Special Powers Manga

Character 1 looks out over the other characters before him. Character 1 mockingly says, "My, my, my... look at all the brave heroes assembled to face me." Defiant expressions appear on characters 2, 3 and 4's faces. Character 1 arrogantly says; "Show me what the City of Tueri can do."
كيدو هو شاب عادي يعيش حياة فاشلة ومليئة بالإحباط، يشعر أنه غير مهم ولا يملك أي هدف. في يوم غامض، ينتقل فجأة إلى عالم آخر قاسٍ تحكمه قوانين القوة والرتب. في هذا العالم، لا يُعامل كبطل مختار، بل كشخص ضعيف في أدنى طبقة، مهدد بالموت في أي لحظة. مع مرور الوقت، يكتشف كيدو أنه يمتلك قدرة خفية لا يراها الآخرون — نظام غامض يمنحه فرصًا للتطور كلما واجه خطرًا حقيقيًا أو اقترب من الموت. بينما يصعد تدريجيًا بين طبقات القوة، يبدأ في كشف أسرار هذا العالم، ويكتشف أن نقله لم يكن صدفة، بل جزء من مخطط أكبر مرتبط بكيان مجهول يراقبه منذ البداية. القصة تركز على تطور كيدو النفسي قبل قوته الجسدية، وصراعه بين رغبته في البقاء وخوفه من أن يصبح وحشًا مثل هذا العالم
In a world where a few can bend probability through raw will, a quiet drifter named Kai Kurozawa discovers his gift isn’t luck—it’s a loaded weapon. Each choice twists the odds, but the universe charges interest. SERIES BIBLE (Concise) Power System — Will / Odds / Backlash • Dwellers: Rare individuals who can impose Tacks (micro‐edits to probability) via focused Will. • Odds: A visualized “grain” of reality; Dwellers sense vectors of likely outcomes as shimmering filaments. • Tacks: Intentional nudges (“make that rope snap,” “let the bus be 8 seconds late”). Each Tack accrues Fate Friction—stress that rebounds later as Backlash (nosebleeds → fractures → catastrophic karmic events). • Edges: Personal rituals or anchors (coin flips, mantras) that stabilize Will and reduce friction. • Zeroshift (mythic tier, late series): A liminal state where Odds are a silent ocean and Will is a blade—do not reveal yet. World • Haven District: Port-city sprawl; rusted rooftops, market alleys, flooded underpass murals. • Glassline Metro: Arteries of the city; reflective tunnels where odds feel “loud.” • The Quiet: A rumored zone where Odds stop moving—foreshadowing endgame forces. Factions • Municipal Risk Office (MRO): Bureau that tracks statistical anomalies; polite on paper, predatory in practice. • The Erased: Black-bag unit rumored to “remove” unstable Dwellers. Recurring Antagonists • Rael, “The Eraser”: Uncanny calm; his talent dampens other Dwellers’ Tacks in close range. He is the city’s whispered full stop. • Anti-Kai (Kairo Tsukami): Never named on-page yet. Thematic opposite of Kai—fixes outcomes by stealing other people’s Will. Themes • Choice vs. inevitability, the cost of power, anonymity in crowds, the math of mercy. VISUAL STYLE GUIDE (for art consistency) • Line: Clean, high-contrast inks; thin outline on faces, heavy shadows on urban geometry. • Tone: Filmic noir with sharp whites for the “Odds” filaments. • Odds Visualization: Fine hairline threads and moiré patterns drifting off objects; when Kai focuses, threads bloom like dandelion seeds frozen mid-gust. • SFX: Minimalist lettering, small caps with long em dashes for sustained sounds (e.g., VRRR—). • Panel Rhythm: Quiet micro-panels for intention → explode into wide panels for consequence. CAST (Core + Non-Dwellers — at least 5) Kai Kurozawa (17) • A drifter with a coin ritual. Soft voice, sharp eyes. Edge: Coin Flip. • Quirk: Counts his breaths when deciding; breath 7 is commitment. • Flaw: Terrified of being the cause. Mei Arakawa (19) — Journalism student, street photographer. Non-Dweller. • Brave to a fault; sees patterns in people. Keeps instant camera on wrist. Jun “Switch” Tanaka (18) — Electronics stall kid; builds things from city trash. Non-Dweller. • Grease smudges, perpetual grin, a tool roll like a scroll. Aya Mori (20) — Med student volunteering at a night clinic. Non-Dweller. • Steady hands; refuses to look away from ugly truths. Inspector Haruto Ishii (34) — MRO field officer. Non-Dweller. • Polite, dry, exhausted; catalogues “anomaly sites.” Koji Nakamura (52) — Market grocer. Non-Dweller. • Kind man, jokes in proverbs. (Mark as at risk in early arcs.) Daichi (12) — Rooftop runner, orphan. Non-Dweller. • Knows