CHAPTER 46: CHAPTER 46- WHO IS THIS GUY?

The cold wood of the spoon pressed lightly against Kaidren’s lips as he stepped further into the train. His half-melted ice cream rested in his hand, the caramel drips clinging lazily to the rim of the bowl. The sweetness still lingered faintly on his tongue, though he ate it without expression, as if he were consuming something ordinary and not a luxury most would savor. His plain, unblinking eyes looked straight ahead, fixed on the corridor that stretched before him.

The train’s interior was not what he had expected. Instead of simple rows of seats, the first floor opened into a long hallway lined with doors. Each door gleamed white beneath the ceiling lights, the silver trimmings catching and reflecting the soft glow. The air smelled faintly of polish, like clean metal and freshly vacuumed carpet. Thin rectangular lamps embedded into the ceiling spilled out a steady glow, soft enough to be gentle on the eyes, yet sharp enough to chase away shadows.

Beneath his shoes, the dark blue carpet cushioned his steps and swallowed sound. The faint shuffling of other passengers’ luggage broke the quiet, wheels dragging faintly, zippers jingling with every bump. Kaidren moved slowly, his posture relaxed, almost casual, the wooden spoon shifting in his mouth as he nibbled the last crunchy fragment of cookie topping.

In his head, he repeated the number with the same calm rhythm as his breathing.

PT1. 2F. R87.

His lips did not move as he mouthed it inwardly, his mind never letting the numbers stray far.

Along the corridor, other passengers were scattered in varying stages of boarding. A couple opened their door, speaking quietly to one another as the woman adjusted the strap of her handbag. A family tugged two young children inside, the kids bouncing with excitement while their father carried a heavy suitcase. Further down, two young men, their laughter loud and carefree, slipped into their room. One of them wore silver earrings that flashed briefly under the corridor lights.

Kaidren’s eyes passed over them all without slowing, without judgment, only acknowledgment.

Near the end of the hall, a woman in a black dress spoke politely with a train attendant. The attendant wore the same blue tuxedo as the man who had checked his ticket earlier, though this one was clearly younger. His hair was slicked neatly back, his smile rehearsed, his tone softened to customer-service perfection. Behind them, another attendant strolled quietly down the corridor, his hands behind his back, nodding to a couple of passengers who stopped him with a question. Kaidren barely registered their words—the faint hum of voices melted together into background noise, unimportant.

On his left, the corridor opened into a space wider than the rest. A steel spiral staircase rose gracefully upward, its white railing curving like a ribbon. The metal steps caught the soft ceiling light and gleamed faintly, the faint ring of footsteps echoing as passengers climbed with their luggage in hand. Some ascended slowly, struggling with their bags, others with brisk certainty as if familiar with such travel.

An attendant stood nearby, his uniform crisp, his gloved hand raised now and then to point the way. His stance was patient, his presence quiet but authoritative. Kaidren glanced once at the stairs, licked the melting side of his ice cream, and without hesitation turned his steps toward the spiral.

The climb was steady, his free hand brushing against the white railing as his footfalls joined the dull chorus of others. The faint taste of cream and caramel lingered, sliding down his throat, cooling the warmth of his breath.

When he stepped onto the second floor, the sight before him mirrored the first—another long corridor, another row of pristine white doors, each with a silver number plate above the handle. The carpet was the same deep blue, swallowing sound, and the ceiling lights glowed evenly along the hall.

The murmur of conversations hung in the air, passengers speaking in hushed tones, some attendants moving gracefully between rooms carrying trays or folded papers. The steady hum of the train’s engine pulsed faintly beneath it all, a low vibration that seemed to breathe through the walls.

Kaidren’s pace did not falter. Again, he repeated silently in his mind:

R87.

The numbers aligned neatly as his eyes flicked briefly over each silver plate, his stride slow but consistent. R79. R81. R83. Each one fell into place, markers along his plain and steady path.

Finally, he stopped before the one he sought.

R87.

The door was identical to the others: white, sleek, with a polished silver handle. Beside it, a narrow scanner blinked faintly with a waiting light. Kaidren stood still for a moment, gazing at it with his usual unreadable face.

His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving the small paper receipt he had been given earlier. Without hesitation, he slid the edge of the paper against the scanner. A soft electronic beep answered, followed by the muted click of the lock. The light turned green.

He did not pause to acknowledge his success. Without a trace of surprise, he folded the receipt again and tucked it back into his pocket. His hand closed around the silver handle, pulling it smoothly to the side, and the door slid open with ease.

Inside, the room carried the atmosphere of quiet comfort.

It was shaped almost like a modern diner booth, but refined. At the far side stretched a rectangular window, its glass offering a clean view of the platform outside. The faint movements of staff and passengers beyond the glass passed like a distant play, framed neatly by the border of the train wall.

A white table stood in the center of the room, polished to a near mirror shine. On either side of it sat two cushioned chairs, upholstered in blue and white fabric, their seats firm but inviting. The walls were painted in a soft cream tone, calm and warm, their corners lined with slender strip lights that glowed faintly, adding a subtle depth to the atmosphere.

The floor was wooden, smooth and varnished, the shine catching faintly against the low light. For a room inside a train, it was wide, spacious enough to carry an ease that defied the narrow structure of the corridors outside. It was not extravagant, but it was comfortable—designed to quiet the nerves of travel.

