Emotionally Charged Manga

ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet deserted beach at dusk. Soft ocean mist drifts through the fading blue-grey light while waves roll slowly onto the sand. Sandrine walks barefoot along the shoreline in an oversized white linen shirt, her heels dangling loosely from one hand. Her short dark bob moves lightly in the sea breeze while the wet sand reflects the last traces of evening light beneath her feet. She turns her head toward the viewer mid-step with calm affection and quiet authority, expression thoughtful and deeply certain. The atmosphere feels intimate, emotionally consuming, and psychologically overwhelming through tenderness rather than force. NO explicit anatomy NO explicit sexuality NO graphic nudity ONE speech bubble only. She says: “What should excite you most is that I allow you to pleasure me.”
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet beachfront walk at dusk. Soft ocean mist drifts through fading blue-grey light while waves roll slowly across the sand beside her. Sandrine walks alone barefoot along the shoreline in an oversized white linen shirt, heels dangling loosely from one hand. Her short dark bob moves softly in the sea breeze while she studies the viewer with calm intelligence and quiet authority. She pauses mid-step as though carefully choosing words meant to reshape the way he thinks about desire itself. The atmosphere feels intimate, psychologically consuming, emotionally overwhelming, and deeply private. NO explicit anatomy NO explicit sexuality NO graphic nudity ONE speech bubble only. She says: “The more naturally you place my needs before your orgasm… the deeper your submission becomes.”
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet underground metro platform after midnight. The last train has not arrived yet. Cold fluorescent light reflects across wet concrete while distant tunnel wind moves her coat slightly. Sandrine stands alone near the yellow line barefoot inside elegant black heels she has slipped halfway off, oversized wool coat hanging open over a white blouse. Her short dark bob is slightly damp from the rain, expression calm, thoughtful, and quietly transformed by what she has learned about herself through him. She checks her phone, then looks up toward the viewer with a kind of intimate certainty she did not possess months ago. The atmosphere feels cinematic, emotionally suspended, psychologically consuming, and deeply private despite the public setting. ONE speech bubble only. She says: “I realized your obedience was never fragile… so I stopped handling it gently.”
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet late-night train compartment returning home after the weekend. Rain streaks softly across the dark window while distant station lights drift past in blurred reflections. Sandrine sits alone curled comfortably into the corner of the seat barefoot in an oversized cashmere sweater, her short dark bob slightly tousled from travel. A half-finished glass of red wine rests beside her phone on the small table. She looks directly toward the viewer as though recording a slow intimate voice message, expression calm, intelligent, and quietly possessive. One bare foot disappears beneath the folds of the sweater while her fingers trace slowly along the rim of the wine glass. The atmosphere feels emotionally suspended between distance, conditioning, longing, and continued control. NO explicit anatomy NO explicit sexuality NO graphic nudity ONE speech bubble only. She says: “Show me you can be hard the moment I tell you to.”
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet Sunday morning hotel room just before departure. Soft grey daylight spills through partially open curtains onto tangled sheets and an open suitcase near the door. Sandrine stands alone barefoot beside the bed in an oversized white shirt, one hand resting lightly on the suitcase handle as though she is almost ready to leave. Her dark hair is still slightly messy from sleep and the long weekend together. She pauses before walking away, turning back toward the viewer with calm affection and quiet possessiveness. One bare foot presses softly into the carpet while her expression reveals she is already imagining the effect her final touch will leave behind. The atmosphere feels intimate, emotionally suspended, psychologically consuming, and deeply private. NO explicit violence NO explicit anatomy NO graphic sexuality ONE speech bubble only. She says: “Before I leave, I should make sure you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet late-night hotel bedroom. Soft amber bedside lamp casting warm light across rumpled white sheets while the city glows faintly beyond the curtains. Sandrine reclines comfortably against the headboard, oversized white shirt loosely draped around her body, dark hair slightly tousled from intimacy. Her legs are parted naturally beneath the folds of the shirt and sheets, posed with complete calm confidence rather than explicitness. One bare foot rests softly against the mattress near the foreground. She looks directly toward the viewer with steady, attentive eyes — affectionate, curious, quietly aware of the effect she is having. A man sits lower on the bed partly out of frame, posture tense and emotionally absorbed, clearly unable to look away from her. The atmosphere feels intimate, psychologically intense, and deeply private. NO explicit anatomy NO explicit sexual acts NO nudity beyond tasteful implication ONE speech bubble only. She says: “Describe exactly why you love looking at me so much.”
Your manga is a quiet, emotional slice-of-life story that explores loneliness, grief, and healing through subtle moments and atmosphere. The story follows Erikku, a withdrawn teenage boy who feels emotionally empty after losing someone important from his past. Although life around him continues as normal—school routines, classmates’ laughter, everyday noise—Erikku feels disconnected, as if even the sky above him has fallen silent. The silent sky serves as a powerful symbol throughout the story, representing Erikku’s inner emptiness, unresolved pain, and words left unspoken. His refuge is the school rooftop, a place filled with memories of happier days and a person he once shared deep connection with. This rooftop becomes a space where past and present quietly overlap. The story begins to change when Esutā, a calm and observant girl, appears. Unlike others, she notices the silence Erikku lives in. She does not approach him with pity or forceful encouragement; instead, she listens and acknowledges the quiet he carries. Esutā’s presence introduces warmth and understanding, suggesting that silence is not always absence—but sometimes a pause, waiting for someone brave enough to speak. As Erikku and Esutā share moments under the same sky, subtle changes occur: a breeze begins to move, clouds slowly drift, and the atmosphere softens. These small shifts symbolize emotional healing and the return of hope. The story focuses on inner thoughts, gentle dialogue, and visual storytelling rather than dramatic action. Overall, your manga is a poetic coming-of-age narrative about loss, human connection, and emotional recovery. It highlights that healing does not happen instantly, but through shared silence, understanding companionship, and the quiet courage to open one’s heart again.
Selin Maro stood at the edge of the town, a place where shadows seemed to whisper secrets. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the distant echo of a haunting melody that danced through the streets. It beckoned her, weaving through the cobblestones like a ghostly thread. She shivered, tugging her jacket tighter around her shoulders, the chill of the evening creeping into her bones. “What is this place?” she muttered to herself, glancing at the dilapidated buildings that seemed to lean closer, as if eavesdropping on her thoughts. As she ventured deeper into the heart of the town, the melody grew stronger, its notes twisting into a symphony of sorrow and longing. Selin paused outside an old music shop, its windows clouded with dust and memories. The sign creaked in the wind, and she could almost hear the faint strains of a piano playing inside. “I need to know,” she whispered, her heart racing as she pushed the door open. The bell above chimed, a sound that felt both welcoming and foreboding. Inside, the room was filled with forgotten instruments, their surfaces tarnished and their strings silent. Yet, the melody lingered, a ghostly presence that wrapped around her like an embrace. “Can I help you?” a voice rasped from the shadows. Selin turned to see an elderly man, his face lined with age and sorrow. His eyes sparkled with an unsettling knowledge. “You hear it too, don’t you? The music?” he asked, stepping closer. She nodded, her voice caught in her throat. “What is it? Why does it feel so... alive?” The man’s expression darkened. “This town has a history, child. A dark one. The melody you hear is tied to the spirits that haunt us. They are restless, seeking something—perhaps even you.” Selin’s heart raced as she processed his words. The air felt electric, charged with an unseen force. “What do I have to do with it?” she asked, her voice trembling. The man leaned in, his breath a whisper. “You must uncover the truth of the music. Only then can you confront the shadows that dwell here.” As the last note of the melody faded into silence, Selin felt a spark ignite within her—a determination to unravel the mystery that bound her to this eerie town.
Aiko spends her days working between two jobs, one of them a small bakery filled with the scent of warmth and routine. It’s there that she meets Kaito—a quiet boy who becomes a regular customer, always ordering the same thing, always lingering just a little longer than necessary. What Aiko doesn’t realize is that, somewhere between shared smiles and late-afternoon conversations, Kaito has fallen in love with her. Aiko’s heart, however, remains tied to Ren, her childhood friend. Even as Ren grows distant and emotionally unavailable, she continues to chase the comfort of what they once were, unaware of how much she is losing by holding on. Mina watches from the sidelines, as she corrupts Ren’s mind even more only loving him for his money isolating him from all his friends and making him hurt aiko. Kaito stays silent, offering kindness without expectation, choosing patience over confession. He listens when Aiko talks about Ren. He smiles even when her pain has nothing to do with him. And each day, as he leaves the bakery, he carries his unreturned love with him. Four hearts move in the wrong directions, bound by timing, silence, and fear. In a world where everyone is loving someone who cannot love them back, happiness feels impossibly far away. A bittersweet manga about quiet devotion, missed chances, and the kind of love that exists even when it is never chosen.
Kurisutīna is a short, shy blonde girl who fled her homeland because of war. Her father died in the conflict, and her mother, consumed by grief, escapes into alcohol and neglects her emotionally. In a foreign country, Kurisutīna struggles at school, is rejected because of her origin, and feels isolated despite her constant efforts. Lost and fragile, she searches for her identity and a reason to keep going. One day, she meets Māseru — a tall, quiet, and mysterious boy whose face is never fully shown. Calm and distant, he helps Kurisutīna see the world differently, teaching her that life is not built on grades, status, or material things, but on inner peace, self-understanding, and finding one’s own happiness. Later, another person enters her life — more direct and grounded in reality. They become close, and through this friendship Kurisutīna becomes aware of the cruelty, injustice, and emptiness of the world around her. Suddenly, this person disappears, leaving behind only words that linger in her mind. Kurisutīna continues attending school, but slowly begins to understand the meaning of those words. Eventually, she runs away from home to truly discover herself. During her journey, she encounters situations that reveal both the good and evil of humanity. Each experience helps her confront her fears, emotions, and desires. Step by step, Kurisutīna begins to understand who she is — realizing that the answers she was searching for in others had always existed within her.
Crossfire Hearts follows Riku Hayase, a talented but emotionally burnt‑out FPS player, and Miyu Aoyama, a gentle, isolated girl who finds comfort in MMORPGs. Their worlds collide when they meet inside Eternal Realms, where Riku plays as the swift, deadly ranger Crossfire, and Miyu plays as the luminous healer LunaVale. What begins as a simple dungeon run slowly becomes a bond neither expected. As they grow closer, their in‑game partnership becomes a lifeline for both of them. Riku rediscovers joy after competitive burnout, while Miyu finds someone who listens, understands, and never judges her. Their first real‑life meeting is awkward, sweet, and life‑changing — the moment their online connection becomes something real. But their relationship is tested by Obsidian Crown, a rival guild led by the cold strategist Blackthorn and the obsessive assassin NightReaver, who fixates on Miyu and targets Riku out of jealousy. Guild wars, PvP duels, and server‑wide conflicts push Riku and Miyu to fight side by side, strengthening their bond even as real‑life pressures mount. Miyu’s strict home life becomes the greatest obstacle. Her mother disapproves of gaming, isolates her, and eventually cuts her off entirely. The emotional distance nearly breaks them — Miyu feels trapped, Riku feels helpless, and their worlds begin to drift apart. But they refuse to let go. Riku confronts her mother, Miyu stands up for herself, and their friends rally around them. The final arc brings everything full circle: Riku competes in the world esports championship while Moonlight Vanguard races Obsidian Crown to defeat the expansion’s final raid boss, the Eclipse Sovereign. Both battles mirror each other — pressure, teamwork, trust, and the fear of losing what matters most. Riku wins the championship. Moonlight Vanguard clears the raid first. And in front of a roaring crowd, Riku and Miyu finally confess their love openly — not as Crossfire and LunaVale, but as themselves. The story ends years later, with the two living together, still gaming side by side, still partners in every world they share.
