“This recruit used Yellow Spectrum energy better than some of our senior agents?”

  General Nicholas’s voice was calm, but the question carried weight. The holographic screen before him replayed the moment on loop, Jayden’s punch landing squarely against the senior agent’s ribs, the yellow energy flaring with near-flawless efficiency.

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Calder replied, standing at attention beside the table. “The readings confirmed it. Energy circulation was clean, output stable, and reinforcement efficiency was… frankly, exceptional.”

  Nicholas narrowed his eyes slightly, fingers steepled beneath his chin as the data scrolled beside the footage.

  “Near perfect,” Calder added. “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I would’ve assumed the sensors were malfunctioning.”

  The general let out a slow breath. “And this is the same recruit whose compatibility test favored red?”

  “Yes,” Calder answered immediately. “Red Spectrum showed the highest resonance during aptitude testing. Yellow was present but significantly weaker. Blue was average.”

  Nicholas gestured, and the footage shifted, this time showing the prism test results. Red burned brightest, yellow noticeably dimmer, blue somewhere in between.

  “And yet,” Nicholas said quietly, “he manifested Yellow in live combat.”

  Calder nodded. “No signs of it during training beforehand. No partial leakage. It was as if his body remembered how to use it the moment he needed it.”

  The general leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving the screen.

  “That kind of adaptability is rare,” he said. “Most agents struggle for months just to feel one color properly. Even prodigies don’t switch like that under pressure.”

  Calder hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “There’s something else, sir. When he used Yellow, it wasn’t raw. It wasn’t sloppy. He didn’t overdraw or damage himself. It was… refined. As if the technique was already complete.”

  Nicholas finally turned away from the screen, his gaze sharp.

  “That’s not something you get from talent alone.”

  “No, sir.”

  Silence stretched between them, heavy with implication.

  The general rose from his seat and walked toward the window overlooking the sprawling SDA training complex. Recruits moved like ants below, running drills, firing controlled bursts of energy, collapsing in exhaustion only to stand again moments later.

  “Captain Calder,” Nicholas said at last, “what do you think this recruit will become?”

  Calder answered honestly. “If nurtured properly? Something dangerous. In the best possible way.”

  Nicholas allowed himself a thin smile.

  “Then we won’t rush him.”

  He turned back. “Keep him in the Red Spectrum training program. His affinity there is still his natural foundation, and we don’t discard that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But,” Nicholas continued, “prepare an instructor for Blue Spectrum as well. Someone patient. Someone who understands control and structure.”

  Calder blinked. “Blue, sir? Not Orange?”

  The general shook his head. “Orange is volatile. Powerful, yes, but it builds on instability. Let him learn all three primary colors properly first.”

  He tapped the table once, decisively.

  “Red to express. Yellow to endure. Blue to shape.”

  Nicholas’s gaze hardened. “If he masters those foundations, Orange and the higher applications will come naturally. If he doesn’t, then they’ll break him.”

  Calder straightened. “Understood, sir.”

  “We are in no rush,” the general said, voice firm. “This isn’t about producing another weapon for the field. It’s about building someone who won’t collapse when the world pushes back.”

  He glanced once more at the paused frame of Jayden standing back up, battered but unyielding, yellow energy still clinging stubbornly to his form.

  “Let him grow,” Nicholas concluded. “Properly.”

  Somehow, training got even harsher.

  I hadn’t thought that was possible.

  When I first manifested Yellow Spectrum energy, I had foolishly believed, just for a moment, that things would ease up. That the instructors would acknowledge the breakthrough and allow me some breathing room.

  Instead, they took it as a challenge.

  My daily schedule doubled in intensity. Longer drills. Shorter rest periods. Heavier equipment. When my muscles adapted, they increased resistance. When my stamina improved, they extended the sessions. When my recovery sped up, they reduced downtime even further.

  It didn’t matter that I was bruised, exhausted, or barely standing by the end of the day.

  If I could endure it, then clearly I could endure more.

  Yellow Spectrum energy helped. There was no denying that. My body recovered faster, my bones felt denser, my muscles responded more efficiently to strain. But it wasn’t the miracle I once imagined. It didn’t erase pain. It didn’t eliminate fatigue. It simply raised the ceiling of what I could survive.

