The air strangled within "the boy's" chest, his face turning a deep, crimson red. His eyes teared up involuntarily, yet his gaze did not break.

  The metal fingers of "the scarred boy" pressed lightly against the base of his tongue, threatening to plunge deeper at any moment to tear everything apart.

  But... "the boy's" hand began to rise.

  Slowly, trembling from oxygen deprivation, "the boy" lifted his hand, charged with the last remnants of his "Impact Energy." He didn't aim it at the scarred boy's arm to push it away. He didn't aim it at his own chest for defense.

  He aimed it straight at "the scarred boy's" neck.

  Simultaneously, "the boy's" chest began to glow with a dim, dangerous light. He was focusing the impact energy internally, right inside his stuffed throat.

  The scarred boy’s pupils dilated. He understood what this madman intended to do.

  "Planning an internal explosion?" the scarred boy asked, his voice sounding almost amused. "You’re going to blow up your own throat to free yourself, and use the blast to break my neck?"

  "The boy" smiled with difficulty around the metal fingers blocking his mouth. It was the smile of someone who had lost their mind.

  With his free hand, the scarred boy pressed down on "the boy's" raised wrist, pinning it. But he didn't attack. Instead, he brought his face closer, his yellow eyes staring directly into "the boy's."

  "Listen closely, because your oxygen is running out," the scarred boy whispered with terrifying seriousness. "We are on the Service Island. 'That doctor' isn't here. There is no medical miracle that will rebuild your throat and entrails if you detonate that now."

  He tightened his grip on "the boy's" hand.

  "If you do it, you die. And I? I will survive. I will take damage, yes, but I will adapt. I will heal my neck before your body even cools."

  "The boy’s" consciousness began to fade, vision darkening at the edges, but his hand remained clenched, ready to fire.

  "You have two choices," the scarred boy continued, feeling "the boy's" pulse slowing beneath his fingers. "Option one: You release your energy. You die here. And as you know in this city... it is your soul that ends, but your body? They will take it..."

  "The boy's" eyes narrowed upon hearing this.

  "Option two..." The scarred boy eased the pressure on the throat slightly—not to withdraw his hand, but to allow a thin thread of air to pass. "Surrender to the darkness. Lose consciousness now. And I will throw you out just like the one before you. You will live to be defeated another day."

  "The boy" stopped resisting for a second. The meager air entering his lungs was enough to make his mind work with clarity for one final moment.

  (Death here means the end... Victory means survival... But Conflict is a fight to the death.)

  He had wanted to recreate that feeling from that day, the struggle between death and life. And now, he wasn't watching that struggle; he was living it.

  His lips pulled sideways in an involuntary twitch, forming a grotesque smile, while his opponent's hand filled his mouth and touched his larynx.

  (I live for conflict. If I die in conflict, I embody conflict... Conflict isn't just physical collision, because the struggle of life and death is the reality now.)

  The boy was thinking slowly as the oxygen dwindled, but his thoughts were racing while the world slowed down.

  He looked out of the corner of his eye at his opponent. At his neck.

  As he said, he could blow himself up. He could cause injury to his opponent's throat, but the probability of his own death would skyrocket.

  If he didn't, he would be left outside like that young man who was tossed out like trash.

  Survival is an instinct. Following logic is what his mind dictated. His heart wanted life.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  But his Idea wanted only one thing: to be an unforgettable opponent.

  (I adapted to light. I adapted to collisions. Maybe I’ll adapt to vibrations in the moment, too. But an explosion is heat, light, vibration, collision... I don't know what a Nova Event means, and I don't care if you're a Ranked Esper. The only thing here is me and you, and you are my opponent.)

  "The boy's" thoughts stopped. The calculation ended.

  There was no hesitation. There was no fear. Only one thought ignited in his mind.

  (I am Conflict.)

  "The boy's" eyes widened to their limit—not in panic, but in insane defiance.

  He tightened his raised grip on "the scarred boy's" wrist, pinning it in place—not to stop him from escaping, but to stop him from pushing it deeper.

  "You...!" The scarred boy realized what was happening. The muscles in "the boy's" neck spasmed, and the light in his chest reached the breaking point. This wasn't a threat. This was an offensive suicide.

  The scarred boy tried to pull his hand back, to change its density, anything... but it was too late.

  "The boy" released everything.

  From the inside, he detonated the impact energy stored in his throat to expel the intruding hand. And from the outside, his charged hand crashed down to sever his opponent's windpipe.

  KA-BOOOM!

  It wasn't a normal sound. It was the sound of tearing flesh, shattering bone, and compressed air exploding in a confined space. A blinding light—a terrifying mix of glowing orange and cold blue—flooded the area before the blast wave swallowed it.

  The restaurant windows shattered completely. Tables flipped and slid across the floor, and a cloud of dust, smoke, and debris rushed out into the street. People outside instinctively ducked, while some shielded their faces from the wind-blown glass.

  A temporary silence reigned, followed by the sounds of coughing and groans from the students near the restaurant who had been knocked down by the force of the blast.

  "What... what happened?" one asked, shaking glass from his hair.

  The dust slowly cleared from the restaurant entrance.

  On the ground, amidst the debris, were two bodies.

  "The scarred boy" was standing, clutching his neck with both hands, eyes bulging. He was coughing up black blood and acidic saliva that melted the ground beneath him. His larynx was crushed, and his adaptation ability was working frantically, trying to reconstruct his trachea before he suffocated, his body rippling and shifting in a bid for survival.