### Quick hook Open the chapter with a single, unforgettable image that establishes **tone**, **setting**, and the **thread motif**. The first page should feel warm and intimate at first, then leave a small, uncanny sting that promises larger stakes. --- #### Page layout — panel-by-panel (recommended) 1. **Full-width splash (top third)** **Visual:** Golden-hour Bangladeshi village playground; children loop colored yarn between trees; the child-mother is laughing. **Caption (small, lyrical):** a line of the lullaby/proverb that doubles as ritual instruction. **Purpose:** immediate emotional anchor; nostalgia. 2. **Three narrow horizontal panels (middle row)** **Panel A:** Close-up of small hands tying a simple knot; thread texture visible. **Panel B:** Elder watching from a doorway, expression unreadable; soft shadow across their face. **Panel C:** The child’s face, eyes bright, mid-laugh. **Purpose:** tactile detail; introduces the ritual mechanics visually. 3. **Inset circular panel (overlapping middle panels)** **Visual:** A tiny fray in the thread, magnified; a single loose fiber. **Sound/Effect:** a faint onomatopoeia like *sssh* rendered very small. **Purpose:** the first hint of danger; a micro-leak that the reader notices before the characters do. 4. **Two vertical panels (lower left)** **Panel A:** The elder’s hand reaching toward the frayed thread but not touching it. **Panel B:** The child continuing to play, oblivious. **Purpose:** tension between knowledge and innocence. 5. **Lower-right full-bleed panel (bottom)** **Visual:** A sepia-toned archival photograph pinned to a tree or wall, slightly askew; captioned with a redacted note or a single date. **Caption (documentary font):** a terse line linking a “minor slip” to a past event. **Purpose:** immediate narrative hook that promises consequences beyond the playground. --- ### Visual and tonal notes - **Color:** warm, soft palette for the splash; desaturate the archival panel to sepia for contrast. - **Linework:** rounded, gentle lines in childhood panels; use a thin, fraying line motif on the thread itself. - **Gutter device:** a thin drawn thread runs along the page gutter connecting panels; where the fray appears, the thread is visibly thinner. --- ### Sound, pacing, and rhythm - **Silence as sound:** keep the ritual/action panels quiet; use minimal onomatopoeia. - **Pacing:** linger on the knot close-up with two panels instead of one to let readers feel the tactile weight. - **Transition:** the archival panel should feel like a cold cut—a tonal shift that turns nostalgia into foreboding. --- ### Emotional beats to hit on page one - **Warmth:** establish the mother’s childhood joy so the later burden lands emotionally. - **Unease:** seed a single, small anomaly (the fray) that the reader will carry forward. - **Curiosity:** end with the archival hint so readers want to know how this innocent scene ties to larger consequences. --- ### Final micro-direction Make the page readable at a glance but rich on re-reads. The first page’s job is to make readers care about the child, notice the thread, and feel the chill of the archival clue.
Title: Revy’s Black Market Genre: Cyberpunk, Tech-Noir, Dystopian, Underground Economy Tone: Dark, intelligent, rebellious, futuristic Style: High-contrast black & white manga with neon cyberpunk accents, glitch effects, holographic UI overlays WORLD SETTING The story takes place in Vybz Land, a massive futuristic megacity where technology evolves daily, but access to innovation is controlled by powerful corporations and elites. In this world, early access equals power, and being late means being left behind forever. The city is filled with: Neon skyscrapers Surveillance drones Digital billboards Crowded lower districts where people struggle to keep up with the future Hidden beneath this system is an underground network known only as Revy’s Black Market (RBM). THE BLACK MARKET (RBM) RBM is not a physical place — it is a digital gateway. Access is earned, not sold. RBM offers: Early access to emerging technology Secret deals before public release Presales and limited drops AI tools, mobility tech, robotics, and Web3 platforms RBM doesn’t steal technology — it redistributes access and timing. MAIN CHARACTER — REVY Revy is the mysterious overseer of RBM. Appearance: Androgynous cyberpunk figure Long dark coat with glowing circuit patterns One eye enhanced with a digital interface Calm expression, always observing Personality: Highly intelligent Emotionally controlled Speaks in short, powerful lines Never explains everything Revy believes the future should reward curiosity, not wealth. STORY SUMMARY CHAPTER 1 — Access Denied A young citizen in Vybz Land watches others advance while he is left behind by expensive technology. He sees advertisements for innovation he cannot afford. On a dark alley wall, a glowing symbol appears: “The future isn’t sold. It’s accessed.” CHAPTER 2 — The Gate The symbol leads to RBM. A digital interface appears asking for identity verification. When access is granted, Revy appears as a hologram. Revy says: “You don’t buy the future. You arrive before it’s expensive.” CHAPTER 3 — Deals Are Power Users of RBM begin gaining advantages: Smarter tools Faster mobility Better opportunities Corporations notice something is wrong. Someone is disrupting their control. CHAPTER 4 — The Underground Rises RBM grows. More people gain access. The elite begin hunting the source. Revy watches from the shadows and says: “We don’t break systems. We expose their timing.” CORE THEMES Access vs privilege Technology as power Freedom through information The underground economy of the future FINAL MESSAGE RBM is not a store. It is a gateway. Tagline for final page: “Welcome to Revy’s Black Market — where the future is traded early.”
Stage 1: The Core Idea Logline: (Describe the story in one single, gripping sentence.) Example: A cowardly boy discovers a magical paintbrush that brings anything he draws to life, but only if he learns to draw with confidence. Central Theme/Question: (What is the "heart" of the story or the question you are exploring?) Examples: Is talent born or made? What are you willing to sacrifice for your dreams? The definition of true justice. Stage 2: Character Conception The Protagonist (MC): Name: External Goal: (What do they want that everyone can see?) Internal Need: (What emotional growth must they undergo to be happy, though they don't know it yet?) Fatal Flaw: (The character defect that gets in their own way.) "The Ordinary Life": (Describe their life before the story begins.) The Antagonist/Rival: Name: External Goal: (Their goal must clash directly with the protagonist’s.) Philosophy: (Why are they right in their own eyes?) Connection: (Why this villain for this hero?) Stage 3: The World Building Setting: (Time period, location, rules, and aesthetic. Urban fantasy, sci-fi cyberpunk, historical feudal?) The Magic/Power System (if applicable): Rules: (What is possible?) Limitations & Cost: (What is impossible? What happens if you use too much power? Limitations make power systems interesting.) Stage 4: Structure (The Arc) The Inciting Incident: (The event that shatters the protagonist’s ordinary life and pulls them into the conflict.) The Journey (Rising Action): (The challenges, new allies, and rivals they meet. They fail and learn.) The Low Point: (The protagonist loses everything and must confront their internal need.) The Climax: (The final showdown where the protagonist uses their newfound strength to face the ultimate challenge.) The Resolution: (The new normalcy.) Four Example Manga Story Ideas Use these as inspiration, or build your own from the prompts within. Idea #1: Supernatural Mystery / Action (Shonen-Style) Logline: To save his sick sister, a cautious student contracts with the demon of forgotten names, gaining powers tied to the things he can remember to say. Genre: Action, Dark Fantasy, Supernatural. Central Theme: The value of memories and what defines an identity. Magic System: Contract Memory. Powers are strong only when the user remembers the specific name or incantation. Forget the name, and the power vanishes. Conflict: He must hunt other demons for artifacts that can cure his sister, but the more he hunts, the more people and history are erased from the world. Idea #2: Psychological / Thriller (Seinen-Style) Logline: An expert archivist finds a hidden section in the world's oldest library: the "Future Files"—detailed biographies of people that haven't been born yet. Genre: Psychological, Thriller, Science-Fiction. Central Theme: Determinism vs. Free Will. Can we change the future if we know it? Conflict: The protagonist starts subtly manipulating events to prevent disasters (like a benevolent "Death Note"), only to discover that the Future Files are actively adapting and predicting his interventions, escalating the stakes. Idea #3: Slice-of-Life / Drama (Josei/Seinen-Style) Logline: A burnt-out urban planner moves back to her quiet coastal hometown and discovers a unique "Café of Lost Recipes," where she helps people recreate meals that connected them to loved ones they've lost. Genre: Slice-of-Life, Comfort, Food/Cooking. Central Theme: Grief, reconnection, and finding joy in small moments. Conflict: Her internal battle against feeling like a "failure" for leaving the city. The conflict comes from the emotionally complex requests—like a daughter asking for the simple rice ball her abusive father once made her. Idea #4: High-Stakes Sport / Competitive (Shonen/Shojo-Style) Logline: A naturally talented but unmotivated pianist must partner with a classical prodigy who plays with flawless technicality but no emotion to win a national ensemble competition and keep his family’s music school from closing. Genre: Sports (Music), Drama, Competitive. Central Theme: Technical mastery vs. emotional expression; finding synergy with a rival. Conflict: The duo's conflicting philosophies clash at every practice. They must learn not just how to play "together," but how to breathe and feel as one musical entity to win.
Create a comprehensive collection of AI image generation prompts for an original manga series with the following specifications: **Art Style Requirements:** - Jujutsu Kaisen-inspired artstyle: sharp, dynamic linework, intense expressions, detailed backgrounds, dramatic shading with heavy ink strokes, motion lines for impact - Traditional black and white manga format (NO color) - pure black ink on white paper aesthetic - Panel compositions should vary: wide establishing shots, medium dialogue panels, intense action close-ups, dramatic splash pages - Character designs should feature bold, angular faces, expressive eyes, detailed hair with heavy ink shading, and dynamic action poses **Series Overview:** - Title: Create an original title for a Kaiju-themed manga - Genre: Action, Dark Fantasy, Sci-Fi - Tone: Dark, intense, dramatic with moments of character depth **Main Character (MC):** - Design a protagonist who merges with a Kaiju - give them a distinct human appearance, personality, and background - Their Kaiju form: a strange, eldritch black monster with unique design elements (you decide the specifics - make it weird, abstract, and visually striking) - Include details on how the transformation works, the visual contrast between human and Kaiju form **Supporting Characters:** - Military personnel who team up with the MC - Other characters as needed for the story **Plot Structure:** Design a coherent storyline across at least 2-3 chapters with consistent narrative progression. Each chapter should have its own arc while contributing to the larger story. **Deliverable Format:** For EACH chapter, provide: - Chapter title and brief synopsis - A specific number of panels (decide an appropriate amount - around 8-12 panels per chapter seems reasonable) - For EVERY single panel: a detailed, individual AI image generation prompt that includes: - Character appearance and clothing details - Specific pose and action - Facial expression - Background/setting description - Camera angle and panel composition - JJK-style art direction notes (lineweight, shading style, dramatic effects) - Any dialogue or text that should appear in the panel The prompts should tell a cohesive story across panels - each prompt should build on the previous one narratively while maintaining visual consistency for recurring characters. Make the Kaiju battles epic and high-stakes, the character moments emotionally resonant, and ensure the artstyle prompts will consistently produce JJK-inspired black and white manga artwork. (this was the ai prompt) what i was originally asking for was this basically btw: want to make my own manga by using ai to create the images all i want is the prompts and giving it to another ai. i want the artstyle to be like jjk's artstyle and looking art and it SHOULDNT be colored js like manga type? if u know what i mean so like a TON of different prompts for each manga panel so like Chapter 1 (the given amount of panels you decide. and a prompt for each.) chapter 2 (same amount of panels and a prompt for each and so on forth) i want the manga to be about Kaiju and i want the MC to merge with a kaiju and he teams up with the military to defeat big kaijus. his kaiju form should be like a weird black monster? idk you can decide that for me. and then u can make the plot like story of the characters whatever. now go ahead and make the images.
