Novels by pretty oni chan 7

Chapter 10: Reckoning and PreparationKaelen ran his eyes down the perpetual scroll of information: courses, races and the ugly facts behind the pretty phrases of the Supers Association. His teacher had once preened, pompously, “No discrimination of classes.”Bullshit, Kaelen cursed in his head with a vengeance.No open discrimination, no formal caste system that excluded any group of people, that was at least the case. Yet under the surface Kaelen could see the jagged fissures--the divisions so distinct that they could cut flesh and soul alike. Classes were not equal, by no means.The forum motto, whispered over and over, was There are no weak classes, only weak Awakeners. However, the new information Kaelen had acquired gave a more complicated picture: there were classes with sharper claws, faster wings, or tougher scales than others. The crafty snake and the clumsy turtle were both living, but one was much more deadly.The triad of roles, Combat, Support and Lifestyle, was the only

Chapter 9: Secrets of the MarkWhat Kaelen saw on the screen was misleadingly simple: a clean white background, the severe Supers Association logo flashing in the top corner, and two friendly blank bars marked email and password. No glittering symbols or occult writings to suggest that behind this portal are great secrets.Kaelen grinned to himself and quickly typed in the log-in credentials, which that oddly calm woman at the front desk of the Association had provided. His hands were moving on the screen, excitement and anxiety tingling in his flesh.It was not just a regular site, he thought. I am not merely logging into another hellish social media platform, but I am entering a closed club of supernatural cunts.He tapped sign in with certainty and was instantly transported to another world. The dullness of the log in page was replaced by a vivid churning hive of activity that filled the screen like a hive of buzzing information wasps.The new page was like a forum but drenched wit

Chapter 8: Awakening SecretsThe two-bedroom apartment that Kaelen shared was squatting on the second floor of a plain six-story block, a building that had four identical apartments on each floor. The type of establishment where the walls had echoes of daily struggle and hope intertwined within the flaking paint and humming fluorescent-lights.The living was not luxurious,--not by any means--but it was tolerable, the kind of simple comfort to which one adjusts oneself when life requires patience and silent endurance. Kaelen was sure, in the obstinate optimism of new money and new power, that one day soon he would haul his ragged family out of this little, rented cage and into something befitting the future he could see.Within this common territory, the two-bedrooms were partitioned with some practicality and unspoken demarcations. One was Kaelen, a narrow room overfilled with textbooks and an obstinate green plant that would not die. The other was a joint refuge of Aunt Velithe and h

Kaelen lost no time. He called a taxi, threw a crisp bill to the driver without batting an eyelid, and dropped back into the close, leather-scented seat. His muscles, freshly stirred and tingling with the electric hum of potential energy, could have managed the walk, but why the hell would he punish himself, when he was now so suddenly cash-rich? His home was miles away, and the Supers Association was a cruel journey that would consume at least an hour and a half, and he was not going to demonstrate how stubborn he was by dragging his weary ass through the streets of Woodstone.Frugality was off the books with fifteen thousand federal bucks flashing happily on his phone. This was not the moment to be the poor kid who was always sweating over bus fares and day old bread.The taxi was sliding through the streets of afternoon light and buzzing neon signs, and Kaelen sent a quick message to Aunt Velithe: Registered. I am on my way. Till later. Then, just when the car was going over a spee

Chapter 6: Papers and PromisesThe Supers Association building had a smell of burnt ozone, cheap-soap, and ambition.Kaelen went through the twin doors to find a solemn silence, perhaps a couple of glowing ceiling runes humming with divine bureaucracy. He received noise instead. Chaos. Youth. At least thirty children wandering around like lost cultists in a neon temple.It surprised him. The place had been dead still outside, with a false quietness that is like a predator awaiting lunch. But inside? It was a madhouse of hushed whispers, weary employees and glowing registration sigils that flickered like they were about to fall into digital nausea.The majority of the people here resembled him. Young. Unsettled. Stiff-backed with the kind of posture that screamed “I don't know what I'm doing but I want to look cool while doing it.”And they were New Awakeners, like himself.Kaelen didn't need divine insight to piece that together. With only two Association branches in Woodstone City an

Chapter 5: Registering the DeadThe instructors disappeared like bureaucratic ghosts with hangovers and the nine newly minted Awakeners stood blinking in their newfound freedom. They all hung around as though they did not know what to do, go left, right, or up the social ladder. But Kaelen? He did not tarry.He walked as a man with a mission. He was because.Two things had to be done, and one of them was bureaucratic. The other was holy: to tell the woman who had fed his body, warmed his nights and occasionally slapped sense into him with a spatula that he had not failed. Not this time.The first stop was Supers Association.The basics were already known to the former owner of this body even before Kaelen soul crash-landed into this fucked-up magic-cyberpunk hellscape. Everybody did, hell. This was one of the few things that everyone in the Aurora Realm knew to be true: don not mess with the Association or you would have your kneecaps dissolved in the acid of bureaucracy.The Supers A