  And on the other side...

  "The boy" lay on his back.

  He was motionless.

  The area from his lower jaw to his upper chest was... a bloody mess. Smoke rose from his open, torn mouth.

  The sprinklers in the ceiling were raining down on the scene.

  In the street, the summoned emergency response team began to approach quickly. They moved toward the boy with the red streak, while two of them went toward the scarred boy.

  One of them looked down.

  "Quick, get the breathing intubation kit!" the man shouted to his colleague while examining the boy with the red streak, pulling out a device to take a blood sample. "His jacket... he’s a student at Auroralis Academy." He carried the body away from the water.

  Meanwhile, the two men approaching the scarred boy stopped in their tracks. The scarred boy was laughing while spitting black blood.

  Then, holes appeared on his skin.

  And in the throat area near his chest, an opening formed, opening and closing like a gill.

  He narrowed his eyes at the boy with the red streak for a moment, then turned away, heading toward a shop.

  (So, you are trying to embody an Idea...)

  The scarred boy thought, ignoring the stares directed at him. He passed a convertible vehicle containing a stretcher where the previous young man was receiving treatment.

  (That is the difference between a person using a power and a power using a person.) He shrugged indifferently. (But both are wrong in the end. Stellar Ascension is a process of collapse until you become the power.)

  He looked at the shop and began walking toward it.

  Less than an hour later.

  Service Island General Hospital. Emergency Department.

  The atmosphere here wasn't quiet or strange like "The Blue Cat." It was loud, filled with the smell of antiseptics and sweat. The lights were ruthlessly bright white, and the floor was being mopped of blood leaking from new arrivals.

  "New case! Bay 4!" a paramedic shouted, pushing a gurney quickly through the double doors.

  The attending doctor, a middle-aged man looking chronically exhausted, sighed and left his cold cup of coffee. He pulled his tablet and walked heavily toward the bed.

  "What do we have? Another street fight?" the doctor asked without looking at the patient, his voice full of routine boredom.

  "Internal energy explosion," the paramedic replied, transferring "the boy" to the examination bed. "Partial rupture of the larynx—looks like a blunt trauma but sharp force involved—and tearing in the neck muscles, with collateral damage to his fingers on the right side. He's unconscious and has lost a lot of blood. O-negative transfusion is currently underway."

  "Still treatable." The doctor grabbed the chart and took one last look at the bloody mess that was the boy's neck. "Fights usually end with many injuries, but external injuries are rare in esper fights unless the opponent's power causes internal damage."

  "It seems he used his power for an internal blast," the paramedic said, withdrawing the blood draw device.

  "Tier?"

  "According to the blood sample, Proto Star. A student at Auroralis Academy," the paramedic pointed to the torn jacket thrown under the bed. "He has the blazer."

  The doctor looked at the clock on the wall. "Shouldn't he be in class?... Did he skip?" The doctor shook his head. "Fine. Standard procedure. Prep for surgery and initiate the OR protocol."

  The doctor approached "the boy" and opened his eyelid to check pupil response.

  "Dark brown eyes..." the doctor muttered, seeing the brown eyes staring into the void unconsciously. "What’s his ability?"

  "According to his record, it's Impact Flow. The ability to measure and convert the force of collision, friction, and pressure into energy," the paramedic answered.

  "Physics-based, then." The doctor stepped away.

  At that moment, the paramedic's device flashed a green light.

  "Sample drawn, Doctor."

  "Good. Send it to storage with the rest," the doctor said, returning to his coffee. "Tell the surgeons to prep the appropriate tools, but for now, make sure he's sedated."

  Nurses and robotic medical transporters moved around "the boy." There was no chatter, no comfort.

  Tubes were connected, fluids pumped, and machines began to beep.

  The doctor sighed as he headed to another patient. A young man with a smashed face, covered in blood.

  "And what about this one?" the doctor asked the paramedic.

  "The original case we were dispatched for. Broken nose, fractures throughout the body. Believed to have been slammed into a solid object, like a stone wall."

  "Any internal injuries?" The doctor approached and opened the young man's eyelid.

  "Grey," the doctor sighed.

  "Is he the one who fought with him?"

  "No. According to witnesses and the emergency team's sighting, the suspect esper is a male, between 16 and 17. Has a long scar stretching from his left eyebrow to his chin... yellow eyes and pale blonde hair close to white."

  "Precise description." The doctor raised an eyebrow.

  "Apparently, he kept banging on the door until the restaurant staff opened for him. This young man didn't want to let him pass, whereas the suspect wouldn't take no for an answer... The rest of the students followed him, but he was the only one who went inside while the rest got busy fighting each other."

  The doctor sighed. "Are nutritional supplements that bad?"

  "Yes!" the paramedic answered seriously.

  "Doesn't matter. I'm not an Esper like you people." The doctor shook his head as he watched tubes being placed on the young man and machines whirring to life.

  The doctor didn't look back.

  On the screen next to the bed, a small, dim green light flashed.

  [Case Registered: Student, Proto Star, Stabilization Phase.] [Procedure: Surgery.] [Institution Notice: Scheduled in Queue (Automatic).]

  Then the screen turned off to save power, leaving the boy alone amidst the hum of the machines.