  And the instructors were more than happy to slam me against that ceiling again and again.

  The only real consolation was that recording Yellow Spectrum energy had an unexpected side effect.

  My control over Red Spectrum energy improved.

  At first, I thought it was coincidence. Then repetition proved otherwise. The better my body handled reinforcement, the easier it became to channel red energy without destabilizing myself. My circulation smoothed out. Energy leakage decreased. The burning sensation in my chest faded into something more controlled, more deliberate.

  I could now generate red energy on command.

  I could discharge it reliably.

  But control?

  That was another matter entirely.

  My blasts were inconsistent. Sometimes too wide. Sometimes too weak. Sometimes too strong, scattering uselessly against training barriers. Aiming required calm, precision, and awareness, things that were difficult to maintain when your body was screaming at you to collapse.

  Still, progress was progress.

  I was clinging to that thought when Captain Calder’s voice thundered across the training field.

  “Attention, recruits!”

  Every conversation died instantly. Boots snapped together. Spines straightened. Even those on the verge of passing out forced themselves upright.

  Calder stood at the front, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping over us like a blade.

  “Today,” he said, “you’ll be participating in a live training exercise.”

  A murmur rippled through the formation, quickly silenced by his glare.

  “With a real Frade.”

  That got a reaction no one could suppress.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Beside Calder, an elderly man stepped forward. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was something about him that commanded respect. His hair was completely white, his face lined with age, but his eyes were sharp, clear in a way that reminded me of calm waters hiding unfathomable depth.

  “This,” Calder continued, “is Ferdinand. A retired SDA agent and a White Spectrum user.”

  White.

  The word alone drew everyone’s attention.

  Ferdinand gave a small nod, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You’ll be facing a Frade under his control,” Calder said. “This is not a simulation. This is not a projection. The danger is real.”

  The silence that followed was heavy.

  “But,” Calder added, “the Frade has been restrained and conditioned. Ferdinand will intervene if your lives are at risk. If you die today, it will be because you ignored instructions.”

  That didn’t help.

  Calder began explaining the structure of the exercise. Recruits would be divided into groups. Group size would depend on the Frade’s threat level and capabilities. The objective wasn’t to kill it, this wasn’t an elimination exercise.

  It was to suppress, control, and survive.

  To apply everything we’d learned so far.

  When the groups were announced, I felt my stomach tighten.

  Group Seven.

  Five members.

  One senior agent specializing in Blue Spectrum energy. Two Yellow Spectrum users. Two Red Spectrum users.

  Including me.

  I recognized the others immediately. The senior agent was a calm-looking man named Ravel, someone known for precise constructs and battlefield control. The Yellow users were both sturdily built recruits, frontliners who specialized in reinforcement and interception. The other Red user was a sharp-eyed woman who excelled at suppression fire.

  And then there was me.

  I was technically capable of Yellow now, but my designated role was Red.

  Ravel looked at each of us in turn, his gaze steady. “Stay close. Follow instructions. No heroics.”

  None of us argued.

  We were led into a sealed training zone, an artificial environment designed to resemble a ruined industrial district. Broken concrete. Twisted metal. Narrow alleys and open spaces interspersed unpredictably.

  At the center of it all stood the Frade.

  It resembled a naga.

  Its lower half was a massive serpentine body covered in dark, overlapping scales. Its upper torso was humanoid, muscular, with elongated arms ending in clawed hands. Its head was vaguely human in shape but lacked any recognizable features, no eyes, no mouth, just a smooth, pale surface that somehow still conveyed awareness.

  White Spectrum chains shimmered faintly around its body, tethering it to Ferdinand, who stood calmly at the edge of the field.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Remember,” Calder’s voice echoed through the speakers, “this Frade specializes in constriction and kinetic force. Don’t get surrounded.”

  The chains loosened.

  The Frade moved.

  It was fast.

  The ground cracked as its tail propelled it forward, smashing through a concrete barrier as if it were paper. One of the Yellow users barely managed to block the initial impact, yellow energy flaring violently as he was sent skidding backward.

  “Formation!” Ravel barked.

  Blue energy surged as he raised his hands, translucent barriers snapping into existence. The Frade slammed against them, its coils wrapping around one construct and crushing it with terrifying ease.

