The death of the first seat quickly became the biggest event and died within two years. New heroes entered the industry. People found their new favorite. Strikelet, as a public figure, just faded away. Loter Spawman was one of the few who still liked them, yet he was not in the mood right now.

Slapping the switch, Loter turned on the light as he shuffled into his bedroom. His wet socks stepped on a rounded "carpet" before the door. It was not an actual carpet but a jigsaw puzzle of a clock. Water seeped out of the squeezed soles of his socks and stayed on the hydrophobic "carpet."

As Loter moved further in, drops of water dribbled down and damped the edge of his blue bed. His laptop lay quietly on the desk under the poster of Strikelet.

He tossed his wet, yellow backpack on his rolling chair and stood beside. His shoulder-long black hair became an overly effective curtain after soaking in the rain. The green T-shirt and black khakis were also dripping like he had brought a sliver of rain home.

Neglecting it, Loter pushed his hair up his forehead and inspected closely at the window. Yet, the rain had washed the reflection faint.

So, he flipped up his laptop instead. He could see himself forcing his mouth to curl, yet he was still sad. It was not the kind of sadness that would make a hard-boiled cry like a boy but the kind that could not be taken out of one's mind.

It's not a bad thing. I should not be sad. I just have to move on.

He squeezed a bigger smile and gave up on the practice.

Lying against his chair, Loter naturally turned to his poster. In the poster, Strikelet had their fists placed on their waist and facing directly at the front. The pose used to be cool. Now, it looked bottom-line judgmental. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

It is alright. It is nothing big. It is better to be dumped than lied to.

As Loter brainwashed himself into forgiveness, his phone rang in his pocket. Picking up, he heard his girlfriend's voice piercing through, "Stop overreacting, Loter! I, I, I know it is hard for you to comprehend this.

"But, but the truth is, I never knew true love before I met Kyle. I know you don't deserve this. I understand. I just wish you well." Suddenly, she gave him a snort of laughter, meant to cheer him up. "Just be happy, okay? The class needs its class clown."

Loter instantly opened his mouth and hesitated about what to say. He was sad and felt wronged. Yet, he was no longer comfortable sharing those feelings with her anymore. He could lie about his feelings. Loter was just never a lying type.

Due to silence, due to guilt, or due to impatience, she hung up the phone.

Following the phone's beeping, a tiny whimpering leaked from Loter's throat. He hugged his knees and put his heels on the chair.

A hot shower was what he needed now. However, he was too tired for it. Thus, Loter Spawman just sat there, slowly falling asleep.

The next morning was a strange one. His mother woke him up an hour later than usual—"It's eight already. Wake up, you'll be late. Quick! Quick!"

Thus, Loter, still wearing the same wet clothes, was forced out of the house without a bite of breakfast.

When he finally came to his full sobriety, he realized he would never make it if he stuck with the casual route. Despite the inconvenience, the problem was somewhat convenient for him to forget last night temporarily.

How do I not be late? Can I call a taxi? I don't have my wallet with me. I think I left it in my room.

Pondering, Loter tilted his head down while holding his chin.

I might need to look at the surroundings.

He looked up at the street and immediately spotted an alley several steps away.

Shortcut! I'm a genius!

Mildly exulting in his sharp mind, Loter scurried toward the alley and peeked inside.

The filthy path between the two apartments was quite narrow and not so long. Around the entry of the alley was a blackened, green dumpster beside the dirty concrete wall of the apartment on the left. Further inside, a man with a white ball cap leaned against the grimy brick wall on the right. He eyed Loter Spawman with no facial expression other than a creepy seriousness.

Fuck the White-hat gang. Why do they have to show up when I'm most urgent? I need to get through this alley and a few more to arrive on time. I can't waste time here.

"Sorry, sir. I just need to get through this alley. He was not going to bother you. Just chill," Loter slowly approached the capped man and held both his open palms next to his head. Drops of sweat went down his smooth, beige skin, mixing with the dampness on his green T-shirt. The man did not respond.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Is this guy autistic? Are all the White-hats autistic?

Loter pressed his body onto the concrete wall as he got close enough to the gangster that he had to round him.

"I am really late for my class right now. There won't be next time. I sincerely promise," Loter kept talking while maintaining eye contact with the capped gangster. His steps slowed the closer he got.

When Loter was finally in the very front of the gangster, when both men had their backs perfectly against the wall, the gangster attacked. He threw a professional hook punch into Loter's cheek.

To no one's surprise, Loter dropped to the ground immediately.

Groaning, Loter tried to get up, yet the gangster stepped on his back and pressed him down immediately. Mud stained his untanned face and messy hair. A dab even got into his left eye. Loter's mind stopped processing the moment he was down. The pain in his cheek and eye was burning, and the force on his back made it hard to breathe. "I'm aching?" was his only thought.

Despite Loter's thorough defeat, the man did not intend to stop. He crouched, grabbed, and pulled Loter up by his hair.

