes hidden behind his sunglasses seemingly fixed on Cullen.
"So," the white man asked, "you're really planning to quit?"
Cullen subconsciously glanced toward Ivan, who stood slightly behind and to his right. Then he gathered his courage and looked the white man straight in the eye.
"Yes. I plan to leave."
"Fine. Then go." The white man exhaled a cloud of smoke and casually stubbed out his cigarette.
"What?" A dark-skinned man with slicked-back pink hair almost jumped up.
"Boss, you're just letting him leave? He didn't even finish today's job."
In response to the pink-haired man's objection, the white man waved his hand, signaling him to stop.
"Go ahead," the white man said calmly, tapping the armrest of the chair rhythmically with his index finger. "In this line of work, joining or quitting is a personal freedom. You're still young. I respect your choice."
"T-then I'm leaving. Thank you, boss."
Cullen could hardly believe it. This usually harsh boss was suddenly being so reasonable at the moment he chose to quit. After thanking him, he hurriedly pulled Ivan along and left.
After watching them exit the warehouse, the pink-haired man stood up.
"You're really letting him go just like that? Boss, what's with you today?"
The white man let out a soft sigh and removed his sunglasses.
There was a scar over his right eye. The eyeball itself was white, bloodshot, and devoid of a pupil.
"Baker," he said, "don't you find this strange?"
"Strange?"
"How do you think he dared to mention quitting in front of me?" the white man said lightly.
"Don't you think that's worth thinking about?"