  “Red, suppress!” Ravel shouted.

  I raised my arm, red energy pooling in my palm. My heart hammered in my chest as I focused, forcing the energy to condense instead of dispersing.

  I fired.

  The blast struck the Frade’s upper body, detonating against its scales. It recoiled slightly, not much, but enough.

  The other Red user fired in tandem, her shots precise and rhythmic, targeting joints and weak points.

  “Yellow, intercept!” Ravel ordered.

  Both Yellow users surged forward, bodies glowing with reinforcement as they slammed into the Frade’s path. One grabbed its tail, muscles straining, while the other struck its torso with a reinforced shoulder tackle.

  The Frade hissed, a soundless vibration that rattled my bones, and twisted violently.

  The Yellow user holding its tail was lifted off the ground and slammed into a wall. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the impact.

  “Fall back!” Ravel commanded.

  Blue energy shifted again, reshaping the battlefield. Walls rose, angles changed, pathways narrowed. The Frade’s movement was restricted, its massive body scraping against constructs as it tried to maneuver.

  I fired again.

  This time, my aim wavered. The blast went wide, scorching a ruined pillar instead.

  Focus.

  I forced my breathing to slow. Red energy wasn’t about brute force—it was about release. Direction. Intent.

  I fired again.

  The shot struck true, impacting the Frade’s shoulder. It reeled, coils tightening as it prepared to strike back.

  The Frade lunged.

  Its body blurred, tail snapping forward like a whip.

  I barely had time to react.

  Yellow energy surged instinctively, reinforcing my body as I was struck. Pain exploded through my side as I was sent flying, crashing into the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

  I rolled, coughing, forcing myself to my knees.

  Still alive.

  “Jayden!” one of the Yellow users shouted.

  “I’m fine!” I lied.

  Ravel reacted instantly, blue energy forming a dome around me as the Frade’s follow-up strike slammed against it.

  “Red, concentrate fire!” he ordered. “Yellow, pressure from the flanks!”

  This time, I adjusted.

  Instead of firing raw blasts, I compressed the energy tighter, smaller output, higher density. The shot lacked the explosive force of before, but it penetrated deeper, striking between scales.

  The Frade shuddered.

  The other Red user mirrored my approach, her shots syncing with mine.

  The Yellow users closed in again, smarter this time. They didn’t try to overpower it, instead, they disrupted its balance, striking joints, forcing it to react instead of attack.

  Blue constructs shifted constantly, guiding the Frade’s movement like invisible hands.

  For the first time, we were controlling the fight.

  The Frade roared silently and thrashed, its body glowing faintly as it attempted to overpower Ferdinand’s control.

  White Spectrum chains tightened.

  “Good,” Calder’s voice echoed. “Now finish the suppression.”

  Ravel raised both hands.

  Blue energy surged, forming a complex structure beneath the Frade—a lattice that snapped shut, locking its coils in place.

  “Now!” he shouted.

  I poured everything I had into one final shot.

  Red energy burned through my veins as I released it, the blast striking the Frade square in the chest.

  It froze.

  Then slumped.

  The chains held.

  The Frade went still.

  For a moment, none of us moved.

  Then Ferdinand stepped forward, white energy flaring as he fully restrained the creature.

  “Well done,” he said calmly.

  I collapsed to one knee, breathing hard, sweat dripping down my face.

  My body ached. My chest burned. My muscles screamed.

  But I was alive.

  And more importantly,

  I had fought a real Frade.

  And survived.

  As we were escorted out of the training zone, exhaustion weighed heavily on me, but beneath it was something else.

  A quiet, dangerous excitement.

  This world was brutal.

  But I was growing.

  And for the first time since arriving here, I felt it clearly.

  I wasn’t just enduring anymore.

  I was becoming something more.

  Luis had only wanted to get home.

  That was the cruel irony of it all. If he had taken a different street, if he had left five minutes earlier or later, the world might have unfolded exactly as it was supposed to, clean, orderly, following the script it had written for itself.

  Instead, chaos found him.

  The first sign was the screaming.

  Luis froze mid-step, the grocery bag in his hand slipping slightly as he turned toward the sound. People were running, no, stampeding, down the street, faces pale with terror. Cars were abandoned at odd angles, doors left open, alarms blaring uselessly into the air.

