The corpse of the armored crab lay motionless behind them. Its enormous shell slowly disappeared behind the jagged rocks as the small group resumed walking through the crimson wasteland. Davies still carried Leon across his back.
"You know," he grunted between breaths, "I'm starting to think you're getting a little too comfortable up there."
Leon cracked one eye open. "I considered walking."
"And?"
"I decided I preferred not to."
Davies rolled his eyes. "How generous."
A few quiet chuckles spread through the group. Even after everything that had happened, somehow they were still capable of laughing. Miller limped alongside them, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. "...Are we really leaving it behind?"
"The crab?"
"Yeah."
Leon nodded lazily. "It's dead."
"...Pretty sure."
"...Pretty sure?"
"If it gets back up, you'll know."
"...That isn't comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Another round of laughter broke the tension. For the first time since arriving in this world, the silence between them no longer felt oppressive. The serious-looking man with rectangular glasses adjusted them before sighing.
"So this is the mysterious person your intuition kept leading us toward."
The third man shifted awkwardly, rubbing his lower back. "I was honestly expecting someone... bigger."
Leon looked down at himself. "I've been told I have a disappointing first impression."
"You also killed that." The man pointed toward the distant corpse. "...So I suppose appearances can be deceiving."
The two groups naturally merged together. Nobody questioned it, and nobody suggested splitting up again—not after what they had all witnessed. As they continued walking, conversation gradually replaced silence.
"So..." Miller scratched the back of his head. "I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous."
"...Can you let me finish?"
Leon smiled. "I'll allow it."
Miller looked ahead thoughtfully. "You know... I think I could've killed that crab too."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"...If I had your Universal Vessel."
The others nodded almost instinctively. "I mean..." Davies shrugged. "If we all had whatever that thing is... we'd probably be fine."
"Exactly." Miller pointed enthusiastically. "That's what I'm saying. You were lucky enough to have this incredible ability. If I had it... I could probably do the same."
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Leon smiled. "...Maybe."
His voice remained light and relaxed, but behind the easy smile, something in his eyes dimmed. An expression of being hurt quickly got concealed before anyone noticed. Of course everyone wanted the Universal Vessel, but nobody wanted to pay the price. Nobody wanted over a decade of obsession. Nobody wanted to be laughed at. Nobody wanted sleepless nights, or to spend childhood sacrificing friendships for research. Nobody wanted the loneliness, and nobody wanted the scars. They wouldn't see the cost, only the miracle. Never the price. His smile never changed as his thoughts quietly drifted elsewhere.
...
Speaking of the crab... something still bothered him. His stealth had failed. That shouldn't have happened when he had spent most of his life training it.
***********************************************
The memory surfaced naturally. Five years old, sitting in front of the family computer. The browser refreshed with one search: *How to get super powers*. Thousands of results appeared instantly, and Leon clicked the first one.
> Confidence is your greatest superpower.
"...No." Back. Second result.
> Kindness is a superpower.
"...That's definitely not a superpower." Back. Third result.
> Patience is the greatest power anyone can possess.
Leon frowned. "...Superman shoots lasers." Back. Fourth result.
> Discipline is your true superpower.
"...No." Back. Fifth result.
> Believe in yourself.
"...Adults are dumb." His shoulders slumped.
The answers weren't wrong; they just weren't what he meant. He didn't want confidence; he wanted flight. He didn't want discipline; he wanted to lift mountains. He wanted the impossible. The laughter from kindergarten echoed faintly in his mind.
"A superhero?"
"That's not a real job."
"We have to grow up eventually."
Little Leon quietly clenched his fists. "...I'll prove you wrong."
The promise wasn't made out of anger nor pride, but simply stubbornness. If nobody else believed it was possible, then he'd find the answer himself.
His research became more organized, spanning movies, anime, novels, games, comic books, myths, religions, and scientific papers he barely understood. Every fictional power system he could find contradicted the last—radiation, magic, bloodlines, mutations, technology, cultivation, and divine blessings. None of them agreed. One evening he frowned at another search result: *Batman*.
"...No," he clicked. "He has gadgets. ...That's equipment." Back. *Iron Man*. "...Wait," he leaned closer. "He also has gadgets. ...But he flies."
He stared at the monitor for nearly a minute. "So... what exactly counts as a superpower?"
That single question occupied him for days. Eventually, he reached one conclusion: everyone defined it differently, meaning he would need his own definition.
The research only became deeper, and another realization followed shortly afterward. Finding the answer wasn't going to happen today, tomorrow, or probably even this year; there was simply too much to read. If reading was slowing him down, then improving his reading speed was technically improving his research. So he researched speed reading, then researched how to practice speed reading, and then practiced until adults began staring as he flipped through books impossibly fast for someone his age.
By the time he entered primary school, he could finish books several times faster than most adults. But another problem remained: time. School consumed most of his day, so nighttime became the obvious solution. His parents, unfortunately, disagreed, so Leon learned something else—fake sleeping.
Every evening, he climbed into bed on time, closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing. His mother peeked inside, smiled, and closed the door. Leon didn't move—not immediately. He counted one minute, two, three. Only after hearing his parents' bedroom door close would he slowly open his eyes.
Then came the difficult part: avoiding the creaky floorboards, turning the doorknob without making it click, walking silently through the hallway, returning before sunrise, climbing back into bed, and pretending to wake up naturally. Night after night, mistake after mistake, failure after failure, until eventually, he could cross the entire house without making a sound. Stealth had simply become another tool for protecting his research time.
***********************************************
...
"...Earth to Leon." A finger gently poked his shoulder.
His eyes opened, and Maya was looking at him expectantly. "Hm?"
"Were you planning on joining this conversation?"
"...What conversation?"
"The one we've been having for the last five minutes."
Leon blinked. "...I may have been slightly distracted."
"So?" She gestured toward the endless crimson landscape surrounding them. "What do you think?"
He slowly looked around at the blood-red snow, the jagged black stone, and a sky the color of dried blood. The corners of his mouth twitched. "...Feels like somebody dropped a scoop of strawberry ice cream on the apocalypse."
Maya burst into laughter, and Davies nearly stumbled trying not to laugh. Even the man with the perpetually serious expression couldn't quite suppress a smile. The frozen wasteland suddenly didn't feel quite so cold anymore.