Kaidren stepped forward, his presence steady. Without a glance at the details, he placed the half-finished ice cream on the table, the wooden spoon still jutting upward. Its caramel had started to cling stubbornly to the bowl’s rim.

He pulled out the chair on his left with the same calm slowness as everything else, the legs scraping faintly against the wooden floor. Lowering himself, he leaned back into the cushion, the fabric pressing lightly against his shoulders.

His eyes turned toward the window. Beyond the glass, the outside world moved at its own pace. Attendants checked bags. Families waved at each other. The platform stretched wide and cold beneath the fading lights.

Kaidren’s expression did not change. The spoon still rested in his mouth, caught loosely between his teeth.

He simply stared, quietly, blankly, his gaze following the passing figures outside.

________________________

A while later, Kaidren’s nearly-empty paper cup now rested loosely in his hand, the wooden spoon sticking out at an odd slant. Finally, after one last absent scrape, the spoon clicked softly against the hollow bottom— now empty.

Without a sigh, without the smallest change in expression, Kaidren tilted the cup and regarded it in silence. Then, almost lazily, he let a fraction of his esper energy stir within him.

Super Strength.

The ability rippled through his body without sound, invisible, perfectly contained. No purple glow leaked from his skin. No air trembled around his hands. With a hundred percent mastery over it, Kaidren didn’t need to worry about exposing himself in this quiet space. Control—that was what mattered.

His fingers curled around the flimsy paper cup, the wooden spoon still lodged upright. Inch by inch, his grip closed in. The crumpling was immediate—sharp, brittle, yet carefully muted, the way dry leaves break when crushed underfoot. He adjusted his strength, measuring it with precision so that only the cup bent and folded while the table beneath remained untouched. Slowly, the sound thinned, weaker and weaker, until nothing remained.

When he finally opened his palm, the paper cup no longer resembled itself. It had been reduced to a pebble-sized fragment, slightly wet from melted cream, shapeless and compact. Kaidren stared at it briefly, unreadable, before retracting his ability. The power sank back into him, leaving nothing behind but silence.

He unzipped his sling bag and dropped the fragment inside without a sound. No trace of ice cream. No trace of waste.

Leaning back into the cushion chair, he let his gaze return to the window. His eyes were steady, plain, as if nothing unusual had just occurred. The hum of the train engine beneath the floor vibrated faintly against his shoes, but his body barely acknowledged it.

Then—the sound of a soft mechanical click shifted his focus.

The lock on the door.

It slid open with quiet grace, white paneling parting to the side. A man stepped in, the faint glow from the corridor outlining his figure before the door closed again behind him.

He was handsome, in a way that drew notice without effort. His hair, messy and untamed, was a deep red streaked with faint yellow strands, as though each lock had been brushed by fire and left smoldering. His eyes carried the same impression—sharp, tinted with an ember-like red that suggested danger, yet his expression betrayed no hostility. His eyebrows curved softly, his lips tilted only slightly, leaving him looking almost harmless.

His clothes were plain. A loose black hoodie, sleeves hanging comfortably, and white jogging pants marked by a single line at the side. There was nothing luxurious about him, nothing extravagant. Yet the contrast between his simple attire and the fire-like sharpness of his presence made him stand out far more than the passengers Kaidren had passed earlier.

The two locked eyes for a moment. Kaidren, expressionless as ever, stared with that quiet, plain gaze. The man returned it calmly, unmoving, as if waiting for something unspoken to pass between them.

But Kaidren was the first to look away.

He turned back to the window, as though the stranger’s entrance meant nothing. His face revealed no interest, no irritation, not even recognition.

The man didn’t seem offended. Without hesitation, he slid the door closed, the faint click muffled by the thick walls. He walked forward with steady steps and lowered himself into the seat opposite Kaidren.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone. The casing was plain black, cracked diagonally across the screen like a scar. His fingers moved across it with familiarity, tapping quickly until a soft chime confirmed connection. From his pants pocket he produced a pair of old airpods, placing them in his ears with practiced ease.

Leaning back against the cushion, he closed his eyes slowly. His breathing settled, his shoulders sank into the seat. It was the posture of someone ready to nap, the kind of ease one carried only when they trusted their surroundings enough to let their guard fall.

Kaidren’s eyes remained on the window, but his mind was no longer outside. His focus, subtle and sharp, stayed on the man sitting across from him.

The face. The hair. The casual way he sat there—it pulled at something in his memory, something hidden in the fog of familiarity. Not of Earth. Not of his old life.

It was the game.

Somewhere in the endless fragments of "Espers of the World," he had seen someone like this. But the exact memory refused to surface. It hovered there, at the edges of his mind, retreating the moment he tried to pin it down. The name, the role, the relevance—all of it slipped like water through his grasp.

His expression didn’t shift. He didn’t frown, didn’t tilt his head. He simply sat there with the thought lingering, quiet and patient.

Then, the silence of the cabin was broken.

A soft crackle from the overhead speakers, static that lasted less than a second, and then a voice filled the space. Deep. Measured. The tone of someone who had spoken through countless announcements before.

"Attention passengers," the conductor’s voice said, smooth yet powerful, "departure will begin shortly. Please remain seated and secure your belongings. The train will be leaving the station."

The words reverberated through the cabin, settling into the cushions, into the floor, into the air between them.

Kaidren remained as he was, eyes steady on the window, watching the platform lights begin to shift as the train prepared to move. The man across from him exhaled softly, a breath half-hidden by the faint hum of whatever music flowed into his ears.