  And then he felt it.

  A pressure in his chest. Heavy. Oppressive. Like the air itself had thickened.

  “A… Frade?” he muttered.

  He didn’t need anyone to tell him. The information drilled into every citizen since childhood surfaced instantly. Monsters born from distortions in the Spectrum. Creatures that couldn’t be harmed by conventional means. Walking disasters.

  Luis swallowed and backed away instinctively, his heart hammering.

  That was when the building at the end of the street exploded outward.

  Concrete and glass rained down as a massive shape forced its way through the structure. The Frade was tall, its body lean but dense, with elongated limbs that scraped against the asphalt as it moved. Its surface shimmered faintly, Spectrum energy rippling across its form in unstable waves.

  People screamed louder.

  Luis turned to run.

  “Get down!”

  A woman landed between him and the Frade in a flash of movement.

  She wore SDA combat gear, scorched and torn, her breathing labored. Red Spectrum energy flared around her arm as she fired a blast toward the monster, forcing it back a step.

  “Civilian!” she shouted without looking at him. “Get out of here!”

  “I-I can’t,” Luis stammered, legs refusing to move.

  The Frade roared and lunged.

  The agent reacted instantly, pivoting and throwing herself into its path. Yellow energy surged around her body as she braced for impact.

  The blow sent her flying.

  She hit the ground hard, rolling across the pavement before slamming into a wrecked car. The yellow glow flickered… then faded.

  “Agent!” Luis shouted, panic tearing through his voice.

  The Frade turned toward him.

  For a moment, the world seemed to slow.

  Luis felt it then, not fear, not exactly, but something deeper. A pressure building inside him, coiling tighter and tighter, like something vast and restless had been waiting for permission.

  His hands trembled.

  “No,” he whispered. “Not now… not like this…”

  The Frade raised its arm.

  The fallen agent tried to move, and failed.

  Something snapped.

  The pressure inside Luis detonated.

  Black Spectrum energy erupted around him in a violent surge, cracking the ground beneath his feet. The air screamed as power condensed around his fist, raw and unshaped yet terrifyingly absolute.

  The Frade didn’t even have time to react.

  Luis stepped forward and punched.

  There was no technique. No refinement. Just instinct and overwhelming force.

  The impact was silent for a fraction of a second.

  Then the Frade imploded.

  Its body collapsed inward as if crushed by an invisible force, Spectrum energy scattering violently before dissolving into nothingness. The shockwave blasted outward, shattering windows and sending debris skidding across the street.

  When the dust settled, the Frade was gone.

  So was the black energy.

  Luis stood there, breathing hard, staring at his own hand as if it belonged to someone else.

  “What… did I just do?” he whispered.

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  The injured agent pushed herself upright, eyes wide as she looked at him—not with fear, but awe.

  “Black… Spectrum?” she breathed.

  Within hours, the incident would be everywhere.

  Reports would flood the Spectrum Defense Agency. Footage would be reviewed frame by frame. Analysts would argue, commanders would debate, and generals would reach a single, unavoidable conclusion.

  Luis Tyrel was too dangerous, and too valuable, to ignore.

  He would be invited to join the SDA under special circumstances.

  No aptitude tests. No waiting period. No months of brutal foundational training.

  A direct entry.

  And when the other recruits found out?

  When they learned that while they bled, broke, and clawed their way forward step by step, someone else had walked in on raw talent alone?

  The resentment would fester.

  Because to them, Luis Tyrel wouldn’t be a prodigy.

  He would be proof that the system wasn’t fair.

  And the story of this world would begin, not with admiration, but with quiet hostility.

  I didn’t bother hiding the quiet snort that escaped me. “I’m just happy the protagonist is actually strong,” I muttered under my breath.

  It wasn’t sarcasm. Not really.

  During my first dive into a ruined world, the so-called protagonist had barely registered in my memory. He existed more as a background concept than an active force, someone the story insisted was important while in reality, barely had any impact. If anything, Giselle had felt like the true central figure, driving events forward, shaping outcomes, leaving visible marks on the world.

  This time was different.

  Luis Tyrel wasn’t just important because the story said so. He was important because the world itself bent around him.

  Black Spectrum energy.

