Chapter 59: Dash
Scar remained seated in the quiet stadium for a few minutes, letting his breathing stabilize as he waited for his stamina bar to fully replenish. Once his muscles stopped twitching and the deep ache subsided into a dull throb, he unlaced the Talaria X. He carefully put the advanced footwear back in his inventory, along with the visor, then slipped into his regular shoes, and took off in a steady sprint toward home.
As he ran, Scar felt his tummy grumble. The physical toll of the earlier sprints around the stadium had burned through his energy reserves, leaving a hollow ache in his stomach. To replace the lost calories, he made a detour, stopping at the burger vendor in the park.
"One extra large burger. With extra cheese." He ordered. Then he leaned against the metal counter, waiting for his food.
The man behind the grill—the nice vendor from the other day, glanced up at him. His face brightened with recognition. "Hey, kid. Back again for more, huh?" He chuckled.
Scar exhaled softly. "Yeah. It’s been a very... tedious morning."
"I see. You look distressed," the man noted, his voice a low rumble over the sizzling grease. "What’s the matter?"
Scar hesitated. He wasn’t used to sharing his thoughts, let alone his feelings, with anyone—especially not a stranger. But in this city, a stranger was just a blank wall to bounce ideas off of. And right now, for some strange reason, he felt like talking to someone. Anyone.
So, why not?
"I had a... sort of argument," Scar said slowly. "With a... colleague."
The man hummed, scraping a spatula across the grill. "Was this person just a colleague? Or were they more than that?" he chuckled softly.
Scar scoffed, his guard instantly rising. "Why are you asking that?" he demanded.
"The look on your face," the man said simply. "It suggests that this person was either a really close friend... or perhaps a lover."
"What?! Fuck, no!" Scar refuted immediately, his tone sharp. "She is definitely not my friend, neither is she my... girlfriend. She’s just a colleague. In fact, less than a colleague. Because she threatened, and tried to blackmail me."
The man paused, looking at him thoughtfully. "Oh. Do you know the reason she did so?"
"No," Scar replied coldly. "And I don’t care. All that matters is she tried to kill me, and she’s incredibly manipulative. One moment she’s threatening to stop my heart, the next she’s talking to me as if we’re buddies."
"Why do you think she behaves that way?" the man asked, assembling the burger with practiced ease.
"I don’t know," Scar shrugged. "She’s probably crazy or something."
The man chuckled, a deep, raspy sound. "Probably. Or maybe she’s just going through something no one else knows about." He paused, wrapping the burger in paper. "Did she perhaps lose someone recently?"
Scar froze. This man seemed to be onto something. "Yeah. A friend." He said carefully.
"And how close was she with this friend?" The man asked.
Scar’s rigid posture softened just a fraction The inherited memories of the first Henry flashed through his mind, replaying how close the boy was with Alicia. "They’d been friends since childhood. One could say they were best friends."
The man sighed, leaning his heavy forearms on the counter. "And does this best friend happen to be related to you somehow?"
Scar paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the question. He hesitantly nodded. "Yeah. He... he looked a lot like me."
The man smiled wryly. "So, you see."
Scar frowned, genuinely confused. He couldn’t see the logical throughline. "See what, exactly?"
"I believe this girl is threatening you because she’s either cautious, afraid, or angry at you," the man explained patiently. "And then she suddenly acts nice and friendly because she still thinks you’re the friend that she lost. Or maybe because you remind her of him. So, basically... she doesn’t want to lose you, even though she’s sometimes hostile towards you. She doesn’t want to go through the loss again."
"But I’m not the friend she lost," Scar scoffed. "I’m nothing like him."
"Maybe," the man agreed. "But she knows this too. Yet, she still likes to hang around you. Why do you think this is so?"
"Why?" Scar asked, genuinely curious and fully engaged in the conversation.
The man extended a hand, passing the wrapped burger across the counter. "That is something you have to figure out on your own," he said with a smile. Then he turned his back, returning his attention entirely to the hot grill.
Scar stared at the broad back of the cook for a long moment. Then he asked; "What is your name?"
"You can call me Bruno," the man replied without looking over his shoulder.
Scar stared intently into the side of the man’s face, analyzing his calm demeanor and precise movements. "Who are you, really? he asked, studying the man’s expression and body movements to see if he could detect any form of deceit.
But Bruno simply offered a small, dismissive smile. "I am just a simple frycook." he said, before dismissing Scar completely, entirely focused on scraping down the metal grates.
The conversation was clearly over.
Scar stared at Bruno one last time before walking out of the park. He ate the burger as he walked the rest of the way to the palace. The rich calories immediately began to soothe his gnawing hunger... but his mind was spinning. He thought about Bruno’s psychological assessment, and how Alicia had apologized for blackmailing him in the very end. He truly hadn’t expected her to do that.
Was she really sorry? Did that mean he was actually free now? He didn’t know what to think.
He approached the sprawling estate of the glacier palace, entering through the gates and walking right past the perimeter guards and ignoring their customary greetings. He was too lost in his own head.
