A Few Days Later
The house felt livelier.
Robinson came down the stairs wearing a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and his favorite pair of Vans. His steps were light, and for the first time in weeks, his face showed a genuine smile—free of the weight he'd carried for so long.
In the kitchen, his mother was preparing breakfast. Though still recovering, she looked much better. The warm scent of miso soup and steamed rice filled the air.
"Good morning," she said softly, turning to him with a gentle smile.
Robinson walked over and kissed her forehead.
"Morning, Mom. You look a lot better today."
She chuckled lightly.
"Thanks to you—and your friends."
Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house.
Robinson turned, surprised—standing there was Paul.
He wore a plain black T-shirt, dark jeans, and a black cap that shadowed part of his face. His posture was calm, but his presence still carried that heavy intensity.
"You ready?" Paul asked.
Robinson raised an eyebrow.
"Ready for what?"
Paul casually tossed his car keys in the air.
"School. But first… there's somewhere we need to stop by."
Robinson looked to his mother, who simply smiled and gave him a slight nod.
With a hint of curiosity, he grabbed his backpack.
"Alright. But if this ends in another car chase, I'm jumping out at the first red light."
Paul let out a dry chuckle.
"Not today. Today… you're going to learn something new."
They drove through the early morning streets in Paul's black car. The city was just waking up, and the light from the traffic signals flickered softly across the windshield.
After a few quiet minutes, Paul finally spoke.
"You're strong now. Not just for your mom… but for the path you're about to take."
Robinson turned to him, a little puzzled.
"What do you mean?"
Paul kept his eyes on the road.
"Zero Divide isn't going to back off. They know we're moving. And you're not a kid anymore. You're part of this now."
Robinson took a deep breath. His mind felt clearer than it had in days.
"I didn't ask for any of this. But if this is what it takes to protect the people I care about… then I'm not backing down."
Paul glanced over at him, then smiled faintly.
"Good. Because we're going to need everyone ready."
The car sped forward, disappearing into the morning light. The road ahead was long—but Robinson was finally prepared to face it.
The next morning, on the way to school...
Paul's black car cruised smoothly down the street, but inside, things were heating up—not from danger, but from a lesson that would shift everything for Robinson.
Paul drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes sharp on the road. His other hand tapped buttons on a small, concealed panel near the dashboard—mod systems only used in emergencies.
"Pay attention," Paul said, glancing at the rearview mirror. "People who come after you on the road won't always show it right away. Sometimes they wait... until you're distracted. That's when you get hit."
Robinson nodded, listening closely.
Paul continued, "If a car behind you keeps the same distance for over thirty seconds for no reason, that's a sign. If they mirror every turn you make—that's a pattern. You gotta notice."
Robinson tilted his head, intrigued. "So what do you do when you know it's a threat?"
Paul smirked faintly.
"You don't always run. Sometimes, you give them space... then flip the trap at the moment they think they've got you. We call it disruption timing."
"Throw off their rhythm," Robinson said, picking it up fast.
"Exactly."
Paul hit a button. A small screen lit up, showing a top-down simulation of cars on a road.
"Visual training. Imagine this is live. Black car to your left—possible threat. White car tailing you—decoy. What's your move?"
Robinson leaned in, eyes scanning.
"I tap the brake a little. Force the white car forward. Then swing right—create an opening on the left and bait them in…"
Paul glanced at him, impressed.
"Quick learner."
They shared a short laugh, but it faded as the school gate came into view ahead.
Paul eased off the gas.
In the distance, groups of students were arriving—some chatting near the entrance, others hanging around their bikes or eating breakfast snacks.
Paul adjusted his seat and said in a low tone, "Your path's just starting, Rob. People are gonna see you differently now. Whether you're ready or not, they'll start asking who you really are."
Robinson took a deep breath. He reached for his backpack, flipped his black cap backward, and stared ahead. Calm. Focused.
Paul tapped the gas just enough for the engine to growl—low and powerful.
The black car glided up in front of the school gate.
Its polished body shimmered under the morning light, engine humming like a beast barely held back.
Screeeeech.
A soft but deliberate brake—the kind that made heads turn.
And they did.
Students paused mid-conversation. Heads turned.
"Wait… is that Robinson?"
"Whose car is that? Damn, that's clean."
"Didn't he disappear?"
"Yo… is he rich or something now?"
The car door opened slowly.
Robinson stepped out. Plain white shirt, jeans, Vans on his feet. Backpack slung over one shoulder, cap tilted back. No smile—just quiet, cool confidence.
Paul didn't get out. He just watched through the tinted window and gave Robinson a single nod.
A silent message:
Keep walking.
Robinson closed the door behind him and walked forward—calm, smooth, completely unfazed by the eyes locked on him.
And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.
No words. Just presence.
Inside the car, Paul gave a faint smile.
"Step one's done," he muttered to himself.
Inside the car, just moments after Robinson stepped out…
Paul restarted the engine, ready to drive off, when his phone rang—Marcus.
He tapped the button on the steering wheel.
Beep.
Marcus's voice came through, tense.
"Bro, get to the garage. Base 17. Now."
Paul's expression sharpened.
"What's going on?"
Marcus replied fast,
"We've got an uninvited guest. Someone slipped into the back of the garage—no alarm trigger. Feels like Zero Divide is making a move."
Paul gritted his teeth, immediately spinning the car around.
"I'm on my way."
The black car sped off, vanishing from the school gates.
At school – inside Robinson's classroom.
The morning was still buzzing. Students chatted and wandered around before class officially started.
Robinson walked in calmly. Some classmates threw glances his way—still stirred by the scene earlier that morning when he got out of a slick black car.
Daryl appeared next to him with a wide grin.
"Okaaay, look who's patched things up with Daddy."
He bumped Robinson's arm playfully.
Robinson raised an eyebrow as he took his seat.
"I didn't say we patched things up. I'm just… starting to understand who he is."
Daryl chuckled and plopped into the seat beside him.
"Still—dude rolled up like some mafia boss. That ride? Freakin' cinematic."
Zashiro, sitting close by, joined in with his usual flat tone.
"So… are you still moving to Japan like your mom wanted? Or…?"
Robinson went quiet.
He stared out the window at the clear blue sky.
"I don't know," he said softly.
"When Mom was sick, leaving felt like the only way to start fresh. But now… things have changed. There's too much unfinished business here."
Zashiro looked at him, serious. Then gave a slow nod.
"If you stay… you'll need to be ready. Zero Divide won't stay quiet."
Robinson looked back at him.
"I'm not running."
The school bell rang.
Students settled in, but a heavy air lingered around the three of them—as if a storm was quietly brewing just outside the classroom door.
Meanwhile, at Garage 17…
Paul pulled in fast and stepped out.
Marcus was already at the entrance, face serious, no jokes for once.
"He came in from the side entrance," Marcus said quickly. "Didn't break anything. Cameras barely caught a blur—tall build, dark hoodie, moved smooth. Real pro."
Paul watched the grainy footage on Marcus's phone.
"This isn't some punk."
Marcus nodded.
"I think this is just the start. They're probing our defenses."
Paul clenched a fist.
"If they touch Robinson again… or his mom…"
Marcus cracked his knuckles and smirked slightly—eyes sharp.
"They won't get that far."
Back at Robinson's class
The lesson droned on, but Robinson wasn't really present.
He doodled in the margins of his notebook—sketches of cars, tire tracks, dark city streets. His thoughts were far away.
One thing was clear in his mind:
"Something's moving. And sooner or later… it's all coming back to me."