Chapter 4: The Interrogation

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3

At the Ability Association headquarters:

The place was a converted courthouse—columns chipped, city crest still faded above the doors. It smelled faintly of bleach and burnt coffee. Security cameras whirred as I stepped inside.

Ripples shimmered in the air as I appeared beneath the building.

My power always made entrances dramatic—like heat haze rippling off asphalt on a summer road. Old habit.

Inside, they were already discussing last night’s incident.

The conference room was packed, cheap folding chairs and laptops open to city feeds. Everyone looked tense, faces washed out by fluorescent lighting.

All blame pointed in one direction.

I could feel it before I heard it: every head turned as I entered, some with thinly veiled glee, others with open suspicion.

"With Marcus’s strength, he shouldn’t make such a basic mistake."

A grizzled woman in a weathered sheriff’s jacket muttered to her neighbor. The words hung in the air like smoke.

"From what I know, only ten low-level demons got in last night. Even if Marcus’s ability was lacking, he couldn’t possibly have failed to handle ten low-level demons. Maybe, after so much exposure to demons, he’s become compromised..."

A younger man—one of the new tech analysts, glasses fogged up—added, voice pitched just loud enough to be heard. I could practically see the conspiracy theories forming behind his eyes.

"You can’t say things like that without evidence. No matter what, Marcus has made great contributions to humanity."

Someone tried to defend me—an older woman, probably one of the last from the pre-apocalypse council. Her voice was shaky, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

"How about this: when Marcus arrives, have him publicly apologize, and then submit a written report to the Association. Then we’ll let this matter go."

An aide tapped at her iPad, nodding as if this was a reasonable solution. My chest tightened. I’d risked my life for years, and now they wanted a written apology.

"..."

The room went quiet, tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

My hearing is extraordinary.

I picked up every whisper, every rustle of nervous hands, even the distant hum of a vending machine coughing out a soda.

I heard everything clearly.

At the same time, a question nagged at me:

Why did someone say there were only ten demons?

My mind ran through the battle—there were far more than ten. Was someone hiding the truth, or had surveillance been tampered with? I tucked the thought away for later.

Just as I was about to enter, dozens of armed defense team members rushed out.

Their boots thundered against the floor, guns at the ready. Most looked barely old enough to drink. One or two I’d seen at training drills, shooting nervous glances at me like I was a celebrity fallen from grace.

"Stop!"

A heavyset guard raised his palm, blocking my path. His badge glinted under the flickering lights.

"This is the Ability Association and Defense Team Headquarters. No unauthorized entry!"

They surrounded me, sizing me up.

The leader was Derek.

He stood a little taller, jaw set in a way that said he’d been practicing this speech for days.

When he saw me, he forced a smile. "Marcus, you finally showed up."

His smile was all teeth, no warmth—like a salesman trying to sell me my own house.

"He’s Marcus?"

Everyone was stunned.

I rarely appeared in public, and most people only knew my name.

Rumors had swirled for years about the city’s mysterious guardian. Some expected me to be taller, or older, or maybe even dead.

One team member sneered, "SSS-level ability user? What’s so great about that? Captain, aren’t you also SSS-level now?"

He wore a hoodie over his uniform, a cocky smirk on his face—typical of the new generation, always ready to challenge the old guard.

I couldn’t help but glance at Derek in surprise.

He’d kept his last promotion quiet. I wondered if that was intentional—or if he’d been waiting for this exact moment to show me up.

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4

A look of pride crossed Derek’s face. "That’s right. Besides me, there are two others in the Ability Association who have reached SSS-level. From now on, we don’t have to defer to anyone."

He said it loud, for everyone to hear, as if the room were a stage and I was yesterday’s headliner. The crowd murmured, hungry for drama.

For some reason,

I felt these words were directed at me.

Underneath the confidence, I saw the old insecurity. Derek wanted everyone to know he was in charge now—or thought he was.

Now that my identity was confirmed, I was about to go inside, but Derek deliberately blocked my way.

He squared his shoulders, holding up a hand in a gesture that said, Not so fast.

"Marcus, you haven’t been back in a while. Don’t you know the new rules?"

"Anyone entering headquarters must surrender their weapons."

He pointed at my sword, voice cool but eyes flickering with challenge. He wanted to see if I’d make a scene.

"Hand over your sword."

A few bystanders looked confused.

One of the junior officers exchanged glances with another, their eyebrows raised. This was news to them too.

Someone whispered,

"When did this rule start?"

The young man beside her shrugged, mouthing, "Beats me."

"I just came in for some business earlier and they didn’t take my weapon."

Another defense team member shifted uncomfortably, finger tracing the hilt of his own sidearm.

Derek immediately barked, "Irrelevant personnel, get lost! Or I’ll have you all escorted out!"

His words cut through the chatter. The tension spiked, and people scattered, not wanting to draw his attention.

The onlookers hurried away, dejected.

A few shot apologetic looks my way, but most just kept their heads down. Nobody wanted to get caught in the crossfire between giants.

Derek turned back to me. "Sorry, just made this rule. Didn’t expect you to run into it. You’re not going to be the first to disobey an order, are you?"

He said it with a thin smile, daring me to push back.

"How could I?"

I smiled calmly and handed over my sword.

The blade felt heavier than usual as I placed it in Derek’s outstretched hands. For a second, the room was silent. I could feel every eye on me, waiting to see if I’d snap.

True strength lies within me, not in any weapon.

Years of battle had taught me that. Steel is just steel. What mattered was the will behind it.

These petty tricks, meant to assert superiority, only seemed childish to me.

Derek looked almost disappointed as he took my sword. I could see the hunger in his eyes—he wanted a fight. I wouldn’t give it to him.

After surrendering my weapon,

Derek finally motioned for me to proceed.

We entered headquarters together.

The door hissed open, and I stepped inside, feeling every eye in the lobby burning holes in my back.