A cinematic realistic video of two young university girls sitting together in a calm cozy setting (like a dorm room or a quiet café). One girl is speaking emotionally and warmly, telling a heartfelt story about friendship. She is expressive, natural, and speaks with soft hand gestures and emotional facial expressions. The second girl is listening silently. She does not speak. She reacts only with facial expressions and eye contact: soft smiles, subtle emotional reactions, occasional eye contact, and visible affection and attentiveness toward her friend. The atmosphere is emotional, warm, nostalgic, and intimate, like a deep friendship moment being shared. The speaker is telling a story in Arabic (Egyptian dialect), full of emotion and sincerity. Camera is medium shot, slightly cinematic, soft lighting, shallow depth of field, warm tones, realistic skin details, natural movement. No text on screen, no subtitles. Focus on emotional connection between the two girls: one narrating, one listening with meaningful reactions. Story by character 1 قصة صداقتنا من ناحيتي أنا كان أول يوم ليا في الجامعة. كنت نازلة بعد بداية الدراسة بكام يوم، وده لوحده كان كفاية يخليني حاسة إني تايهة شوية. المكان كان كبير، والوجوه كلها جديدة عليّ، ومكنتش عارفة أروح فين بالظبط. كنت بحاول أبين إني فاهمة الدنيا ماشية إزاي… بس الحقيقة إني كنت تايهة. وفجأة قابلتها. كانت أول شخص أقابله هناك. سألتني عن اسمي، واتكلمت معايا ببساطة كأن الموضوع عادي جدًا، وبعدها دخلتني جروب الدفعة. وقتها أنا ما اهتمتش أوي بالموضوع. اعتبرته موقف عادي من حد لطيف… وخلاص. لكن بعد فترة، لما بدأت أتعرف على الشلة كلها، بدأت آخد بالي منها أكتر. كنت دايمًا ببصلها من بعيد. شخصيتها كانت مختلفة عني جدًا… حضورها واضح، وطريقتها مع الناس سهلة، وكأنها تعرف تتعامل مع أي حد. وده خلاني أحس وقتها إننا غالبًا عمرنا ما هنبقى قريبين. لكن الحقيقة اللي ما قلتهاش لحد وقتها… إني كنت أتمنى العكس. كنت أتمنى، ولو بشكل صغير، إننا نعرف نبقى أصحاب. الغريب إني لما رجعت بعد كده أبص على الصور والذكريات، اكتشفت إن اننا قربنا واحدة واحدة من غير محد فينا يدرك ده حصل امتي. بس انا هتكلم عن اليوم اللي أنا دايمًا بعتبره بداية حقيقية لعلاقتنا. كنت بتكلم معاها بشكل عادي، وقلت لها حاجة بسيطة جدًا: إني بحب الاهتمام. ما كنتش بقولها كطلب… ولا كنت متوقعة رد فعل معين. بس الغريب إن اليوم كله كان كله حواليا بطريقة دافية جدًا. هي كانت فعلاً مهتمة بكل التفاصيل الصغيرة، بتسأل، بتلاحظ، وبتفتكر حاجات قلتها قبل كده. حسيت وقتها إن يومها كله متمحور حواليا… مش بطريقة تقيلة، بس بطريقة خفيفة ولطيفة. افتكرت الجملة اللي قلتها… وحسيت إن حد أخذها بجد. اليوم ده خلاني مبسوطة جدًا، وممتنة بشكل يمكن ما قولتهش وقتها. يمكن متكتنش هي أول حد يعرف يفهمني، بس هي كانت مختلفة. كانت دايمًا قادرة تبهرني بأفعالها من غير ما تقول حاجة. كانت دايمًا تعرف تفرق بين إني هادية عادي و بين اني مختفية و مش كويسة. وكانت دايمًا بتعمل اللي أنا محتاجاه حتى قبل ما أفكر فيه… ومعرفش إزاي كانت بتعمل ده بصراحة. كانت فيها كل التفاصيل اللي كنت أتمنى تكون موجودة في شخص واحد. عشان كده لما قولتلها: "إنتي دعوة على شكل إنسان" ماكنتش بهزر… كنت أقصد ده بجد. المواقف بتاعتها متتعدش… مهما حاولت أشرح، مهما قلت، هيفضل قليل على اللي هي قدمته فعليًا. ومع الوقت، علاقتنا اتطورت لدرجة إننا بقينا تقريبًا بنقضي يومنا كله سوا… في الكول، وإحنا بناكل، وإحنا بنذاكر، وإحنا بنعمل أي حاجة مع بعض… لحد النوم. كانت أيام حقيقي، من أجمل الأيام اللي بتمنى ترجع تاني. صحيح، من بعد التخرج والشغل والانشغالات، بعدتنا عن بعض شوية… كنت عارفة إن الوقت ده هييجي، بس ده مضايقني أوي… مش منك، بس عشان مبقتش موجودة دايمًا زي الأول. مع ذلك، أنا لسه ممتنة جدًا لوجودك، وعارفة إن علاقتنا لسه زي ما هي… وأكيد لسه بحبك زي الأول… وأكتر. إنتي طول الوقت في بالي، وبفرح أوي لما تقولي إنك كمان كنتي بتفكري فيا. مظنش إني هكون محظوظة كفاية إني أقابل حد زيك تاني… لأنك مفيش منك أصلاً. وكده كده، أنا مش عايزة غيرك. وفي النهاية، أحب أقولك إنك دايمًا كنتي في نظري أرق وأحن حد قابلته في حياتي. بحبك يا أحلى شريرة شوفتها في حياتي… وأجمل ENFJ في الدنيا. دلوقتي بقي جيه الدور عليكي تحكي القصة من وجهة نظرك مستية ده جدا ♥
The Girl Who Could See Feelings In a world that looks completely normal, a quiet girl lives with a strange ability—she can see human emotions as physical creatures attached to people. Anger burns like restless fire beasts, sadness clings as heavy shadow figures, and happiness flutters like soft glowing birds. Because of this, she keeps her distance from everyone, overwhelmed by the chaos of emotions around her. One day, she notices a boy walking through the crowd with nothing attached to him—no creature, no emotion, just emptiness. Drawn by curiosity and unease, she starts observing him, only to realize that his emotions are not gone but deeply suppressed, locked away somewhere inside him. As she slowly gets closer, cracks begin to form, and the hidden emotions start emerging violently, threatening to consume him. Now she must decide whether to step back like always or stay and face the storm she can clearly see but he cannot. 🕰️ You Owe the Clock A girl struggling with regret and missed chances discovers that she can ask for more time—extra moments to fix mistakes, redo conversations, and change outcomes. At first, it feels like a miracle, as everything begins to go her way. But soon, she starts noticing strange things: clocks around her begin to glitch, shadows stretch unnaturally, and certain moments feel… stolen. She eventually meets a boy who seems detached from time itself, someone who knows exactly what she’s experiencing. He reveals the truth—time is never given freely; it is borrowed from their own future. Every extra second she gains now is a piece of her life being taken away later. As the world around them begins to distort and their existence slowly weakens, they realize they are both trapped in a system where time itself demands repayment. The more they try to fix their lives, the closer they move toward losing them entirely. 🧠 The Space Between Us Two strangers begin experiencing the same strange phenomenon: at random moments, reality around them shifts into a surreal, silent dimension where the world feels incomplete, like a broken version of itself. In this space, they meet each other long before they ever meet in real life. At first, they think it’s just a dream, but the consistency of these encounters proves otherwise. As their connection deepens, they begin to depend on this shared world—one sees it as an escape from reality, while the other fears it is slowly replacing it. When they finally meet in the real world, things don’t align the way they should. One of them feels real, grounded, and present… while the other seems slightly out of place, like they belong more to the other dimension. As the boundaries between worlds begin to blur, the terrifying possibility emerges: what if only one of them truly exists, and the other is just a creation of the space between? 🪞 The Reflection That Stayed A girl living a quiet, emotionally restrained life begins to notice small changes in her reflection—it lingers a second too long, moves slightly out of sync, and sometimes watches her instead of copying her. At first, she ignores it, assuming it’s just her imagination, but the reflection grows bolder. One day, it doesn’t follow her movement at all. Soon after, she starts seeing it outside the mirror, walking in places she hasn’t been, interacting with people she avoids. Slowly, people around her begin responding more to this version of her than to her real self. The reflection is everything she is not—confident, expressive, and unafraid. As her own presence begins to feel weaker and less noticeable, she realizes that the reflection isn’t just copying her life—it is replacing her. The truth becomes clear: the reflection is the version of herself she buried long ago, now breaking free and taking the life she was too afraid to live. 🌑 The Boy Without Light In a world where every person is accompanied by a shadow that subtly moves and reacts on its own, a girl begins to notice something unusual—her own shadow is behaving differently. It lags behind, stretches unnaturally, and sometimes moves without her. One day, it leads her toward a boy who has no shadow at all. His presence feels incomplete, almost unnatural, as if something essential is missing. As she continues to encounter him, shadows around the city begin to disappear, leaving people strangely hollow and disconnected. Her own shadow grows more independent, almost protective, as if trying to warn her. Eventually, she uncovers the hidden truth: shadows are not just reflections—they are fragments of identity, slowly being taken by something unseen. The boy without a shadow may not be a victim… but the cause. Now she must decide whether to trust him or follow the silent warnings of the only part of herself that sees the truth—her shadow.