every shortcut; sells maps he draws by hand. Rael (??) — “The Eraser.” Dweller. • Neutral face; shoes make no sound. The city gets quiet when he arrives. HIDDEN SEEDS in Chapter One • Page 3: A passerby with a ring—three triangular prongs. Later revealed as an Erased marker. • Page 17: Black van reflection in puddle (MRO plate pattern: 131-21). • Page 28: Blank spot in Kai’s Odds vision (Rael’s signature dampening at distance). • Final Page: A second coin in gutter, heads scratched with a thin inverted cross (Anti-Kai sigil—unexplained). CHAPTER ONE: PAGE-BY-PAGE SCRIPT & STORYBOARD Length: 36 pages (tankōbon pacing). Goal: Introduce Kai, demonstrate low-tier Tack, show cost, hook with a moral pivot.
**Panel 1** *Wide establishing shot of the pristine academy hallway—marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, lockers lining walls that look like they belong in a palace rather than a school. Students in expensive uniforms part like the Red Sea. At the far end, a procession approaches: Furina, flanked by four perfectly groomed hangers-on, moves with the fluid arrogance of someone who owns the ground she walks on.* **Panel 2** *Close-up on Furina's face. Sunlight from tall windows catches the blue highlights in her hair and the diamond earrings that probably cost more than a car. Her eyes—sharp, theatrical, scanning the crowd with practiced disdain—suddenly lock onto something off-panel. The corner of her mouth twitches. Not a smile. A predator spotting prey.* **Panel 3** *Dramatic low angle from the protagonist's perspective (Riccardo, brown hair slightly messy, glasses catching the light, worn blazer clearly not from the same tailor as everyone else's). Furina's silhouette blocks the hallway light, her friends fanning out behind her like wings. The perspective makes her seem towering, inevitable.* **Panel 4** *Medium shot. Furina stops abruptly, one hand on her hip, the other adjusting her designer bag strap with deliberate casualness. Her friends giggle behind manicured hands, but Furina's attention is laser-focused. Her cheeks show the faintest hint of pink—barely visible, easily mistaken for the flush of excitement rather than what it really is.* **Panel 5** *Extreme close-up of Furina's lips. Glossy, curled into that cruel, performative smirk. The dialogue balloon drips with theatrical venom:* **"Well, well, well. Look who it is!"** **Panel 6** *Cut to her eyes—wide, almost too bright. The reflection in her pupils shows a tiny, distorted image of you. Her fingers, hidden behind her back in this shot, are clutching her phone so tight her knuckles are white. A small text bubble near her head, small and wavering, reveals her internal monologue (manga-style, grayed out):* *"He wore the blue shirt today... the one that matches his eyes..."* **Panel 7** *Wide shot of the confrontation. The hallway has gone quiet. Other students press against the walls, watching the ritual humiliation. Furina takes one step forward, invading personal space, her head tilted back to look down her nose at you despite the fact that you're taller. Her friends lean in, expecting the usual performance—the comments about your secondhand shoes, your patched bag, your "peasant" glasses.* **Panel 8** *Close-up on Furina's hand. It reaches out as if to flick your collar or snatch your glasses—her usual taunts—but freezes mid-air. The fingers tremble almost imperceptibly. She pulls back, crossing her arms instead, maintaining the fortress of her arrogance.*
CyberWolf Chapter 1: Awakening (Rough Draft) Tori Mack woke up because his body felt wrong. The room was quiet, filled with the low hum of machines. White lights burned above him, and the air smelled clean—too clean. His head throbbed as he tried to remember how he got there, but his mind was blank. He moved his right hand. Metal shifted. Tori froze and slowly lifted his arm. From shoulder to fingertips, it was solid steel—smooth, dark, and unbreakable. His breathing picked up as he tried to move his right leg. Metal again. “What… is going on?” he whispered. “You’re awake,” a calm voice said. Tori turned his head. A man stood beside the bed, watching him closely. He looked older, his