Left in Rage

Akira walked through the dimly lit streets, his mind spiraling with countless thoughts. The encounter with the Vice President still lingered in his head.

His thoughts swirled, colliding against each other.

"TERRA. The Vice President. Laws that don't mean shit. Rules meant to keep the weak in check while the strong walk free."

He clenched his fists, his breath steady but his chest heavy.

"They even wanted to contain me when i didn't do anything wrong"

His lips curled in irritation.

"Doesn't matter. They wouldn't have been able to if they did it would just be one more enemy at my list."

A sharp exhale left his nose. The truth of it all clawed at his mind.

"Power. That's all that decides right from wrong now. The ones in charge bend the rules when it suits them. And those without power?"

His fingers twitched.

"They're just casualties like i was once."

Then—

A flicker of movement. A burst of color.

A massive screen on the side of a skyscraper lit up, broadcasting a live event.

And there—

She was.

Eri.

The crowd in front of the screen cheered as a beautiful woman stood at a podium.

She wore an elegant white dress, her expression calm, refined—like a queen addressing her subjects.

Behind her, a tittle glowed across the screen:

"ERI KASHIRO: THE NEW CEO OF HNDWT"

"HOPE NEVER DIES WITH TECHNOLOGY"

Akira stopped walking.

Dead still.

His mind froze.

His breath? Gone.

His eyes, unblinking, locked onto the screen.

And then—her voice.

"I am honored to take up the mantle of leadership at HNDWT."

The crowd erupted into applause.

"This company, this legacy, was built by my late master, the renowned inventor Shiro Shoto. His genius paved the way for a safer future. And after his passing—after his son, Akira Shoto, was tragically lost too—"

A pause.

A smile.

"I have sworn to uphold their dreams."

A short breath left Akira's mouth.

"What?"

Eri's voice continued, silk-smooth and full of fake sorrow.

"I want to personally thank his son Akira for everything."

A gloved hand gently touched her heart.

"Because of him, because of his selflessness—I stand here today. To carry his will. To ensure that both his soul and his father's… may rest in peace."

The city clapped. The broadcast panned across the audience—elites, journalists, people eating up her words like sheep.

From the other side of the city, another figure watched.

Grido.

The moment he saw the broadcast in his apartment, his brows furrowed.

His grip on his glass tightened.

"Dead…?"

His sharp eyes narrowed.

"But he's still kicking harder than anyone in our guild."

"I knew something was off. Why was he declared dead when he's still alive and hasn't shown himself? What's really going on here?"

A short hum.

Meanwhile Akira's body shook.

Not in sadness. Not in shock but in pure, undiluted rage.

"Eri… Eri… Eri…"

He muttered her name under his breath, his vision darkening at the edges.

His heart pounded.

His nails dug deeper into his skin.

"I want to kill her."

His teeth clenched so hard it hurt.

"I want to rip her apart."

"I should go with my current level for now. If I use Soul Infusion on top of my current stats and push myself a bit, I'll be able to handle and kill an A-Rank like her."

His breath quickened.

"I should do it now. Right now. Not waste a single minute."

His aura trembled, whispering at the edges of control.

His fury. His bloodlust. His rage.

Then—

A hand.

Warm. Steady.

It reached out and grabbed Akira's wrist, snapping him back to reality.

His breath hitched. His mind, a storm of rage and bloodlust, suddenly froze.

"Akira."

A voice—firm yet smooth, unwavering.

He turned.

Sylara.

Her violet eyes locked onto his, piercing through the suffocating storm within him. They weren't filled with fear, nor concern—just a quiet authority, a presence that commanded attention.

"Calm down."

She spoke softly, but it wasn't a request.

Akira's pupils had not turned like usual from dark to white color but they had vanished, leaving behind a pure white void in his gaze—something Sylara had never seen before. It wasn't just anger. It was something darker.

She was breathtaking in the dim city lights—a striking figure draped in a violet dress, a white jacket with leather accents on the shoulders, adding an edge to her elegance. She looked like she belonged in a grand ballroom, yet here she was, standing in front of a walking catastrophe.

"Let go."

His voice was low, strained.

She didn't. Instead, she tightened her grip, her fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist.

"Don't do something you'll regret."

His aura flared.

A cold, white energy flickered around his body, sending waves of pressure crashing into the surroundings. The people on the street had already begun stepping back, whispering, pointing. Fear spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"I said… LET GO."

His voice dripped with raw venom, but Sylara didn't flinch. Instead, she sighed—an exhale of mild annoyance rather than fear.

"Tsk. You really don't listen, do you?"

"Look around."

Her voice was softer now.

Akira's gaze flickered past her, beyond the boiling rage that still simmered within him.

The streets.

The people.

Their fear.

Their innocence.

Their powerlessness.

It crashed into him like a sledgehammer to the chest.

His mind, once lost in the red haze, now twisted with another memory—one that had been buried deep.

The homeless man.

The one drenched in arcane mana.

The one who had killed thousands to protect him—to hide the truth of what his actions did.

The weight of that sacrifice, the lives lost in its wake, bore down on him all over again.

His fingers trembled.

His nails, once digging into his own palms, now relaxed.

He exhaled, the white glow in his eyes fading.

"…Sorry."

His voice was low.

Soft.

A whisper of a man who had nearly lost himself again.

Sylara studied him for a moment, then smirked, releasing her grip.

"Geez."

She flicked her hair back, shaking her head.

"You completely ruined my night, you know?"

Akira blinked, still regaining control of himself.

"…What?"

She crossed her arms, giving him an exasperated look.

"I was planning to have some fun tonight. Drinks. A nice meal. Maybe some trouble. But nooo, you just had to lose your mind in the middle of the street."

Her violet eyes narrowed playfully.

"You owe me."

He scoffed, his rage still there—but now, it was quieter. Controlled.

"You expect me to care?"

She smirked.

"Not really. But you're still coming with me."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Where?"

She grabbed his hand again—not to restrain, but to lead.

"To talk."

"Talk?"

"Yeah. You killed my mood. So now, you're gonna make up for it."

And with that, Sylara pulled him forward, weaving through the streets.