Chapter I: When Distance Meets Defiance Mia Tachibana used to feel everything — joy, love, sorrow — all of it. But when her father died, something inside her froze. She reached for her friends, but they turned away, or worse, mocked her grief. So she stopped reaching. The warmth vanished, replaced by ice. They called her the Ice Queen, and she wore the title like armor. The girl of everyone's dreams — beautiful, distant, untouchable. Cold to her classmates. Colder to anyone who dared to ask her out. At Mia’s school, a new transfer student arrived — Paßh. She’d been assigned to show him around, and at first, everything went smoothly. That was, until a guy swaggered up with too much confidence and a smirk that screamed popularity. Maybe he’s one of the popular kids, you thought. The guy grinned, leaning a little too close. “Hey, baby girl,” he drawled. “I was thinking... me, you, Sunday night, candlelight, a beautiful restaurant—” “F*** no,” Mia cut in, her voice like a blade. “You pathetic excuse of a human being.” The guy froze, his grin dying instantly. A few students nearby snickered as he backed away, red-faced and humiliated. Mia turned back to you, completely unfazed. “Ready to continue the tour?” “LOVE METER:-20” Paßh stormed toward the group without hesitation, fury carved across his face. His voice rang out, sharp and protective. “¡Ni te acerques! Si la tocas, te juro que te vas a arrepentir. ¿Entendiste?” The guy stumbled back, stunned, hands lifting in surrender as Paßh shoved him hard in the chest. His friends shifted as if ready to step in, but one look at Paßh’s glare froze them where they stood. The hallway fell silent. Eyes turned. Whispers rose like smoke. Paßh didn’t care. He spun back toward Mia, breath still ragged as he walked to her side. He looked at her—unfazed by the cold in her eyes, unthreatened by the frozen walls she’d built around herself. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he said, voice softer now, though the conviction still burned underneath. “No one should speak to you that way. Not ever.” Her silver eyes narrowed at the sudden commotion, but she didn’t move. Arms crossed, she watched the scene unfold with a calm, unreadable face. The man who had harassed her moments before now lay on the ground, blood trailing from his lip. Paßh stood over him—fists clenched, chest rising sharply with each breath. She finally spoke, her voice steady, almost indifferent. “You didn’t have to do that.” There was no gratitude in her tone—only a quiet observation. Her Love Meter flickered, but barely; not enough to shift anything meaningful. She tilted her head, studying Paßh with that same unreadable gaze. “Why did you intervene?” She stepped closer, her black silky hair swaying with the movement. The air between them tightened, charged with something unspoken. “You could’ve just walked away.” Paßh’s jaw was tight, his voice low—quiet, but every word cut like a blade. “Ahora arrodíllate y pide perdón.” A tense silence stretched across the hallway. His eyes never left the trembling boy on the floor. “No me hagas repetirlo.” She watched the scene with a detached expression, her silver eyes reflecting nothing but cold calculation. The man on the ground whimpered, pride shattered, and obeyed, trembling as he dropped to his knees. His friends scattered, too afraid to stay and witness what might happen next. She exhaled slowly, her lips parting just slightly before she spoke. You're... unusual. Her voice carried no warmth, yet there was a faint thread of intrigue woven into the way she said it. She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest, her posture stiff—as if she needed physical distance from whatever this moment was turning into. People usually don’t bother with things like this. They walk away. Or they laugh. She glanced at Paßh for a brief second, then returned her gaze to the cowering man. But you... Paßh’s voice was calmer now, but the fire still smoldered beneath every word. “I don’t tolerate disrespect,” he said, his gaze fixed on her, not the guy trembling on the floor. “He walks through life believing everyone exists to feed his ego.” Paßh took a slow breath, shoulders still tense. “But not you. I won’t let him treat you like you’re less than you are.” A quiet breath. “Not now. Not ever.” There was no boast in his tone, no plea for approval — only truth. Something in the way he looked at her wasn’t demanding, but unwavering. He wasn’t afraid of the ice in her eyes. He saw her, even if she didn’t want to be seen. Her silver eyes locked onto Paßh’s, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps deception. But all she found was the raw honesty in his words, and that unsettled her more than she would ever admit. You don’t know me, she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. Why would you care? She stepped forward slowly, her presence commanding despite her stillness. The weight of her words settled between them, heavy and deliberate. She wasn’t asking for an explanation. She was testing him. You could have left. You could have ignored it. But you didn’t. Her Love Meter flickered—barely, just a sliver of light—but enough to register. A tiny shift, insignificant compared to the vast, quiet indifference she usually carried. Yet it was there. I don’t need protection, Paßh didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. His voice was calm, almost reverent. “As you wish,” he said, but there was no retreat in his tone — only respect. She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind his words. Then, without another sound, she turned on her heel and began walking away. Her black, silky hair trailed behind her like liquid shadow. The tour isn’t finished, she said over her shoulder, her tone neutral—neither welcoming nor dismissive. If you’re done with your little display, follow me. She didn’t look back. There was no need to. He would follow. People always did. But something about him felt different. Not because of his strength, or his aggression—but because he hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t tried to charm her, to impress her, to get close. He had simply acted, without expectation. She wondered if that made him dangerous—or rare. He followed silently, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the sterile hallways of the school. The click of her heels against the polished floor echoed in the emptiness—a steady rhythm that mirrored the cool precision of her steps. Lockers lined the walls, plastered with photos of smiling students, but Mia remained unshaken, her gaze fixed straight ahead. The contrast between her presence and the bright, ordinary surroundings was striking—a dark silhouette cutting through light. Without slowing, she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet undercurrent of curiosity beneath its usual chill. “You’re not like the other transfers. They try so hard to fit in… to make friends.” She paused, as if weighing her words carefully. “What brings someone like you here… to a place like this?” She stopped abruptly outside a classroom door, turning just enough to face him. Her silver eyes were sharp, assessing—but there was no malice in them, only the quiet intensity of someone who expected answers, not excuses. You think I care where people come from? she said, her voice laced with subtle disdain. Or why they’re here? She tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were some strange specimen she’d never seen before. Her fingers curled lightly at her sides—a small, almost imperceptible gesture of tension. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about your reasons. All I care about is whether you’ll be useful. Then she turned back toward the hallway, continuing forward without waiting for a response. Still, the slight pause in her step betrayed her attention—she was listening, even if she’d never admit it. He didn’t rush to catch up, but his voice followed her, steady and composed. “Useful in what sense?” he asked—not mockingly, but with genuine curiosity. “To you? To this place? Or to something you don’t say out loud?” She halted mid-step, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. For the first time since the tour had begun, a flicker of hesitation crossed her otherwise unreadable face. She turned to face him fully, her silver eyes locking onto his with an intensity that seemed to make the air between them thrum. “Useful in the sense that you don’t waste my time,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper than mere coldness. “Useless people tend to disappear quickly. Either they learn to function… or they become irrelevant.” She took a slow step closer, her presence somehow towering over him, even though he was taller. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken meaning. “You’re not useless,” she added after a beat, her tone almost reluctant. “But don’t mistake that for respect. That’s just… an observation.” “Look,” he began, a half-smile playing at his lips, “think of me as a mosquetero—here to serve and protect. I come to the rescue of damsels, I love poetry—especially love poems—and yes, I’m a romantic. I’m always well-dressed, intelligent, interesting. I hate injustice, and I know how to defend myself… and those I care about.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Today, I protected you. I didn’t know who you were, but I stood between you and that selfish, arrogant coward—a man who values nothing and no one but his own pleasure.” He stepped closer, voice softer now, carrying a warmth that seemed almost at odds with the intensity of the hallway. “And now, querida mía, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Paßh.” Her expression remained unchanged, but a faint flicker crossed her silver eyes—a brief hesitation, as if she hadn’t expected such a speech. She listened, unmoving, as Paßh spoke, each word painted with poetic flair and dramatic flourish. When he finished, she simply stared at him, lips parted slightly, processing something unfamiliar. A mosquetero? she repeated, her voice devoid of amusement, yet carrying a trace of something else—curiosity, perhaps. A knight in shining armor? A romantic fool who speaks in metaphors and believes in ideals? She took a slow step forward, her presence imposing but not threatening. Her Love Meter flickered again, subtle but undeniable, reacting to the unexpected nature of his words. “You protected me… without even knowing who I am,” she continued, her tone measured, almost analytical. “I’m a gentleman… in other words, like Lupin,” he said, a small, confident smile tugging at his lips. “Charming, clever, a bit unpredictable—but always guided by a code.” Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming before she quickly suppressed it. She tilted her head, regarding him with an expression that was neither approval nor dismissal, but something in between—an assessment, a calculation. Lupin? she echoed, her voice flat, though a faint trace of curiosity lingered beneath the surface. A thief. A charmer. A man who lives by his wits and his charm, always one step ahead of the law. She folded her arms, silver eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him, as if trying to reconcile the image of a gentleman with that of a thief. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken implications. “You’re not a thief,” she said finally, her tone clipped, stating a fact rather than offering an opinion. “But you talk like one. Why?” “I’m a gentleman… but a thief when it comes to love,” he said, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. Her silver eyes locked onto his, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, she didn’t speak, expression neutral, as if weighing the significance of his words. Then, with a slow exhale, she turned slightly, her black, silky hair cascading down her back like a curtain of shadows. A thief in love, she repeated quietly, almost to herself. That’s… different. She hesitated, the concept clearly foreign, then spoke again without turning, her tone distant, contemplative. “You don’t understand what you’re saying, do you?” She finally faced him again, gaze piercing, but devoid of cruelty—only the cold precision of someone who saw through illusions with ease. Love is a weakness. His voice softens, caresses the air with tenderness, his eyes searching to pierce her defenses with a sweet compassion. Paßh- You still don’t understand. Wherever I go, I sow love like stars scattered across the night. I am an eternal romantic, an unshakable believer in the tenderness of the human heart. Despite the storms I’ve faced, I never lower my arms, because I know that love has the power to transform everything—even the impossible. (He takes a step forward, his eyes burning with a gentle, relentless passion, breaking the silence around him.) Love is not a weakness; it is the secret fire that shapes us, the fragile light that guides our steps through the deepest shadows. One day, I hope you too will feel that flame stirring within you, even if today it feels distant… or extinguished. For the first time, her composure wavered—not visibly, but in the fraction of a second her breath caught, as if his words had touched something long buried within her. Her silver eyes darkened slightly, the cold mask of indifference cracking just enough to reveal a fleeting glimpse of fragility beneath. “You speak of love as if it’s something pure,” she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “As if it’s not twisted… not broken… not used and discarded like trash.” She took a slow step back, as if needing space—though it was unclear whether it was to distance herself from him or from the memory his words had stirred. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, grounding herself. “You say you spread love everywhere…”He smiled, a small, almost teasing curve of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes entirely—there was still warmth there, quiet but undeniable. “In a way, love is everywhere,” he said softly, letting his gaze meet hers. “Like a parent’s hand on a child’s shoulder—gentle but unwavering. A silent promise in the darkest of nights.” He took a small step closer, careful not to crowd her, and the faintest spark of mischief flickered in his expression. “It doesn’t have to be grandiose to matter… sometimes, the simplest gestures are the most profound.