  Just thinking about it made my chest feel a little tight. The fusion of red, yellow, and blue, the apex of the initial Spectrum system. Someone who could naturally generate black energy didn’t just learn the Spectrum; they commanded it. Every primary color, every secondary combination, all of it available to him as if the rules had been written with his name in mind.

  He wasn’t a late bloomer.

  He wasn’t a hidden talent.

  He was overpowered from the very beginning.

  And the world liked him for it.

  “The new guy’s joining today, right?”

  “Yeah. Special admission.”

  “Lucky bastard.”

  “He didn’t even need to take the civil service exam.”

  The complaints floated through the dorm hallway as I passed by, overlapping voices heavy with irritation and envy. I didn’t need to look to know what expressions they were wearing, tight jaws, crossed arms, forced indifference that failed to hide the resentment underneath.

  I slowed my steps, listening.

  “They make us jump through every hoop, and he just walks in?”

  “Black Spectrum, my ass. Bet it was a fluke.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Command already made up their mind.”

  I exhaled softly through my nose.

  Technically speaking… I didn’t have much ground to stand on either.

  I hadn’t taken the civil service exam. I hadn’t spent years applying, waiting, hoping for a slot. When I woke up in this body, everything had already been neatly arranged. My paperwork was complete. My identity was validated. All I had done was sign my name and step into the program.

  If fairness was the metric, I wasn’t exactly innocent.

  Still, there was a difference, one the recruits didn’t know and wouldn’t care about even if they did. I wasn’t here because of talent recognized by the world. I was here because I didn’t belong to it in the first place.

  From the information granted to me upon entering this story world, I already knew how this would go.

  Luis would struggle for a bit. He’d be clumsy, overwhelmed by expectations, unsure of how to properly wield the power he had been handed. But that phase wouldn’t last long. It never did for protagonists like him.

  A few weeks.

  That’s all it would take.

  Even with my head start, recording Yellow Spectrum energy, drilling red energy control day after day, he’d catch up. Then he’d surpass me. Faster growth. Cleaner execution. Bigger leaps.

  The story demanded it.

  “This is surprisingly frustrating,” I grumbled, rubbing a hand over my face.

  It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly.

  It was the uncomfortable realization that effort and planning only went so far in a world that favored narrative gravity. I could optimize my path, collect records, refine my fundamentals, but someone like Luis existed to remind me that some people were simply meant to win.

  With a quiet sigh, I pushed myself up from the bench.

  Today was my day off.

  And I intended to actually take it.

  I wasn’t about to train seven days a week just to prove a point to no one. Rest mattered. Recovery mattered. Growth didn’t happen in a vacuum of exhaustion and obsession.

  Besides… this world had a lot to offer.

  Stepping outside the SDA facilities, I was immediately greeted by a city that felt alive in a way my first dive never had. Neon signs hummed alongside magic-enhanced billboards. News screens played footage of Spectrum-powered athletes, movies teased effects that blended practical stunts with energy constructs, and advertisements promoted everything from Frade-themed games to limited-edition merchandise endorsed by famous agents.

  Modern fantasy.

  That was the best way to describe it.

  There were actors here I didn’t recognize, franchises that had never existed in my original world, stories that branched in entirely new directions. I felt like I’d been dropped into a parallel pop culture timeline, and honestly?

  I loved it.

  I ducked into a small theater, scanned showtimes, and bought a ticket without overthinking it. Later, I wandered through a shopping district, sampled street food that mixed mundane cooking with Spectrum-assisted flair, and let myself exist as just another person in the crowd.

  And the best part?

  By keeping my distance from the protagonist, nothing happened.

  No sudden monster attacks.

  No dramatic coincidences.

  No ominous villains locking eyes with me from across the street.

  The world didn’t bend. The plot didn’t accelerate. Fate didn’t trip over itself to drag me into the spotlight.

  It was peaceful.

  Almost… normal.

  Compared to my experience in the ruined world, where every step felt like walking through a minefield of escalating disasters, this was refreshingly mundane.

  I leaned back against a railing, watching the city lights flicker on as evening approached.

  “Yeah,” I murmured to myself. “I could get used to this.”

  For now, at least, I was content to stay on the sidelines.

  Let the protagonist shine.

  I’d grow quietly, carefully, on my own terms.