Max woke up with a dull ache pressing against his chest. He didn't move right away. He just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind already spiraling with everything that was waiting for him.
The blanket was twisted around his legs, too warm, too heavy, like it was trying to keep him from facing the day. And honestly? He didn't want to face it.
Because today wasn't just any day.
It was the weekend.
And every weekend came with problems, specifically, one big, unavoidable problem.
Max sighed, peeled the quilt off, and sat up slowly. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and tapped the screen. The date glowed back at him in cold white numbers.
"Yeah. It's real," he muttered. "Weekend again."
That meant it was time to deal with him.
Max unlocked his phone and flicked through his messages, his stomach tightening with every scroll. He knew the text would be there. It always was.
And there it was, bold and blunt as ever:
[The Rejected Corps will be picking you up at midday. Same spot as last time. Be ready.]
Max stared at the message for a long moment. He didn't reply. What was there to say?
He tossed the phone on his bed and rubbed his face with both hands. His brain was already racing.
How do I get Aron off my back? Do I lie? Tell him something vague? Tell him nothing?
Max had run through every possible scenario. None of them ended well. If he told Aron the truth, Aron would do what he always did, barge into the situation without thinking, fists up and mouth running.
Especially if someone like Rain from the Rejected Corps so much as looked at Max sideways. Aron wouldn't ask questions. He'd swing.
And that was the problem. Aron wasn't just stubborn, he was dangerous because he cared. He wasn't reliable in the way Max needed him to be right now.
Even if I tried to explain why he couldn't come… even if I made him promise… he'd worry. He'd act on his own. He'd follow me anyway. And eventually, he'd get caught up in something way too big for him.
Because this wasn't just about Max anymore.
This whole operation, this whole mess, was still connected to the Stern family, and that made everything ten times more complicated.
It wasn't just a street gang problem. It was political. Corporate. Underground.
So yeah, telling Aron the truth? That was off the table.
I need to come up with a reason, something that sounds real, something that actually helps him too. If he thinks it benefits both of us, he won't argue. Or at least… not as much.
Max leaned back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He could already hear the imaginary conversation.
Aron: "Why can't I come?"
Max: "It's complicated."
Aron: "You always say that."
Max: "Because it is."
There was a reason everyone joked about Aron being the "Stalker of Max's phone." If Max didn't reply within five minutes, Aron was already on the way to his house. They only had two full days together every week, and Aron treated those days like sacred rituals.
But Max hadn't spent the whole night pacing for nothing.
He had a plan.
"If I tell him I need time to get stronger," Max whispered, "if I frame it like it's about protecting both of us… maybe he'll let me go."
It wasn't even a lie.
Max had been thinking about strength more and more lately. Ever since his conversation with Stephen, it had taken root in his mind.
He'd been training. Pushing himself. He figured, maybe in six months, he could get his body back to where it used to be. Maybe even better.
But the truth was, that wasn't enough.
Six months of training wouldn't make him strong enough to face the White Tiger again. Not now. Not after everything that had changed.
It wouldn't make him strong enough to survive in a world with monsters like Dud and Na walking around. These weren't just fighters. They were war machines with fists.
Max needed to go beyond what he used to be.
He needed to evolve.
Luckily, Max had something no one else did: information.
The kind of information most people never saw. Most people lived in the safe zones, the surface world. But beneath it, there were layers.
The Underworld called it the Triangle of Peace.
Three forces holding the world in check, constantly shifting, but never fully tipping.
The first point of the triangle? Syndicates. Global gangs with enough muscle and connections to sway political decisions and rewrite rules in the shadows.
The second? Corporate empires. Business giants like the Stern family, whose influence seeped into every corner of modern life, from the phones people used to the laws that passed without question. They pulled strings behind curtains no one even noticed.
Sometimes the two sides crossed paths. Deals were made. Wars were started. But there was still a clear line.
Then came the third corner of the triangle, the one no one liked to talk about.
Super Humans.
They didn't wear costumes. They didn't shoot lasers or fly through the sky. But they were just as terrifying.
These were assassins who could wipe out entire organizations without leaving a trace.
Soldiers trained in secret units, masters of combat and stealth.
Martial artists who had vanished from public life, only to reemerge with power that defied logic.
They weren't bound to any one side. They could be hired, sure, but only if they allowed it. Sometimes they acted alone. Sometimes they stepped in just to maintain the balance.
Each corner of the triangle respected them. Feared them.
And then, beyond the triangle, there was a rumor.
A group. An organization with no name, no face. No one knew who ran it. No one even knew how to find it.
But everyone knew about the invitations.
If you got one, you were being watched. Considered. You were powerful enough to matter.
In his past life, as the head of the White Tiger, Max had only just received that invitation.
And then he'd died.
So now? In this second chance? He knew what had to happen.
If I want to take down the White Tiger... If I want to protect Aron... if I want to rewrite how all of this ends,
"Then I need to become a Super Human myself," Max whispered.