Just as he climbed the marble stairs to the main entrance, the heavy oak doors swung open. Emily stepped out.
She was dressed in a sleeveless crop top and fitted sport pants, with heavy fabric binds wrapped tightly from her forearms down to her fingers. Upon seeing him, she stopped, letting out a short, teasing chortle.
"Rough day, huh?" she chuckled.
"I’m not in the mood, Emily," Scar said flatly, attempting to walk past her.
But Emily caught his arm, noticing the heavy, unsettled look in his eyes. "Look," she said, her voice dropping its usual combative edge. "I know we’re not exactly on friendly terms. But can we at least try to get along? I’m not asking us to be best buddies or anything, but we need to be more mature. We have to get past whatever is between us."
Scar stopped dead in his tracks. He looked up at her, utterly shocked. "Are you... proposing a truce? Just a few days ago you were going to shatter my skull."
Emily sighed, her shoulders dropping. "I’m sorry about that. Actually, I’m sorry for everything. I should have tried to understand you better instead of just turning cold towards you." She looked down at her wrapped hands. "I’m sorry for hitting you in the head. That blow could have easily killed you. You trying to kill me in retaliation... it was entirely justified, and I understand. I might have done the same thing if I were in your shoes."
Scar couldn’t believe his ears. His analytical mind raced, hitting a wall. What was happening? Why was she apologizing? Why was everyone suddenly apologizing to him today?
"I don’t even know what to say," Scar muttered.
"You don’t need to say anything," Emily replied quickly. "You just need to accept the truce. You heard what Mum said... if we don’t get along, she’ll kick us both out of the house."
Scar let out a dry chuckle. "Wasn’t she just bluffing?"
Emily’s expression turned dead serious. "You might have forgotten due to your memory loss, but... Mum never bluffs. If she says she’s going to do something, she will do it. And nothing, and no one can stop her from doing it."
Scar didn’t know why, but a sudden, icy chill ran down his spine. The certainty in Emily’s voice was unnerving.
"Alright," he said slowly. "We have a truce, then."
"Good." Emily gave a curt nod and started walking past him down the stairs. She paused, looking back over her shoulder. "But don’t think this means I’m going to start acting all nice to you. I’m still going to give you a hard time."
Scar finally cracked a genuine, cynical smirk. "I wouldn’t expect anything less, sis." he snickered.
Scar entered the massive house, navigating the silent halls until he reached his room. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, his smirk vanished. His expression hardened into a deep, calculating frown.
"What the fuck is happening?" he whispered into the empty room.
First Alicia. Now Emily. Why was everyone acting so strangely today? So emotional. Apologetic. Remorseful. It defied logic. It felt artificial, almost as if they had been instructed or programmed to suddenly get along with him.
Or was he just overthinking? Was his paranoia making him overreact to genuine human sincerity?
He couldn’t trust what he was experiencing. He couldn’t trust them.
But he decided to shelve the variables for the time being. Right now, he needed to focus on quantifiable data. He opened his system interface, bringing up the glowing blue panel to inspect the new skill he had unlocked during his near-death sprint.
[Active Skill Acquired: Dash
*Description:
This skill compresses an explosive burst of movement into a single instant, launching the host up to 20 meters in a straight line at a speed of 200% of their current maximum velocity.
*Cost: 50 EP per activation.
*Cooldown: 120 Seconds.
*Current Limitations:
Maximum range of 20 meters.
Must travel in a straight line.
Cannot change direction once activated.
Cannot stop midway.
Consumes both EP and stamina, since your body still absorbs the immense acceleration.
Begins its 2-minute cooldown immediately after use.
*Warning: Consecutive uses without proper cooldown and rest will result in severe muscular tearing and micro-fractures in the tibia and fibula]
Scar studied the prompt below the skill. It was a massive tactical advantage for close-quarters combat, but the Ep cost was a bit steep.
Closing the screen, he sat on the edge of his bed. His thoughts drifted back to the track. He remembered telling Alicia he wanted to reach his absolute limit. He remembered her screaming through the comms. And then... he felt nothing.
He completely lost all his senses, and it had been incredibly strange. It was a terrifyingly lucid feeling. He was conscious, suspended in the dark, but entirely locked out of his motor functions. It felt eerily similar to the sensation of handing the reins over to Henry, but this time, it was as though he had been forced out.
But by who?
Henry was still securely caged in the sub-mind; Scar had confirmed that the second he woke up. So what, or who, was piloting his body after he blacked out? Was it a hidden system defense mechanism? Raw muscle memory? Or some bizarre scientific theory of nervous system autonomy?
He laid back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. He thought back to waking up in the stadium. He remembered the raw terror on Alicia’s face. He remembered the sheer biological failure he had been experiencing—his lungs stalling, his heart vibrating so fast it was on the verge of detonating. He should have died on that track.
He didn’t know exactly how she did it, but she saved him.
From a purely logical standpoint, he owed her his life. And perhaps, just perhaps, he should have shown her a little gratitude.
With that final, confusing thought tangling with his exhaustion, Scar’s eyes fluttered shut, and he fell into a deep slumber.