expression patient, like someone who had been waiting for this moment. “My name is Ein Tucker,” the man said. Tori tried to sit up. His body responded easily, stronger than it should have been. He swung his legs off the bed and stood. His metal foot hit the floor with a solid thud. “I don’t remember anything,” Tori said, panic creeping into his voice. “What happened to me?” “You were caught in a storm,” Ein said carefully. “You didn’t survive it the way a normal human would.” “So what am I?” Tori asked. “Still human,” Ein replied. “But also something more.” “Rebuilt by who?” Tori asked. “That’s a conversation for later,” Ein said. “What matters now is that you’re alive.” Tori clenched his metal fist. It didn’t shake. It didn’t hurt. “When I was unconscious,” Tori said quietly, “I dreamed of wolves watching me.” Ein’s eyes sharpened for a brief moment. “Focus on learning how to move,” Ein said. “The rest will come in time.” Tori stood there half flesh, half metal feeling power beneath his skin. His old life was over.And the beginning of CyberWolf had just begun
yuuka zenin do clã zenin um clã renomados de feiticeiros jujutsu que tem como principal técnica a invocação das dez sombras que são shikigamis cada um com sua especialidade yuuka zenin tem um irmão chamado tsurugi que têm como técnica a restrição celestial que foca em trazer o potencial físico do seu corpo ao extremo para lutar de igual pra igual contra maldições
半分の君 Romaji: Hanbun no Kimi Meaning: “Half of You” At Hoshizora Academy, the Compatibility Program forces second year students to live together like married couples — cooking, cleaning, studying, sharing a dorm unit, and being graded on emotional sync. High scores mean scholarships. Low scores mean repeating the year. The program is infamous for creating bonds that feel too real and exposing feelings students try to hide. Ignatius Arimura enters the year hoping to stay invisible. He’s quiet, introverted, and still carrying the ache of a breakup he never healed from. Aoi Kisaragi was his first love — the girl who made him feel alive, and the girl who walked away from him without ever explaining why. Aoi hides her guilt behind her bright smile, convincing herself she’s moved on to Ren. Ignatius tells himself he likes Mina because it’s easier than admitting he still aches for Aoi. When the pairing announcement arrives, Aoi silently begs for Ren. Ignatius silently hopes for Mina. Both pray they won’t be paired with each other. But fate is cruel. Their names appear together with a compatibility score of 12%, the lowest in the program. The room goes silent. Aoi’s smile cracks. Ignatius’s heart sinks. Moving into the same dorm feels like reopening a wound neither of them survived. Their first days together are a disaster. Aoi’s loud music, Ignatius’s quiet routines, her clutter, his need for order — everything clashes. Their first evaluation ends in failure. But when Ignatius freezes during a public speaking assignment, Aoi steps in without hesitation, her voice steady, her hand brushing his as she takes over. For a moment, it feels like the version of them that used to exist. Their score rises to 18%, and Ignatius realizes with a painful twist that he never stopped caring. Seeing Mina and Ren working together so naturally only deepens the ache. Aoi watches Ren laugh with Mina in a way he never laughed with her. Ignatius watches Mina shine beside Ren and wonders if he ever had a chance. Both feel jealousy they refuse to acknowledge. That night, Aoi cries quietly in the bathroom, and Ignatius hears her through the door. He stands there, hand hovering over the handle, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to comfort her anymore. They eventually agree to a truce and create a “Compatibility Strategy Plan.” Cooking together leads to soft laughter. Communication drills turn into arguments that somehow end with them smiling. Late night study sessions blur into moments where they forget they’re supposed to be exes. They fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch, but each night they wake up a little closer. Their score jumps to 41%. Aoi wakes one morning with Ignatius’s jacket draped over