CHAPTER 59: I’M NOT A SERIAL KILLER, I SWEAR

He’s baiting me. He knows something is off. The ’late bloomer’ story isn’t holding water.

"Of course," I replied. "Wouldn’t want to burn down VHC headquarters on my first visit. Bad form."

Washington didn’t smile. Instead, he pressed a button on his console. The floor rumbled, and a section of the sterile white floor slid open. A reinforced training dummy—similar to the one I’d been slicing to ribbons in Luka’s home gym—rose from below. This one looked sturdier, though, with metallic plates embedded at key points. Monitoring sensors glinted from its surface.

Washington gestured toward the dummy. "Show me."

I extended my hand toward the dummy, channeling [Ember]. I intentionally made the flame sputter and waver at first, like I was still getting used to it. A good con always shows a bit of weakness to make the mark feel superior.

The flame stabilized into a grapefruit-sized ball of fire that shot forward with a loud FWOOSH and impacted the dummy’s chest. THUMP! A blackened scorch mark bloomed across its torso, smoke curling upward.

Washington didn’t look up from his datapad. His fingers tapped across the screen, recording notes with the enthusiasm of someone logging household expenses.

"Crude. Unfocused. A simple projection of heat." His voice could have frozen the fire I’d just created. "Any D-Rank pyrokinetic can do that. Your file shows... irregularities. Is that all you have?"

The challenge hung in the air between us. Show me something that justifies this private evaluation.

This was the moment of truth. I couldn’t show them [Freezing Breath]—it was still on cooldown, and besides, having two wildly different elemental powers would raise even more red flags. All I had was [Sever], but that was an invisible, silent cutting force. It had nothing to do with fire. If I used it alone, my cover story would fall apart immediately.

I was trapped between a hammer and a hard place, with the hammer being the VHC and the hard place being whatever happened to people who couldn’t explain their anomalous powers.

Slowly, I let a confident smirk spread across my face. I relaxed my shoulders and stood straighter, dropping the nervous teenager act. I met Washington’s gaze directly.

"That was just the heat. The crude part." I rolled my neck, cracking it slightly. "The real art is in the preparation. My Aspect is a two-stage process."

Washington’s expression didn’t change, but his stillness took on a different quality—like a predator that had just spotted something interesting moving in the grass.

I approached the second dummy that had risen silently beside the first. I extended my hand, holding it flat with my fingers pressed together, the edge of my hand facing the dummy.

"First, the cut."

I made a sharp, horizontal chopping motion and activated [Sever]. The air whispered softly as the invisible force sliced across the dummy’s chest. SHING!

A deep, surgically clean cut appeared, splitting the fabric and the material beneath as if a katana had passed through it.

Through the glass, I heard Luka’s sharp intake of breath. Washington’s eyebrow twitched—the first crack in his marble facade.

"Then, the sear."

Without hesitation, I made the exact same motion again. This time, I activated [Ember], modifying it slightly. Instead of a ball, I concentrated the flame into a thin, controlled sheet that erupted from the side of my hand, perfectly tracing the path of the invisible cut. The flame licked across the slice, instantly cauterizing the edges and sending up a puff of acrid smoke.

TSSSSSSSSSS!

The effect was stunning. The deep, clean cut now had edges glowing a faint, superheated orange. Smoke curled elegantly from the wound. It looked less like a simple attack and more like something you’d see in a high-end restaurant where the chef had gone insane and decided the table was an appropriate cutting board.

I lowered my hand and turned to face Washington, letting confidence radiate from me like heat from a furnace.

"I call it Divine Kitchen

."

Washington stared at the dummy, then at me, then back at the dummy. For a split second, I swore I saw something like admiration in those dead eyes.

"Fascinating." He approached the dummy, examining the cut with careful fingers. "The thermal application comes after the incision. A two-phase attack. The precision of the cut itself is remarkable."

"I’ve always been good with knives," I said, then mentally kicked myself. Way to sound like a serial killer, idiot.

"So I see." Washington made a note. "And this cutting phase—explain the mechanism."

This was the tricky part. I needed a plausible explanation for how a fire Aspect could create slicing force.

"Heat compression," I improvised smoothly. "I superconcentrate thermal energy along a microscopic line, creating extreme pressure differentials in the air. It acts like an invisible superheated wire. The actual flame comes after, as I release the remaining energy."

Washington frowned slightly. "That would require extraordinary control."

I shrugged with false modesty. "I practice a lot. Hard to have friends when you’re a delusional Zero. Gives you time to experiment."

He turned back to his console, fingers flying over the keys. The machines surrounding me hummed at a higher pitch.

"Mr. Nakano," Washington said without looking up, "I’d like to scan you again during an active demonstration of this technique."

I nodded, returning to the chair. The scanning arms descended once more, this time glowing with a faint red light instead of blue.

"Whenever you’re ready," Washington said.

I repeated the demonstration, slicing through a smaller target that rose from the arm of the chair. The scanner hummed and clicked, recording data that I prayed wouldn’t expose me.

Washington studied the readings intently. His brow furrowed deeper with each passing second.

"This is... unexpected," he murmured. "The thermal signature is consistent with your explanation, but there’s something else. A secondary energy pattern I can’t quite identify."

My stomach dropped. Had I overplayed my hand?

"Probably the mana conversion," I suggested casually. "Since I manifested late, my channels aren’t as developed as someone who’s been using their Aspect since childhood."

Washington gave me a penetrating look. "Perhaps."

He tapped something into his console, and the door to the evaluation chamber slid open. Coordinator Reed entered, carrying a small case.

"Mr. Nakano," Washington said, "based on your demonstration, I’m provisionally classifying your Aspect as [Thermal Incision]. Registered threat level: C-Rank, with potential for upward revision pending further evaluation."

C-Rank? For that display?

"The designation will be formalized after you complete the entrance examination at New Vein Academy," Washington continued. "Until then, you are required to wear this."

Reed opened the case, revealing a sleek silver bracelet.

"A limiter?" I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"A monitor," Washington corrected. "Standard procedure for late manifestations. It records your Aspect usage and biometric responses. Think of it as... a safety measure."

Think of it as a leash, you mean.

I reluctantly extended my wrist. Reed clasped the bracelet around it. It was surprisingly light and adjusted itself to fit snugly against my skin.

"Is this really necessary?" Luka’s voice boomed through the intercom. He’d been watching silently until now, but his protective instincts had finally kicked in. "My son isn’t some kind of threat."

Washington turned to the observation window. "Mr. Kuzmina, I assure you this is standard protocol. Your son’s Aspect is unusual but not unprecedented. The monitoring is for his protection as much as anything else."

Luka didn’t look convinced, but he nodded reluctantly.

"One last thing," Washington said, turning back to me. "Your Aspect designation is now public record. However, your parentage file remains sealed at the highest level."

"My father is that big a deal, huh?"

Washington’s lips thinned to a bloodless line. "That information is classified."

"But he’s my father."

"Biology isn’t everything, Mr. Nakano." Washington glanced meaningfully at Luka behind the glass. "Some would argue that the father who raises you is the one who matters."

With that, he gathered his datapad and nodded to Reed. "We’re finished here. You’re free to go, Mr. Nakano. Good luck with your entrance examination."