Kal and Sylas went their separate ways.
Sylas slipped deeper into the school’s labyrinthine corridors, while Kal advanced—swerving around clusters of chatting students, his head lowered against the bustle.
He strode to the café, a place that never sparked his interest.
Beef stew? You’ve got to be kidding me…
Shaking his head in resignation, Kal left the café and headed for his next class: math. He slid into a seat as the bell rang. The class unfolded exactly as he expected—a slow orientation, awkward ice breakers, and a bland overview of what lay ahead.
Ugh, and my last period is world history. Could this day drag on any longer?
╚══?═══════?══╝
Kal caught the rhythmic bell echoing through the school’s speakers, its tone filling every classroom.
Finally, the day ended. World history—the worst of them all. I almost miss the chaos of my first two periods... at least then, something felt different.
Merging into the dispersing crowd, Kal’s phone chimed a soft “Ding!” that snapped him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen:
“Hey, you have to walk home btw, I’m working a 12-hour shift so I won’t be back until later—but I made some salmon for dinner.”
His face scrunched at the message from his mom.
Ugh, annoying.
Quickening his pace, Kal raced to beat the sunset and get home early.
Before long, he arrived—exactly 3:30.
A 30-minute walk? Not too bad.
He pushed the door open and discovered the house unusually empty—a rare sight. If his sister wasn’t lounging somewhere, then his brother; if not them, then his mother... and if none of them occupied the space, maybe this was his chance. He admitted to himself that he sometimes relished the solitude.
Oh shit, I gotta plan for tonight!
He bolted to his room and double-checked the lock on the front door.
Alright, I’ve mapped out almost everything. Now, I just have to decide how I’m going to deal with him…
Maybe the strangling route again? But what if they use the glyphic code? Then again, only level 5 and above anti protectors can handle that. Not exactly in my jurisdiction… For now…
Kal fired up his laptop, typed in his password swiftly, and opened a document.
-Document File: Winston Smith-
His eyes narrowed as he scanned his notes:This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Winston Smith, 36, father of two—a normal prison guard, a family man. Prisoners whisper his name without malice; he always shows up for his two daughters. One of them, a talented protector, even studies at Kal’s school in a level 5 class. The other, less gifted but smart, supports her sister openly. They flaunt their alliance, proud to work together.
Scrolling down, he stopped at a bold “IMPORTANT” section:
In the end, bygones will be bygones. He functions like a disease that requires control—and a doctor has taken notice.
The notes itemized his injustices:
Families pay him to lock inmates in rival gang areas. He feeds inmates into fractures. He ignores brutal assaults. Winston acts like one of the cancers plaguing this world. And, sadly, that isn’t even the worst part…
Kal exhaled deeply and rubbed his forehead.
Alright, might as well eat and take a nap—another late night awaits, huh, Kal?
╚══?═══════?══╝
As the moon climbed high, Kal’s body stirred on its own.
It’s already 11 p.m.
He checked his phone; the time read exactly 11:00.
Kal methodically dressed: first, he pulled on a pair of black, flowy sweats that wouldn’t restrict his movement; next, a black tank top, then a tight, long-sleeved black shirt.
I’ll keep warm with this. My body must stay ready.
He then pulled on black socks and laced up jet-black shoes, all stripped of brand markings—a true ghost in the night.
Finally, he launched into his ritual.
He began with a series of controlled stretches, timing each pose with his phone to ensure he stretched neither too much nor too little. Next, he performed his light exercise: pushups, squats, shadow boxing, and hops—each executed at exactly 50% exertion.
My mom should sleep by now, but I might as well use these minutes to meditate—just in case.
Lying in bed fully dressed with the window ajar (letting in the cool night without stealing his warmth), Kal inhaled three deep, rhythmic breaths. He cleared his mind and refilled it with one unyielding thought.
Just have to take care of the plague before it spreads.
An alarm on his phone cut off his meditation.
Slowly, he rose and executed the final part of his ritual.
He grabbed a knife from a cluttered desk drawer and held it over a gold ring engraved with “K” on his finger. With a steady hand, he slit his left finger, watching a single drop of blood land on the ring.
It is complete. What does Dexter say? “Tonight’s the night”?
Ergh, that sounds kind of edgy coming from me. Whatever—I’ve got a house call to a patient, and it’s urgent.
Taking one last deep breath, Kal pulled his ski mask over his face.
Better get out before my mom catches me with my shoes still on.
╚══?═══════?══╝
Kal moved with practiced, almost effortless grace. Every leap, every bound, he converted into further motion without pause.
In just three months, he reached the pinnacle of parkour. He dashed across rooftops, swung from balconies, and wallran—like a modern-day Spiderman. He didn’t inherit any natural wall-clinging ability; he earned it through relentless hours of training. Still, he sometimes chided himself for having to work hard for something he assumed should come naturally. Yet when he succeeded, he shone.
I should be close… Kal murmured.
He picked up his pace as a cool wind whipped the night. Then, at a precise moment, he planted his left foot, halting his momentum as if on cue.
“Hah! Did you see their faces? They looked like scared bitches when I said they headed for cell block D! I didn’t expect those savages to skin them alive, though! Zaha! No matter—he had no family anyway.”
From the shadows of a nearby building, a stout man with a clean head and full beard strode out—avoiding the prying eyes of his wife.
I can’t wait any longer. It’s time to give a diagnosis.
Kal leapt off the building’s edge. Like a cat, he landed silently in front of three men.
“Who is this fucker, huh? Move out of my way—we’re trying to have a nice night out,” Winston barked, shoving past Kal.
Kal tightened his grip on Winston’s arm.
“Winston, charged with accepting bribes, torturing prisoners, and manslaughter—you’re truly deplorable.”
Winston scoffed and stepped back with a condescending grin. “You’ve got some nerve, twerp. I’d be surprised if your reputation even reached my ears,” he taunted, the size difference obvious—Winston’s towering frame against Kal’s lean build.
Kal’s tone turned ice-cold. “Is that the best you’ve got? As your primary physician, I’ll relay your final words to your family.”