her shoulders. She doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t tell her. And then comes the chapter that changes everything. One night, after a long study session, Aoi falls asleep at the table, her head resting on her arms. Ignatius tries to wake her, but she mumbles something soft and exhausted, and he can’t bring himself to shake her. He sits beside her, meaning to stay only a moment. But he’s tired too. He rests his head on his folded arms, inches from hers. The room is warm. The silence is gentle. Without meaning to, they drift off together. When they wake, the sun is rising. Aoi’s head is resting on Ignatius’s shoulder. His hand is loosely holding hers. Their breaths are slow and in sync, like they’ve been sleeping together for years. For a long moment, neither moves. Neither speaks. The world feels fragile, like one wrong word could shatter it. Aoi’s cheeks turn pink. Ignatius’s heart races. They pull away slowly, reluctantly, as if their bodies haven’t caught up to their minds. Their score jumps to 52% the next day, and the teachers quietly note that their emotional sync spiked overnight. Aoi begins noticing Ignatius again — the way he concentrates, the way he softens when he’s comfortable, the way he still remembers her favorite snacks. Ignatius begins noticing Aoi’s hidden fears — her loneliness behind her popularity, her pressure to be perfect, the way she tries so hard not to disappoint anyone. They move around each other like a married couple who never learned how to stop caring. They share toothbrush cups, laundry baskets, late night ramen, sleepy mornings, and quiet moments that feel too intimate for two people who claim they’re over each other. During the festival test, their booth becomes the most popular attraction. Aoi turns down a confession from another boy, her voice trembling. Ignatius gets flustered when Mina compliments him, and Aoi notices the way he blushes. Their score jumps to 63%. That night, Aoi quietly asks him if he ever hated her after the breakup. Ignatius can’t answer. He can’t lie. The silence between them is thick with everything they never said. Rumors spread that pairs might be reassigned. Aoi panics at the thought of losing her chance with Ren. Ignatius panics at the thought of losing Mina. But beneath those fears is something heavier: neither of them wants to be separated from each other. Aoi cries alone on the balcony, and Ignatius silently places a blanket over her shoulders. She doesn’t turn around, but she leans into the warmth. They stand there together, the distance between them shrinking in ways neither of them can deny. A storm knocks out the power one night, leaving them in darkness with no cameras, no expectations, no pretending. They talk honestly for the first time in months. Aoi admits she’s tired of being the strong one. Ignatius admits he’s tired of being the quiet one. They sit close, closer than they have since before the breakup, sharing warmth in the dark. Aoi falls asleep with her head on his shoulder again. Ignatius doesn’t move. Their emotional sync test the next morning hits 92%, the highest in the program. As Ren and Mina grow closer, Aoi and Ignatius realize their old crushes were fantasies — safe illusions they clung to because they were afraid of the real thing. The real connection is the one they’ve rebuilt: messy, painful, warm, and real. They act like a married couple — cooking together, arguing, laughing, sharing space, sharing silence — but they’re not lovers. Not yet. They’re something in between, something fragile and terrifying and impossible to name. When the reassignment list is posted, Aoi’s hands shake and K Ignatius’s heart pounds. They scan the list, terrified. Their names remain together. Not because of luck. Not because of the system. But because they earned it. Aoi turns to him, eyes shining with something fragile and hopeful, and whispers, “Ignatius … can we try again?” He takes her hand gently, like she might break, and says, “Yeah. This time… let’s not run.” They’re not lovers. Not yet. But they’re closer than they’ve ever been — a pair who lives like a married couple, fights like rivals, and holds each other like home.