CH661 · Rewrite
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Chapter 661: The Star Cyclone

The cyclone on the man’s forehead made Roland think of Nightingale’s descriptions of magic power—that swirling signature she had tried to put into words. But seeing it now, the analogy fell short. This was something closer to a galaxy: spiral arms revolving around a bright central nexus, the whole of it no larger than a palm and yet packed with depth, with detail, with something that pulsed just beneath the surface of visible things.

“Are you a martial fighter?” The man’s voice came out ragged and scorched, as if his throat had been cured the same way his face had.

“No.” Roland kept his posture easy, his attention total.

“Figured.” The burnt-face man turned his body without moving his head—that same grotesque rigidity—and something that might have been a smile pulled at the ruin of his mouth. “You taste sweeter.”

“If you were a girl,” Roland said, “I might find that flattering. Are you a man who was bitten by magic power—no. Force of Nature?”

“Force of Nature.” The man’s contempt was absolute. “They don’t know where this power comes from. They know nothing of its essence.”

“And you do?”

“I can’t name it. But I can feel it.” The blistered mouth opened further. “It doesn’t belong to this world. It’s a gift from the deities. I expected the hijacker to draw at least one or two martial fighters here—he surrendered too fast. But you came, and that’s fortunate…”

“Crack.”

Roland didn’t let him finish.

He’d learned that lesson young: the moment you hear a dangerous man announce his intentions is precisely when you don’t wait. He punched straight for the forehead—fast, a single committed line—and held back enough that he didn’t drive the blow through the back of the man’s skull. Even restrained, he felt the bones give.

The burnt-face man left the ground.

Something warm surged through Roland’s chest—not heat exactly, more like a current that recognized momentum and rushed to meet it. The man hit the alley wall and slid down. When he staggered upright, Roland was already crossing the distance.

This was his Dream World.

And his opponent, whatever it was, was not human. No person felt their cheekbone collapse without screaming, without instinct breaking them open. The man simply stood and reset, as if pain were a language he’d learned to ignore.

Roland stopped giving him space.

He worked like a man at a bag—no artistry, no combinations, just weight and timing and the knowledge that forward pressure was the only pressure that mattered. The warm current in his blood rose with each blow, not intoxicating him but sharpening him, lending a clarity that felt almost strange in its completeness. The man’s arms came up to guard; Roland broke through them. Muscle tore under his hands. Ribs flexed wrong. He kept going.

“Turn your head 180 degrees,” Roland said between blows. “What were you thinking? This isn’t a horror film.”

He was angry, he realized—genuinely, unreasonably angry that this thing had frightened him in his own dream.

“This… is… impossible…” The man’s voice had deteriorated into something barely articulate. “Why… why can’t I use it…”

Roland noticed the cyclone on the man’s forehead had slowed. Its color had deepened to a kind of dark red, and when he reached out, it met his fingers with something like resistance—not quite solid, but no longer purely light.

“Is this what you mean? This magic cyclone?”

“Don’t—don’t touch it—”

He grabbed it.

The warm current in his body ignited. He pulled, and the cyclone tore free.

The man went quiet all at once and dropped. Not a collapse—a cessation, like a clockwork running down.

In Roland’s palm, the cyclone changed. The dark red bled out and the whole thing brightened—white at the center, blue at the edges, more galaxy than ever. It spun faster for a moment, then left his hand entirely, accelerating upward in a beam that traced a silver line through the dark sky before vanishing.

The warmth inside him settled. A deep, spreading satisfaction that had no name settled in its place.

He looked at the body on the ground for a moment, then turned toward the mouth of the alley.


The apartment building rose above the street in the heavy dark, insects spiraling around the corridor lights in noisy clouds. Roland fumbled for his key.

Before the lock turned, he heard footsteps on the other side—quick and then stopped short, the way someone catches themselves at the last moment.

Zero opened the door with a frown she was working hard to maintain. Behind it, something less composed.

“Where have you been?”

They said it at the same time.

A pause.

“The cram school added classes,” she said. “We have a day off tomorrow.”

“I went looking for you.” Roland rubbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t come back on time.”

The little girl’s brow furrowed. “Looking for me?”

He stepped past her into the apartment. The table held three dishes and a soup, chopsticks still perfectly aligned beside untouched bowls. She had set it all out and then waited. That was why she’d been at the door the second she heard him on the landing.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’m starving.”

Zero settled across from him with the expression of someone who has decided not to make an issue of something but hasn’t quite let it go. “I’m not a child,” she said. “If you were worried I’d been fooled by a stranger—I can take care of myself. Next time, just wait here.”

Roland tried to imagine himself at her age—squandering allowances at the game arcade, chasing beetles in the mountains until dusk forced him home. He looked at the neat table, the three dishes she’d prepared, the chopsticks she hadn’t touched alone.

He was a little embarrassed by the comparison.

“You have a day off tomorrow?”

“Mm.” Still slightly cool, but the tension in her shoulders had eased.

“Come to the library with me. I’ll buy you something on the way.” He gestured vaguely with his chopsticks. “Clothes. A dress or two, shoes, pajamas—you need things that actually fit. And a cell phone. So we can reach each other when something like this happens again.”

Zero looked at him for a moment across the table.

”…What kind of phone?”

The frown was gone.

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