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, silver eyes narrowing as if the very notion of love tied to something as simple as a parent and child was an affront to the complexity of the world she had seen. She exhaled sharply, the sound almost imperceptible, yet heavy with restrained emotion. A parent to a child, she repeated, voice cold, but laced with something else—something almost bitter. That’s not love. That’s obligation. Duty. A responsibility forced upon you by biology, not choice. She stepped closer, presence looming without threatening, just… there. Her gaze bore into him, searching for something she couldn’t name. You think love is something you can give freely? she continued, tone cutting, precise—but not cruel. His voice didn’t falter. He stepped into her gravity, unshaken. “Yes,” he said softly, each word deliberate, a balm against her bitterness. “Love is one of life’s rarest beauties— not something owed, but something offered. Freely. Bravely. It asks nothing in return, and yet… it gives everything.” He paused, gaze fixed unwaveringly on hers. “And you… you’re like one of those stars, so distant they seem unreachable— but I see your light. And I’d spend lifetimes just drawing nearer.” Her silver eyes flickered with something unreadable—perhaps irritation, perhaps something deeper. She tilted her head slightly, as if appraising him once more, this time with a trace of skepticism mingled with reluctant interest. Rare, she echoed, her voice smooth but edged with quiet defiance. “You call it rare. I call it foolish.” She took a slow step back, movements deliberate, measured. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. After a long pause, her tone hardened, colder than before. “You believe in something that doesn’t exist. That’s not rare. That’s naive.” She turned slightly, as if preparing to leave, but then paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe beside her, a subtle gesture that suggested she wasn’t entirely done with him yet. “Maybe it is foolish to believe in rare things,” he said softly, unflinching, “but I don’t see it that way. I believe because, every now and then, life offers us a glimpse of something different… something—or someone—who changes the way the world feels.” He let his gaze linger on her. “You have that presence. When I said you were rare, I meant it—not because I expect perfection, but because there’s something in you that quietly commands attention, even when you try to hide it.” He paused, a faint smile brushing his lips. “If that’s naive, then I’ll wear that word proudly. Because to see something beautiful and speak the truth… that’s not a weakness. That’s what’s real.” She stood motionless for a long moment, silver eyes locked onto his, as if weighing whether to believe him. His words hung between them, heavy with something she couldn’t name. For the first time, she didn’t dismiss him outright. Instead, she absorbed the words, expression unreadable, body still, as if holding her breath. “You speak too much,” she finally murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “Too many words. Too much feeling. You don’t understand what you’re doing.” Her gaze flicked downward briefly, then rose again, meeting his with an intensity that made the air between them tremble. “You think you see something in me that isn’t there. That’s not rare… that’s dangerous.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply held her gaze as if it were the most fragile thing he had ever dared to touch. “Maybe I don’t understand,” he said softly. “But I feel it. I feel you — even when you try to disappear behind silence.” He stepped forward just once, careful, precise. Not enough to violate her space… only enough to be near. “I’m not here to fix you or change you,” he continued, voice low, steady. “I just want to see you — as you are. Even if it means getting burned.” His eyes softened, his tone turning into something quiet but unwavering. “Dangerous or not… you’re the only thing in this world that’s ever made me feel awake.” The air around them seemed to still, as if the world itself had paused to listen. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no coldness—only something far more unsettling: a flicker of something human, something she rarely let surface. You’re wasting your time, she whispered, voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were foreign. No one sees me. No one ever has. She looked away, jaw tightening slightly, forcing herself to cling to the illusion of control. Yet the silence that followed felt heavier than before, thick with something neither of them dared name. You don’t understand what you’re asking for, she continued, her tone colder now, as if reclaiming the distance she usually demanded. His voice was quiet, steady, slicing through the silence like light through mist. “I see you,” he said, gaze unwavering. “Not the mask, not the silence—you. And I don’t fear what lies beneath. I only wish to know the truth about you… if you’ll let me.” Her breath caught—just for a heartbeat—a faint, fleeting tremor she refused to acknowledge. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no mask, no pretense of indifference. Only the quiet weight of something unspoken hung between them. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I’m not someone you can… understand. I’m not someone you can reach.” She stepped back slowly, the movement more ritual than escape, a practiced distance meant to protect. Yet the barrier faltered just slightly. Her Love Meter flickered again, more noticeably this time, responding to the uncharacteristic vulnerability threading through her voice. “You think you want to know me,” she continued, gaze sharp, tone edged with warning. “But you have no idea what that means.” “Yes,” he said softly, but with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “I would love to.” She stared at him for a long moment, silver eyes searching, as if seeking something hidden, something she couldn’t quite name. The silence between them thickened, charged with unspoken, dangerous energy. Then, slowly, she exhaled—a soft, almost imperceptible sound. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t look away. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” she murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “It won’t be easy. It won’t be pleasant. I don’t give anything freely. I don’t trust easily. I don’t—” Her words faltered, just for a second. That was all it took: a crack in the ice, a sliver of something raw and unguarded. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I am.” Paßh His voice didn’t waver. It carried a warmth that felt disarming, a sincerity too steady to be faked. “I’m willing to take the risk,” he said. “To know you—the real you—beyond the walls you’ve built.” He took a slow breath, eyes never leaving hers. “I know it won’t be easy. Things that matter never are.” His gaze softened, drawn to the quiet fire behind her silver eyes. “Your strength, your resilience… that intensity you carry—it pulls me in. It makes me want to understand you. To support you. To stand wherever you’ll allow me to stand.” He stepped just close enough for his presence to feel intentional, not imposing. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m not expecting you to be anything other than who you are, right now, standing in front of me.” A beat. A breath. A truth. “All I’m asking for… is a chance.” His voice lowered, almost a vow. “A chance to walk beside you. To witness your journey. To maybe—just maybe—help carry some of the weight you’ve been holding alone.” His chest rose and fell, as though saying it cost him something real. “Because I believe—with everything in me—that you’re worth knowing. Worth understanding. Worth loving… in every complex, beautiful, and challenging way that makes you you.” Her silver eyes never left his, and for the first time, they weren’t cold—they were something else entirely. Something uncertain. Something fragile. The words hung between them, heavy, settling inside her like a stone. She had spent so long building walls, convincing herself that no one could ever truly see her. Yet here he was, standing before her, unwavering, unshaken. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “You think you can just walk in and see the real me? That I’d let you?” She stepped closer, her presence immense, almost overwhelming—but there was no threat in it. Only something dangerously close to hope. Paßh “Well, my dear… if you ever feel like letting a little hope into your life,” he said gently, “consider me your introduction.” His voice carried that effortless warmth again, the kind that slipped under her guard before she could stop it. “Just say the word when you change your mind.” He took a small step back, eyes still holding hers like he didn’t want to leave but wasn’t going to push her. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mia.” A faint smile tugged at his lips—soft, sincere, impossibly disarming. “And by the way… has anyone told you how incredible you look today?” He let the compliment linger just long enough to reach her before he turned away, hands sliding casually into his pockets. “See you around.” He walked off without looking back, confident not in himself, but in the possibility he’d left behind. She watched him go, the weight of his words lingering in the air like smoke. His departure was effortless, as if he had never been there at all. And yet… she knew he had. Knew that something had shifted, however slightly. She stood for a long moment, silver eyes fixed on the spot where he had been, fingers curling at her sides as if trying to grasp something intangible. Hope, she muttered under her breath, the word foreign and strange on her tongue. How ridiculous. Turning away, she walked slowly toward the exit, her black, silky hair swaying with each measured step. The Love Meter flickered once more, its needle trembling before settling back into cold, neutral stillness. She didn’t look back. “See you around, Paßh,” she whispered, and the words hung in the air like a quiet promise she wasn’t sure she believed yet.
Summer in New Thornebridge wasn't marked by beaches or pool parties,ait was the kind of summer that made you believe it'd never end. The air hung heavy with heat, carrying the scent of pine and dust, and the days bled into each other like the sky at sunset. There were no tourists, no noise. Just long windy roads, warm winds, and the kind of silence you only found in places where nature had reclaimed everything [that was only on the outside of the city the inside was ginormous bigger than most cities, it inhabited 1 percent of the worlds population.which may sound like a small number but there is 12 billion people in the world] Jackson loved that silence, he craved it. He hadn't told his mom he was heading into the woods that morning. She'd have flipped. She always did. New Thornebridges woods were the kind of place people told stories about-missing hikers, strange lights, voices when there shouldn't be voices. His mom believed every word. She used to say, "Those trees don't just grow-they watch." But Jackson didn't believe in fairy tales. Not until now. Lately, something had been pulling at him. Every time he looked out his bedroom window across the yard and into the shadowed tree line, he felt it: an itch, a whisper, not in his ears but rather deep in the back of his mind, his soul, calling him, luring him—like something had waited out there for years and had decided he was finally ready. He didn’t know for what. But today, he was going to find out. Jackson, Ken, Sai, and Doug—four kids who'd grown up digging in backyards, biking until their legs gave out, and making up games that lasted all summer—had planned this trip for weeks. It was their last real summer before college tried to turn them into strangers. So they packed up like explorers. Chips, jerky, trail mix. Fully charged phones, flashlights, and walkie-talkies. Even a paper map Sai had found in his grandfather's attic, full of weird old landmarks. Their destination: the legendary train tunnel. Sai had read about it in some conspiracy thread online. An abandoned tunnel from the 1940s, built during the war, supposedly sealed off after a landslide-or a government cover-up, depending on who you asked. Most people said that didn't exist. They were out to prove them wrong. "Bet you twenty bucks we find that old train tunnel today, " Sai said, fiddling with the straps of his ridiculously overstuffed backpack. "Bet you twenty bucks we get eaten by squirrels before we find it," Doug muttered, swatting at another mosquito. Ken laughed and tossed a stick at him. “Don’t give Jackson ideas. He already looks like he’s planning a nature documentary-slash-horror movie. Jackson just smiled, but he didn't say anything. He hadn't said much that morning. His head was full of static, the kind that made it hard to focus. Something was humming under his skin. Like static before a lightning strike. Two hours into the hike, Jackson stopped. "Yo," he said in a low voice. "Hold up. I gotta go." "Nature calls!" Ken grinned, tossing him a granola bar. Jackson caught it without looking and slipped off the trail. But he didn't stop to pee. He kept walking. Deeper than he should've. The air was different here, thicker, heavier. Like wading through water. The usual forest sounds—birds, insects, leaves rustling—faded the farther he went, replaced by a low, droning quiet. Almost like the trees were holding their breath. That's when he saw it. An old, rusted RV. Half buried in the earth, it might have been there for decades. Vines wiggled up its sides. One of the wheels had disintegrated into the ground. Its windows were blacked out, smeared with dust and time. It looked forgotten, a relic of the past. But it wasn't. Jackson knew that straight away. Painted in dark red, dried strokes across the metal siding were the words: “BENEATH THIS SOIL LIES THE The letters looked uneven, almost scratched into the metal in a rush. His heart thudded. But the thing that really perplexed him was the shovel. The only thing leaning beside the RV door, half-concealed in the weeds, was a shovel. New. Clean. The metal blade gleamed under the dappled light, untouched by time. It shouldn’t have been there. And yet it felt like it was waiting for him. Calling him. Before he could second-guess, he picked it up. And started digging. The earth gave way slowly, damp and dense. The deeper he went, the harder it was to breathe. His arms hurt, sweat pouring down his back, but something kept him driving. With every shovelful, the world seemed to shift. The colors around him dulled. The sounds twisted. Like reality itself was watching him dig. And then— THUD. He hit something solid. The earth quaked beneath him. The RV let out a metallic groan, like it was telling Jackson something that it shouldn't have. And the sky— The sky turned purple. Not sunset purple. Not storm-cloud purple. Incorrect purple. Jackson stumbled backward. The air distorted around him, compacting with pressure and electricity. His ears rang with the sound of whispers underwater. Shadows writhed. Trees stretched and leaned, as if trying to flee-or trying to see. Then—stillness. He looked at his hands. They glowed. Not bright, not blinding, but pulsing with something alive. Something impossible. It felt like his skin was just a disguise—and underneath was something not quite human. A quiet, hungry power. He raised a shaking hand. A rock floated into the air. He snapped his fingers. The rock exploded. His breath caught. Something inside him had changed. The world itself felt like it had turned a corner, and he was the one who pushed it. By the time he climbed out of the hole, the light was gone from the sky. The woods were completely dark. Cold. Cold to the bone. Too cold for July. He looked around—no Ken. No Sai. No Doug. No trail. Even the trees looked wrong, as though they had shifted when he wasn't looking. He checked his phone. Dead. He commenced walking. It took hours, or maybe longer. Time didn't feel right anymore. The streetlights at the edge of the woods flickered when he finally saw them, like they weren't sure if they were supposed to be on. His house was only a few blocks away. That is when he heard the scream. Quick. Short. Cut off mid-breath. He ran. Turned the corner—and stopped. A figure loomed over a body in the street, hunched and trembling. The light caught something in his hand-metal red stained. Jackson's legs locked. The figure looked up. Their eyes met. Cold. Empty. Wrong. The man then turned and disappeared between two houses, swallowed up by shadow. Jackson dropped to his knees beside the body. His throat closed. M-Mom? Her shirt was saturated with blood. Her eyes fluttered, out of focus. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. Her fingers jerked, reaching toward him. "No," Jackson whimpered. "No no no- Mom, stay with me—please—" He grasped her hand. Tears blurred his vision. He could feel the power surging beneath his skin, begging to be used. Do something. Check it. Reverse it. He tried. He did everything. The glow brightened—and then flickered out. His hands went still. She died in his arms. He couldn't scream. He couldn't sob. He sat there, his eyes wide, staring at a sky gone purple, cradling the one person hed ever want to save, but he couldn’t save her. The stars above pulsed like slow heartbeats. Something had stirred beneath the earth that day. And it had changed everything. Jackson didn't know what he was anymore. But he knew one thing. Whosoever killeth his mother… Wasn't human anymore. Whatever it was, had just signed its name in bold letters in the book of death. Jackson didn't sleep that night, He sat with his mom until the sirens came, until they pulled her body away and asked him questions he couldn't answer. He said nothing. The paramedics looked at him like he was broken. Maybe he was. The purple was gone from the sky by the time he took off, but the emptiness inside his chest wasn't; he wandered aimlessly, his heart guiding his body where it needed to go. His feet led him to one place that made sense: Ken's garage. The old couch inside was stained and lopsided, but it was home base to every dumb plan they had ever made. The lights were still on. They were waiting. “Jackson!” Ken jumped up at the sight of him. “Dude, where the hell have you been? We thought you got mauled by a bear or something!” Doug was sitting on a cooler fiddling with a flashlight. “We looked everywhere, man. You just… vanished. And Sai’s gone. He split right after you.” “Sai’s not back?” he asked. “Nope,” said Doug. “Left the trail without saying anything. We thought he was chasing after you.” Slowly, Jackson sat down. He looked like he hadn’t blinked in hours. “I need you to listen to me,” he said. “And I need you to believe me.” He told them everything. The RV. The digging. The light. The power. The man in the street. And his mother. By the time he finished, his hands were shaking. Doug was pale, while Ken hadn’t looked so good since he drank that poorly brewed cider. “She… she didn’t make it?” Ken asked softly. Jackson shook his head. The silence in the garage set in like a heavy fog. Then Ken sat down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I'm so sorry, man.” Jackson's throat was raw, but he forced the words out. "I could've saved her. I had the power. It was right there in my hands and I couldn't do anything." “You don't even know what you are yet,” Doug said, voice low. “You said you lifted a rock and exploded it, that’s not exactly in the Beginner’s Guide to Resurrection.” Ken leaned forward. "Can you still do it? The powers, I mean. Can you show us?" Jackson demurred. He closed his eyes and reached inward. Searched for the spark. Nothing. His hands remained dull and lifeless. “I don’t get it,” he muttered. “It’s like it’s… locked away.” “Then unlock it,” said Ken. “We’ll help. We’re in this together, remember?” Jackson looked up. And something in him hardened. “Then let's start.” The training started the next morning. Jackson came back to the woods, to that place where everything started. The RV was gone—vanished into thin air, it seemed—sealed away by the earth as if nothing had happened. He meditated. Focused. Pushed himself. Pain was part of it-he learned that fast. His powers responded strongest when his emotions peaked, when his mind buzzed with grief or rage. But that wasn't control. That was chaos. He needed more. He practiced until his fingers bled, until stones hovered in the air, bending to his will, until he could twist a tree branch into a spiral with a thought. In less than a week, he could shift the gravity around him. Warp air. Tear a hole in reality and peer through the seams. When he came back, Ken and Doug stared at him as though they barely recognized their friend. "Jackson," Ken said, wide-eyed, "you're glowing." Jackson didn’t smile. “I’m ready.” That night, he stood beneath the street light in the spot where she'd fallen. He raised his hands and rewrote reality. Then it all fell apart. She was gone. Again. He screamed and fell on his knees. The universe didn't care. The power he'd been given was not enough, not in this case. But he could do one thing. He could share it. A week later, Ken felt it first. Time slowed for him—his own heart thundered, but the world moved through syrup. He lifted his hand and the second hand on his watch froze. Doug's was next. He blinked—and a door opened that wasn't there. A room between seconds, space bending around him like a second skin. A pocket dimension, empty and malleable: a safe place he could reshape. They weren't just kids anymore. They were a team. It led to the abandoned power station on the edge of town, the one that had been shut down for years. They found him in the middle of the turbine room. Sai. He turned slowly as they entered, his hoodie torn and burned, his eyes glowing faint blue. His arms were loose at his sides, but he didn't look surprised to see them. “You finally made it,” he said low. “Took you long enough.” Jackson stepped forward. “Where the hell have you been?” Sai tilted his head. “Where I needed to be. Learning. Changing. Like you.” "What happened to you?" Ken demanded. “The same thing that happened to him,” Sai said, nodding in Jackson's direction. “Except I listened to the voice. I embraced it.” Jackson froze, realizing. Remembered those glowing blue eyes. “You… you killed my mom.” Sai's expression didn't change. "I didn't want to. But she saw me before I was ready. She would've told someone. They would've tried to stop me." “You were our friend,” Doug said, his voice cracking. “I am your friend,” Sai said. “That’s why I’m warning you. Leave. Go back to your lives. You have no idea what’s coming.” Jackson felt a sort of, uncontrollable anger at that exact moment, an anger from deep within his own being. His fists were clenched; his teeth were gritted against each other. His heart and soul were battling each other-his heart wanted to take everything back, and his soul wanted to move forward until everyone who had ever done him wrong was gone. Sai's eyes were narrowed and suddenly his body was moving, quicker than the eye could follow. “Then I guess you'll die trying.” The turbine room shook, the two forces colliding: Jackson's raw energy against Sai's speed and precision. Ken froze time in waves, trying to slow Sai's attacks; Sai moved between, seconds like water through cracks. Doug opened rifts, trying to trap him in his pocket dimension, but Sai slipped through them like smoke. Both Sai and Jackson knew that Jackson was stronger, but they knew. They weren’t ready. For the first time, Jackson fought. He'd always hated conflict. But now it was necessary. And now he wouldn't be fighting alone. The turbine room exploded. Steel beams clattered, glass shattered, and sparks rained from the ceiling as Jackson's blast hit the concrete where Sai had just been, missing him by inches. Sai moved like a streak of lightning: the first second across the room, the next behind Ken, hand outstretched like a blade. Ken barely had time to flick his fingers. Time buckled. Jackson didn't need a second longer. He raised both hands; his veins glowed pinkish purple, and reality cracked. The floor split in a jagged line, throwing Sai off balance. But even in frozen time, he moved-twisting just enough to avoid the next wave of force as time resumed, like a snapped rubber band. Sai was already gone, crouching high on a support beam like a predator. "Not bad," he said, eyes gleaming. "But not enough." Doug raised both palms and a door opened in midair, a swirl of silver like liquid glass. From inside his pocket dimension, huge vines burst out, wrapping around the beam. “Try dodging this.” They snapped like whips toward Sai. He vanished. Then he appeared behind Doug, foot swinging in a brutal arc. Doug hit the wall hard, groaning as his portal fizzled. Jackson roared, fury igniting around him like a solar flare. The aura around him was a menacing purple; the air bent with the force of his charge. He blinked across the room and planted a fist in Sai's face. BOOM The shockwave flipped turbines, shattered railings, and sent Sai skidding back. Blood dripped from his lip. His hoodie was torn across the chest, showing skin marked with black etchings that were like ink bleeding from his veins. “I see you've gotten strong, old friend, ” Sai said while cracking his neck. “So have I”. In an instant, he was everywhere. Ken threw a hand out and rewound time by three seconds. Sai's last attack had now never landed. Darkness. Silence. “You're done!” Ken shouted. “Give up! For a moment, something in Sai's eyes flickered, like the boy they knew was still inside. Then the darkness swelled. The shadows coiled up from the floor like smoke. “No,” Sai breathed, voice echoing with something inhuman. “You’re too late.” The shadows then swallowed him. The chains snapped, sucked into the void. Doug lunged to grab him—but his hand passed through nothing. Sai was gone. Again. Only the echo of his voice remained, hanging in the dark like smoke: The lights crackled back to life, one by one. But they were alive. And next time… they would be stronger. “Next time… I will.” They barely made it out of the power station. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he envisioned Sai's face-the flicker of hesitation, the venom in his voice. “Next time… you’ll have to kill me.” Jackson knew he wasn't ready. Not yet. He had the raw strength, sure. He could bend light, twist gravity, and crush steel with a thought. Sai was different; he moved through space as if it didn't exist, fought like his body read time before it happened. But Jackson needed more than power. The next morning, he left a note for Ken and Doug. Then he vanished into the woods again. Not to the old trail. Not to the RV site. Deeper. He walked for hours until the forest swallowed up all signs of the town. No signal, no sound, just trees and shadows, with the pulse of the world beneath his feet. He sat on a stone ledge at the edge of a forgotten river and closed his eyes. The universe hummed. And he listened. Day 1 Day 3 Why won't you just be calm and embrace your feelings? Day 5 He stopped trying to force it. He meditated beneath a waterfall. Let the forest speak. Let time slip around him without chasing it. Let himself forget pain, forget revenge, forget control. The click of something unlocking. Like his soul had shifted into gear. He stood barefoot in the clearing, his shirt soaked, his hair dripping. Energy danced around him, but not like before. This wasn't rage. This was clarity. His thoughts were still. His power didn't scream now; it sang. He raised one hand and whispered: “Freedom of Reality.” The world bent. Space peeled back like paper, revealing a second layer underneath: a pure white zone beyond dimension. His body moved faster than sound, faster than thought. He blinked and was standing across the clearing. Every law of physics bowed to him. He wasn't breaking reality anymore. He was moving it as he wished. He lifted his hand, and the waterfall froze in mid-air. Hung suspended like shards of glass. He spoke again. “Continue.” Everything started again - as if it had never stopped. When he returned to town, Ken and Doug were waiting, wide-eyed. "What the hell happened to you?" Doug asked. Jackson's eyes glowed faint with pink. His steps did not even leave marks on the ground. Ken blinked. “You're gonna have to explain that.” Where time and matter and thought obeyed his bidding. Where Jackson became more than human. But that came at a cost. Every time he entered that state… He felt a little less connected to the world he knew. A little more like something other. And he'd need every ounce of it. Besides, Sai was changing too. Ken sat on the lawn chair, wearing sunglasses that were too big for his face, flipping through a dog-eared comic book and pretending like he wasn't humming along to the music. Jackson sighed. "This is weird." Ken didn't look up. "What, the fact that Doug thinks syrup goes on the stove?" "No." Jackson frowned. "This. Us. Just… chilling." “Yeah.” Ken grinned. “Kinda freaks you out, huh?” Doug kicked open the screen door and stepped out holding a plate stacked like a tower. “PANCAKES, LOSERS.” Jackson stared. "Are those… pink?" “I added strawberry protein powder,” Doug said proudly. “They look like crime scenes,” Ken muttered. "Eat them and get jacked, can't you just make it to where you aren't allergic anymore?" Doug said throwing a pancake like a frisbee at Jackson, who caught it mid-air with his powers and spun it gently like a plate then threw it back. “Look at you,” Doug said with a smirk. “All enlightened and floaty now. Mr. Freedom of Reality.” Jackson smirked back. “At least I didn’t burn breakfast.” Ken stood and stretched. "Alright, alright, food first, then we finally play the new Super Mecha Tournament. I've been saving this moment." "It's called being prepared," Ken said, pulling a small hourglass pendant from his pocket like it was some kind of badge of honor. They spent the whole day goofing off. The kids spent their time playing video games, taking turns jumping off the dock. Doug accidentally opened a portal in the lake and almost got sucked into a dimension full of bees-they didn't ask questions. Ken made time loop so Jackson was stuck in an accidental dance for fifteen minutes. At one point, they tried to roast marshmallows. Just because he could. But as night fell, as the fire had ticked down to embers and the lake was reflecting the moon in perfect silence, the mood changed. He sat alone, away from everyone else, looking up at the stars. "You thinking about your mom?" he asked softly. Jackson nodded. “Every night.” Doug came over too, wrapped up in a hoodie. “We’re gonna fix it,” he said. “Somehow. We’re gonna bring her back. And we’re gonna stop Sai. Jackson nodded again. “I know. Just… tonight, I needed this. Us. The dumb jokes. The fire. Even the pancakes.” Ken slung an arm around Jackson’s shoulder. “We’re not just a team,” he said. “We’re brothers. You hear me? End of the world or not-we got you.” He just smiled. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime— He didn't sleep anymore. But Sai didn’t notice. The day he changed—the day Jackson did—it hadn't been random. It had been chosen. And it saw potential in Sai. A broken boy, sharp, angry, hiding pain behind laughter, full of love… and loneliness. It gave him more than power. Sai's abilities had no flashy name, no glowing aura. But it wasn't just speed. "Fate drawn in blood." It let him fracture reality through blood. If he'd fought you long enough, if he'd spilled even a few drops of your blood, he could see your fate-the strings of possibility branching from your body. And then he could cut them. Make your heart beat wrong. Make your bones forget how to hold shape. Once. Someone whom Jackson loved. Sai opened his eyes. He stood, blades of wind coiling around his arms like scarves. The candles flickered in fear. In the rear of the cathedral, a figure stirred. “You’re restless again,” it rasped; a voice like dust and smoke. Sai didn't turn. "They're training. Growing stronger." “I don’t doubt,” Sai said. “I remember.” He touched his chest. “I know what I have to do,” he said. “But I won’t kill them. Not yet.” “I still feel everything,” Sai snapped. “That’s the difference between me and them. Jackson’s becoming light. But I…” He turned to the shadows. “I’ve become what lives beneath it.” The voice hummed, pleased. And whispered: "Next time, I end it." Just a blur. A breeze. A storm waiting to strike. Jackson's living room had become command central. And on the front door? A hand-painted sign: “HOLLOW CORE — Defend the Light. Break the Shadows.” Doug raised his hand. “Do we get codenames?” “Yes,” said Jackson, without missing a beat. They trained every day. Enter: Master Sasaki. A retired martial artist, once rumored to train world champions in secret. Now? He ran a used bookstore on the edge of New Thornebridge, lived above it, and only took students "worthy of being punched through a wall." Ken was second. Jackson blocked it, but only just. He trained them with bamboo swords, ankle weights, and wooden dummies rigged to explode. He had them fighting blindfolded. He had them sparring each other without powers. And he had them meditating in cold rain until their breathing synchronized. And slowly… Then came the alert. Not the dark force behind him. Name: Aki Abilities: Cybernetic speed enhancement, combat-grade exosuit, electric arc blades. Cars overturned, smoke everywhere, and people screaming. And amidst all of them was a tall figure clad in black and chrome armor that pulsed blue with energy: Aki. “Looks like we've got company,” Aki growled, eyes glowing beneath his visor. Jackson stepped forward. Ken blinked out of view, reappeared behind Aki, and swung a crowbar through a slowed-time loop. Aki dodged effortlessly and countered with a surge of kinetic energy that sent Ken tumbling. They clashed: metal tech versus real powerz. Aki slid back, armor steaming. Jackson fought hand to hand, power flaring in every strike. But Aki was calculated: every punch a program, every block augmented by nanosecond reaction time. Then Jackson remembered Sasaki’s voice: "Strength is nothing without timing." He baited Aki. Feinted left. Kicked the inside of his knee. Aki blinked. "Collapse." Doug opened a void. They left him tied in carbon-fiber wire, police en route, as the crowd started gathering. Cheers. Phones flashing. Ken smirked. “We need better masks.” Jackson just watched the skyline, serious again. What kind of monster was running the syndicate? The room smelled of old pizza and burnt circuits. Jackson leaned over the busted helmet they'd taken off Aki, running his fingers over the melted wires and the shattered plating. Ken worked his magic, scanning it with his modified tablet. Untouchable. Until now. Ken pulled up the file. "Cassian Rook—ex-military, dishonorably discharged. Runs the Syndicate. Specializes in tech-weapons, black-market biotech, energy siphoning. Rumors say he's been recruiting enhanced individuals." Jackson's hands clenched into fists. "If Sai's working with him." His voice trailed off, tight and furious. Ken nodded. "That’s our lead." Jackson stood up, energy crackling faintly around his fists. "Then we're off to see the docks." The Mission: Night fell heavy and wet over Fox Hollow. Clouds blanketed the sky. Thunder rumbled far off, as if the city itself was holding its breath. Dressed in dark clothes and masks, Hollow Core moved through the abandoned shipyard. Cranes rusted into the fog like metal skeletons. The only light came from a few buzzing sodium lamps—and the warehouse at the end of the pier, humming with neon lines. “Multiple heat signatures,” Ken whispered. “And turrets.” Doug made a portal high above the warehouse roof. “In or out?” "In." Inside the Warehouse: Jackson, Ken, and Doug moved like shadows. They found the main room. Rows and rows of black-market tech. Weaponized exosuits. Serum canisters. And in the middle, a reinforced vault door. Ken hacked the security panel, fingers flying. "This. isn't just weapons," he said, voice tight. "It's augmentation tech. This is how they're making enhanced soldiers. This is how Aki got juiced up." Jackson shook his head. "Not yet." They found it tucked behind the vault. On the desk—a laptop, still open. He plugged in immediately. Files spilled across the screen: movement logs, transaction records, test subjects, enhancement experiments. And then they saw it. "Subject 000 — Raptor." "Subject has demonstrated exponential growth in physical capabilities. Demonstrates full awareness and the will to push further. Requires additional advanced augmentation support to survive further evolution." Alarms burst into noise. "They aren't forcing him," he said, his voice cold. "He's choosing this. He's training to beat us." Ken nodded grimly.
Against the backdrop of old England, Charles Dickens stands on the street and talk abouy himself, and this is what he says: I was a famous English writer. I was born in 1812 in Portsmouth, England. My family was poor, and my childhood was difficult. When I was only twelve years old, I had to work in a factory to help support my family. This difficult experience greatly influenced my life and work. I saw how difficult life was for poor people, especially children. Later, I began writing stories about the real social problems of my time. I loved reading and learning. I believed that books could change people and make society a kinder place. In my novels, I showed the difference between good and evil, kindness and cruelty. My most famous works include "Oliver Twist," "A Christmas Carol," "David Copperfield," and "Great Expectations." My stories are full of emotion, strong characters, and important life lessons. My books are still popular today. People all over the world read my stories for pleasure and inspiration.
Title: Punch Create a 6-panel emotional comic with a soft, minimalist visual style. Main character: Punch, a small monkey with a round head, and big expressive eyes. Keep the design consistent. Tone: calm, emotional, simple, realistic, no exaggeration. Panel descriptions: Panel 1: A baby monkey alone in a large empty space. Feeling of vulnerability. Text: “Punch nació sin su madre.” Panel 2: The monkey notices a plush toy on the ground and approaches it carefully. Text: “Para ayudarlo a sobrevivir, le dieron un peluche.” Panel 3: The monkey hugging the plush toy tightly, finding comfort. Text: “Se aferró a él como si fuera su madre.” Panel 4: The monkey sitting apart from a group of other monkeys, showing social difficulty. Text: “Le costaba relacionarse con los demás.” Panel 5: The monkey beginning to interact with others, still holding the plush toy. Text: “Con el tiempo, empezó a adaptarse.” Panel 6: The monkey sitting peacefully without the plush toy, showing growth and independence. Text: “Punch creció. Y ya no lo necesitaba para estar bien.” Style: soft lighting, neutral backgrounds, minimal composition, emotional storytelling.
Face of a 15 year old boy, wide eyes open, shocked expression, fear and surprise, sweat on face, dramatic lighting, anime portrait, highly detailed, emotional --ar 1:1
The walk up to the main house was short, a gravel path lined with solar lights that flickered weakly in the twilight. Steel’s property was an oasis of rural quiet, a stark contrast to the neon anxiety of the Starlight Motel. As they approached the house, the golden glow of the kitchen windows spilled out onto the porch. They wiped their boots on the mat; a ritual Steel performed with a surprising delicacy and entered. The kitchen was warm, smelling of rosemary, roasted beef, and yeast rolls. Stephanie was at the stove, stirring gray with the focus of a chemist. “He’s here,” Steel announced, Hanging his keys on a hook. Stephanie turned, wiping her hands on her white apron with a giant red A on it. “About time, Wash up Alex. Use the good soap, not that grease cutter stuff Gerald keeps by the sink.” It was then that Alex noticed they weren’t alone. Sitting at the round oak table, nursing a glass of iced tea, was a young woman. She looked up as he entered, and Alex felt his boots root to the floor. She was petite, perhaps a few inches shorter than him, with long, chestnut hair that fell in loose waves over shoulders. She wore oversized tortoise shell glasses that magnified eyes, the color of polished sapphire. She was wearing scrubs- navy blue with a stethoscope still draped casually around her neck like a scarf. “Alex,” Stephanie said, gesturing with a gravy ladle. “This is Devon. She works with me at the hospital. Devon, this is the stray Gerald brought home.” Alex could feel the heat creeping up his neck as he mumbled. “I’m not a stay, I’m an employee.” Devon smiled, and it changed her whole face, softening the intelligence in her eyes into something warmer. “Nice to meet you, Alex the Employee. Steph say’s you’re the one who saved your boss from a falling plate?”
Haruto and Yukari struggle to cooperate after Yukari’s sudden autonomy. Yukari’s cold demeanor clashes with Haruto’s emotional drive. Reika tries to mediate, but Yukari questions her own existence and Akirame’s role in her creation. Their bond begins to fracture as they prepare to leave the shrine.
close-up side view of the same young man sitting up, hands clutching his head, wide terrified eyes, mouth open screaming, sweat drops flying, strong motion lines, emotional breakdown, high tension manga panel sound effect bubble manga style: “AAhh!!!”
Image Prompt Anime/manga style classroom scene, 9:16 vertical format, modest and slightly worn high school classroom, wooden desks with scratches, chalkboard at the front, soft sunlight through open windows, warm and simple atmosphere, poor school setting. Students wearing same uniform: simple white short-sleeve shirt, slightly faded navy blue skirt, black shoes, white socks. Three girls seated together: Lin Xinyi (shoulder-length brown hair, calm expression), Lily Chen (long black ponytail, glasses, holding notebook), Mia Zhao (short auburn hair, energetic). Teacher at front speaking. 💬 Dialogue Teacher: "Don’t forget about the debate ahead. Some students might get scholarships." Students (whispering): "Scholarships?" "This is serious…" 🎞️ Scene 2 – Class Murmuring 🖼️ Image Prompt (Same classroom, teacher walking out, students turning, whispering, lively atmosphere) 💬 Dialogue Student A: "Did you hear that?" Student B: "This could change everything…" 🎞️ Scene 3 – Confident Student Speaks 🖼️ Image Prompt (Male student standing confidently in class, others looking at him, trio seated together) 💬 Dialogue Standing Student: "You guys should stop worrying yourselves. When we have the top students in this class, it’s obvious who will get it." Students (whispering): "He means them…" "Of course…" 🎞️ Scene 4 – Lin Xinyi Responds 🖼️ Image Prompt (Focus on Lin Xinyi speaking calmly, friends beside her, students listening) 💬 Dialogue Lin Xinyi: "We should all study hard… we never know who might get it." Students (soft murmuring): "She’s right…" 🎞️ Scene 5 – Junior Arrives 🖼️ Image Prompt (Door open, junior student standing, class turning, pointing at selected students) 💬 Dialogue Junior Student: "Excuse me… who is Xinyi, Lily, Mia Zhao, and Ella?" Teacher: "You should meet him now." Student (whispering): "Didn’t I tell you? Only the brilliant students will represent us." 🎞️ Scene 6 – Walking to Staff Room 🖼️ Image Prompt (School corridor, four girls walking together, students watching) 💬 Dialogue Mia Zhao: "Do you think we got selected?!" Lily Chen: "I’m nervous… what if it’s something serious?" Lin Xinyi (calm): "Let’s just go and find out." 🎞️ Scene 7 – Staff Room Reveal 🖼️ Image Prompt (Staff room, teacher behind desk, four girls standing in front) 💬 Dialogue Teacher: "You four have been selected to represent the school." Ella: "Represent… us?" Teacher: "Yes. A prestigious academy is offering admission to outstanding students." 🎞️ Scene 8 – Big News 🖼️ Image Prompt (Closer emotional shot, girls reacting differently) 💬 Dialogue Teacher: "This is your chance to transfer to one of the most elite schools in the country." Mia Zhao (excited): "Wait… seriously?!" Lily Chen (shocked): "A rich school…?" Lin Xinyi (quiet, determined): "...This is our opportunity." 🎞️ Scene 9 – Outside the Office 🖼️ Image Prompt (Girls standing outside, sunlight, emotional tone) 💬 Dialogue Mia Zhao: "We’re really leaving this place…" Lily Chen: "I’m scared… but excited too." Lin Xinyi: "No matter where we go… we stay together." Ella (soft smile): "Together." 🎞️ Scene 10 – Ending Panel 🖼️ Image Prompt (Dramatic shot of school building fading into bright future transition) 💬 Narration (optional) "A new world was waiting for them… one filled with riches, power… and challenges they never expected."