"Ou, ou, ouch!" Loter groaned as his body elevated.

Then, the White-hat slapped him in the face, shutting him up. The White hat released his grip, and Loter fell to the ground again.

"Argh," he groaned.

What the fuck?

The gangster deftly sat him and began incessantly throwing fists from the top down. Meanwhile, not a single expression or any sign of effort was exhibited.

Desperately, Loter raised his arms before his face. Still, punches went through the gaps and pushed his defense open without changing pace. It was a torment. Every hit was as heavy as the one before and after. Every blow was as quick as every other. The pace was unaffected by Loter's attempt to shift his head. Neither was the accuracy.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh," Loter Spawman whimpered as his tears came out, joining his nasal blood in the painting of the gangster's knuckles.

"Why? Why?" Words followed the low cry out of his throat.

Finally, the gangster talked. He said, "Because you are a loser. Because I fucking want to. Because you came here. Because I see you." Still, not a strand of emotion was presented. Not even profanity could make a difference in the capped man's tone.

Beavers did not question why lightning landed on their dam. Squirrels did not question why wildfire devoured their home.

Loter Spawman was neither of them. He had enough of "it just happened, accept it."

Fuck, fuck. Fuck, no! I don't deserve this. I did nothing wrong to experience this. I never agreed to this. No!

The whimpering turned into a deep, angry utterance. The offense did not stop, nor did it stop the uttering. The capped man just kept punching and battering like a machine until the rage exploded.

Power Activation: [unknown]

Loter kicked upward, drawing a crescent with his right foot. Its tip pierced into the back of the gangster's head. Half of the white hat was pressed through the cracked skull into the man's brain. Blood gushed down the gangster's gray shirt and Loter's black khaki. His right sneaker was painted red.

Loter's foot dropped back to the ground, and the corpse fell sideways. For a short period, Loter Spawman could only hear his heavy panting.

He blankly stared at the sky through his dark curtain of hair. He had a hard time understanding what he had done, although half of his trousers and green T-shirt were already dyed red. The smell of fresh death was more than evident. His nose twitched in the presence of the triggering odor of mixing blood and filth.

Wow, how did I pull that off?

"Why are you sniffing, kid?" An old man's awkward, joking voice came from the other side of the alley. Loter Spawman bolted upright from the floor, gaping and forgetting to breathe.

The man was a dark-skinned elder. Yet, his clothing was not old-fashioned. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket with an ivory bracelet. The muscles in his arms could still compete with those twenty-ish bodybuilders. He strolled toward Loter, not giving any attention to the corpse aside.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. I am too young to go to jail.

Loter placed a hand against the wall, attempting to stand up.

His feet slipped on the mud, and his hand slid off the wall. He slumped with his butt smashing on the ground.

"Don't worry, kid. I'm not trying to harm you. I saw what happened. I am here to help you," the old man said as he reached out his right hand toward Loter.

Still quivering from his racing heart, Loter weakly held onto his hand.

"You know who I am, right?" the old man asked, pulling Loter back on his feet. Loter blinked his eyes, sweeping his stupefaction.

Leather jacket, black skin, ivory bracelet, and chains fastened on the jacket—This man is Rolling of Seas! The previous second seat of the HueCam League! Oh, fuck, he is talking to me!

"M, M, Mr. Ros! You are Rolling of Seas, the previous—"

"Alright, alright," R.O.S. interjected, putting a palm up, "now, what you just did." He pointed at the corpse and immediately put his hands down. "You know what? Let's not look at that. The point is, you have superpower now."

Being attacked by a gangster, killing him, meeting R.O.S., superpower. This is—

"Hello? Are you listening?" The hero waved before Loter's eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just, uh, a lot has happened."

R.O.S. nodded. "I can understand that, so why don't you go home and have some rest?"

"But I have—"

"You have a superpower. You can kick through bones. You shouldn't be running around in normal schools, anyway." R.O.S. patted Loter on the shoulder as Loter realized what he was implying.

Am I transferring to HueCam Academy? He said I can't go to normal schools, so it has to be, right? Certainly, he is not saying I don't deserve an education for having superpower. HueCam Academy is the only sensible outcome.

"So, will I go to HueCam Academy?" Loter asked with sparks in his eyes. Any care for the dead, nameless gangster was gone for him. HueCam Academy, the best superpower academy in the HueCam State, was just too big of a lure for his attention.

"What? Why are you—" R.O.S. palmed his wrinkled face as he paused himself and said, "You just killed a guy, and that's what you care about the most?"

Yeah, he has a point. It's just, it's just…

"Sorry," Loter apologized, looking aside.

"You know what? Just come with me. We need to examine your power first." The old, dark-skinned hero sighed in annoyance.

Loter pointed at his half-red khaki as R.O.S. walked to the other side of the alley. "Well, my pants—"

"I drove here."