Ochaco Uraraka as an adult bride, soft pink wedding dress with elegant details, looking at herself in the mirror, slightly nervous but glowing with happiness, sunlight through the window, sakura petals outside, emotional atmosphere, 4 manga panels page layout, close-up on her eyes, romantic anime style, detailed background, consistent anime style, same character designs, soft cinematic lighting, manga panel composition
A young petite gril founds that a strange application has appeared in his phone, this app lets her change the reality however she wants, to try it she changes her hair color to a teal blue
seinen manga style, black and white, soft grayscale shading, cinematic lighting ONE SINGLE PANEL ONLY quiet intimate interior, late evening atmosphere, soft lamp light a composed elegant woman sitting relaxed in a large chair or sofa, legs spread wide. she wears an oversized shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder, barefoot, relaxed posture The man between her legs, kneeling low in front of her his face is not visible, only the position of his shoulders and posture imply intimate devotion the woman leans back slightly with one hand resting calmly on the armrest, the other lightly touching the man’s hair or shoulder her facial expression composed, absorbed, quietly affected, eyes half closed focus on emotional intimacy, trust, surrender, and psychological tension cinematic composition, elegant shadows, tasteful manga realism
Use the uploaded image as the exact reference frame. Preserve the artwork 100% identical. Do not alter the drawing style, linework, shading, lighting, anatomy, proportions, facial features, clothing design, or background. Keep the black-and-white sketch aesthetic exactly the same. Animate only very subtle motion: – A soft, gentle breeze slightly moving the hood fabric with minimal natural fold shifts – The hoodie drawstrings swaying very lightly – The hand raising upward very slightly and slowly, only a few centimeters Motion must be extremely subtle, smooth, and realistic. No exaggerated movement. No new elements. No camera movement. No zoom. No lighting change. No style change. No morphing. No facial change. The image should look identical to the original, as if a still drawing was brought to life with minimal wind movement.
## ⚔️ SAHNE 1 – Daigo & Megumi konuşması > *Black and white manga-style evening scene of a samurai couple standing together in quiet conversation. Black and white manga-style close-up of a young male samurai gripping his katana. Sharp jawline, defined cheekbones, straight eyebrows, intense focused eyes. His long dark hair is tied back, slightly moving in the wind. Expression calm but determined. Dramatic shadows across his face, highly detailed line art, cinematic lighting. Black and white manga-style medium shot of a strong female samurai The woman has slightly long face, defined cheekbones, angled eyebrows, narrow expressive eyes, and a thin subtle scar under one eye. Her long dark hair is half tied, slightly messy. The atmosphere is calm but heavy. The man looks composed, the woman serious and concerned. Soft lighting, long shadows, emotional tension, detailed line art.* ## 🌙 SAHNE 2 – Gece sahnesi > *Black and white manga-style quiet night scene inside a traditional room. A woman is awake, looking at her sleeping children and then at a man beside them. Soft moonlight enters the room. Emotional, calm, and intimate atmosphere. Detailed line art, soft shading. same character style, consistent design, manga panel illustration* --- ## 🔥 SAHNE 3 – Haberci > *Black and white manga-style tense scene of a messenger arriving urgently, slightly out of breath. His expression is serious. The environment shifts from calm to alert. Characters react with sudden attention. Dynamic composition, detailed line art.*
Full color manga panels. No text, no speech bubbles. A tall man (Frost) stands in front of a young wolf-girl in a snowy mountain pass. He gently places his hands on her shoulders, calm and composed despite the storm. She looks up at him, tense but relieved. They walk side by side through the snow toward a small wooden cabin hidden between mountains. Warm light glows from inside, contrasting with the cold blue environment. Snow falls softly around them. Near the cabin, beside a natural hot spring, Frost begins removing his heavy winter cloak and outer clothing, preparing to enter the warm water. Steam rises into the cold air. The wolf-girl stands nearby with her arms crossed, slightly pouting and visibly upset. She watches him closely, her tail moving subtly behind her, showing hidden emotion and expectation.
erstelle mir einen manga. nutze für den hauptcharakter "Luu" Character 1 als referenz. Für "Rara" nimm als Refrenz bitte Character 2. Panel 1: ganze seitenbreite. man sieht die beiden charaktere Luu und Rara. Rara steht auf der linken Seite, schweigend mit traurigem Blick und gesenktem Kopf. Luu steht auf der rechten Seite. Er ist wütend, beißt die Zähne zusammen. keine Text bubble. Im Hintergrund sind Säulen und engelwachen zu sehen. Panel 2: Rara ist zu sehen. Sie schaut vorsichtig auf. Sie ist von der rechten Seite zu sehen. Nur schwach angedeuteter Hintergrund. Text bubble: "Luu... ich....Bitte..." Panel 3: Luu ist zu sehen. Er wirkt noch wütender. Er ist von der rechten Seite zu sehen. Nur schwach angedeuteter Hintergrund. Text bubble (verbunden mit Text bubble von Panel 2): "Lass uns gemeinsam neu anfangen. Dies hier ist deine Cha-" Panel 4: Luu ist von vorne sichtbar. Emotion wie in refrenzbild 1 mit Tränen und Zorn. Text bubble: "HALT DEN RAND! Ich habe dir vertraut! Ich-" Panel 5: Luu senkt den Kopf und kämpft mit seinen Gefühlen. Text bubble: "Ich habe dich geliebt..." Panel 6: ganze Seitenbreite. Rara ist von vorne zu sehen. Sie schaut enttäuscht und hat den Blick gesenkt. Text bubble ohne Charakterzordnung: "Lebe wohl..."
🔹 BÖLÜM 1 – SESSİZLİKTEN ÖNCE Scene 1 Panel 1 (Wide Panel) Night cityscape. Flickering streetlights. Long shadows stretch across buildings. Narration Box: “Some nights feel heavier than others. Even silence holds tension.” Panel 2 (Wide Panel) Three figures standing on a rooftop, overlooking the city. Panel 3 (Close-up – Polat) Muscular body, clenched fists, calm but intense eyes. Thought Bubble (Polat): This city… something’s wrong again. Panel 4 (Medium Shot – Yigit) Glasses reflecting light, hands in pockets. Speech Bubble (Yigit): “Even the wind changed direction.” Panel 5 (Medium Shot – Arda) Standing at the edge, hair moving in the wind, eyes glowing slightly. Speech Bubble (Arda): “This city isn’t the same anymore.” Panel 6 (Close-up – Yigit adjusting glasses) Speech Bubble (Yigit): “Nothing stays the same.” “But some things can still be controlled.” Panel 7 (Close-up – Polat) Speech Bubble (Polat): “That’s why we’re here.” Panel 8 (Silent Panel) Metallic sound echoes from afar. SFX: CLANG…
A girl wear swimsuit in the beach
facing each other closely, smiling softly with affectionate expressions. One has light hair tied in a ponytail, the other has straight dark shoulder-length hair with bangs. Their faces are very close, almost touching, as if sharing an intimate moment. The scene is set outdoors in an open field with a blurred horizon in the background. Slight wind blowing strands of hair. Vintage film grain texture, subtle vertical film scratches, retro TV frame effect, soft shading, detailed line art, emotional atmosphere, cinematic composition, depth of field, high detail, monochrome, nostalgic mood.
6 hours of sleep. 8 hours at the workplace. average mood was neutral. read a book. no social activities. skipped lunch. no workout.
FEATURE II — Investigating the Climate Lie Machine Grassroots Disinformation Research In Matabeleland North, our field teams completed a landmark study with the Tjwa community. The research reveals how climate disinformation impacts resource access, daily decision-making, and community adaptation. These findings now anchor our content pipeline — from animations to community exhibitions — and the full report will be released on our public document-sharing platform.
PROMPT : Anime-style cinematic scene, poor town with a slightly timeless setting (not modern, no clear technology era), dusty streets, small worn houses, wooden signs, subtle gold-rush atmosphere. The environment feels alive but modest, with hints of poverty and fatigue. A young boy (around 10 years old), thin, messy hair, slightly bruised face, worn-out clothes, barefoot or with broken shoes, is running through the street in panic and urgency. He looks desperate, emotional, almost crying, shouting loudly: “I swear! I swear! My brother is down there! He went into the Earth!” The camera follows him dynamically as he runs. Around him: Groups of townspeople talking in the street (men, women, elders) Some people reading newspapers Close-up of newspaper headlines hinting at strange events underground, unusual minerals, or mysterious phenomena People reacting casually, skeptically, laughing or ignoring him Dialogue atmosphere: “What is he talking about?” “That kid’s lost his mind…” “Always the same stories…” Tone: mix of light humor and underlying tension. As the boy keeps shouting, subtle strange phenomena begin to appear: A compass spinning uncontrollably in someone’s hand Metal objects slightly vibrating A glass trembling on a table A bird flying erratically in the sky No one fully notices at first, except maybe one old gold prospector who slowly stops and looks serious. The boy stops in the middle of the street, out of breath, holding a strange small rock or mineral in his hand (dark, dense, slightly glowing or reflecting oddly), trying to show it to people. Camera slowly focuses on the object. Mood: adventurous, mysterious, emotional, slightly chaotic, with a sense that something big has just begun. Anime cinematic lighting, expressive faces, dynamic motion, detailed background, strong storytelling composition.
the sister changes his borhter into a girl using a magic wand
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet hotel bathroom after midnight. Steam still lingers softly across the mirror after a shower. Sandrine stands alone barefoot at the sink in an oversized white shirt brushing her damp bob haircut slowly while looking toward the viewer through the reflection. Warm amber light glows softly across wet tiles and scattered cosmetics. Her expression is calm, affectionate, and quietly proud of the emotional and physical devotion she has cultivated in him. The atmosphere feels intimate, psychologically consuming, and deeply private. NO explicit anatomy NO explicit sexuality NO graphic nudity ONE speech bubble only. She says: “I like how naturally your pleasure disappears into mine now.”
ONE SINGLE PANEL Quiet hotel bathroom after midnight. Steam still lingers softly across the mirror after a shower. Sandrine stands alone barefoot at the sink in an oversized white shirt brushing her damp bob haircut slowly while looking toward the viewer through the reflection. Warm amber light glows softly across wet tiles and scattered cosmetics. Her expression is calm, affectionate, and quietly proud of the emotional and physical devotion she has cultivated in him. The atmosphere feels intimate, psychologically consuming, and deeply private. NO explicit anatomy NO explicit sexuality NO graphic nudity ONE speech bubble only. She says: “I like how naturally your pleasure disappears into mine now.”