E47: The Rising Flame and the Fall of ThreeThe roar of the explosion hadn’t fully faded when a thick curtain of smoke rolled across the battered street like a slow gray tide. The charred air reeked of scorched asphalt and burnt polyester, sharp enough to sting the nose and burn the throat. Rubble and splinters of shattered sidewalk lay scattered around the impact crater, and at its center, something massive had been hurled back.Kim Do-hyun (김도현) was still hunched low near the ground, his hands bracing his knees, lungs wheezing with each shallow breath. His ribs ached from the last brutal strike he had taken, and his abdomen still felt like a twisted knot of fire from where that mountain of a man had crushed him. His fingers were trembling slightly, half from adrenaline, half from pain, but his eyes were steady, locked on the aftermath.Out from the dispersing smoke came the sight that snapped everyone's attention—the fat boss, the towering bruiser who ha

E46: The Mammoth ChargesThe heavy thud of footsteps against the cracked pavement made the air tremble with unease. The fat, hulking man who had been calling the shots—now shirt shredded down the side, exposing skin that looked almost unnaturally dense and veiny—was moving forward with a kind of terrifying calm. Despite his absurd size, there was no sluggishness in his step. No hesitation. Just pure, mechanical intimidation.Kim Do-hyun (김도현) stood his ground. Or at least, he tried to.Inside his chest, his heartbeat was thumping like a drum on the edge of snapping. His muscles were shaking—not from fear, but from pain that had begun catching up to him like a debt collector. The last blow from the Tarzan-looking brute hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him. It had rattled something deeper. A nerve maybe. Or his spine. He couldn’t tell anymore. His vision flickered at the edges like a TV losing signal. Even the breeze on his skin felt distant now

Episode 45 – Burn, Break, SurviveKim Do-hyun (김도현) stood his ground, his knees slightly bent, posture low, body angled sideways to reduce his exposed area. His muscles were tensed, not in fear but in readiness. His lungs pulled in tight, steady breaths as he tracked every movement in front of him. Oh Min-joo (오민주) stood behind him, her hands trembling, face pale with a cocktail of fear and adrenaline swirling behind her eyes. But despite her visible anxiety, she bit down on her bottom lip, drawing a tiny drop of blood, and made her decision.With a sharp inhale and a flick of her wrist, she conjured another radiant sphere of flame into her palm. This time, the glowing orb pulsed with a concentrated, unstable intensity — like a miniature sun packed tight with fury. She shouted, voice cracking but fierce, “Step back, or I swear I’ll burn straight through you!”She didn’t wait for them to laugh again.The sphere shot forward like a missile, trailing

EPISODE 44 – Fire in the PalmThe tension in the air was like thick molasses. Every second dragged with weight, and every breath felt loud. Kim Do-hyun (김도현) remained in his fighting stance, heels anchored into the stone beneath him, knees slightly bent, shoulders lowered, eyes locked forward with calm intensity. His right arm stayed loose but ready, and his left hand hovered near his waist, prepared to either block or grab depending on how the next second unfolded. He could hear his own heartbeat now, thudding in rhythm with the tension rising around him. The muscles in his neck flexed, and the breath that passed through his nose came out like cold steam.Then it began.The first guy to charge looked like a living jungle beast. Long black hair whipped around his face in wild tangles, like vines shaken by a violent gust of wind. He had no shirt on—just a sleeveless combat vest half-zipped and stained with what might have been sweat or old blood. His arms w

EPISODE 43 – A Crowd Gathers, and Trouble UnfoldsThe plastic bench Kim Do-hyun (김도현) sat on wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it served its purpose. It was old, slightly faded from years of sun exposure, and bolted into the stone pavement of the city park’s open square. Around him, trees swayed softly in the humid night breeze, their broad leaves whispering overhead like gossiping spectators. Streetlamps dotted the walkways, casting golden halos over patches of grass and the winding concrete paths. From somewhere nearby, the smell of warm fishcakes and spicy tteokbokki drifted from a food stall, mixing with the distant noise of traffic and quiet conversations.He exhaled heavily through his nose and leaned back, neck stiff, trying to recover from the constant clone hopping he had been doing. His mind still buzzed faintly from the gun practice session earlier. The recoil of the Desert Eagle, the sharp sting of air against his clone’s cheek, the incredi

.Episode 42 – The Bench, the Bald Hunter, and the Lie with No BlinkThe cold stone bench had barely softened beneath his weight when Kim Do-hyun (김도현) exhaled, his mind still buzzing from the aftereffects of clone synchronization. He had just come out of another deep dive, this time into Clone Number One’s target practice routine. The shared consciousness link had left his senses temporarily scrambled, like a jigsaw puzzle of borrowed memories he hadn’t yet fully sorted. A ringing lingered in his ears. His arm, despite being still, seemed to recall the recoil from every shot Number One had fired—his nerves still buzzing with muscle memory that wasn’t quite his. His breathing was shallow, like his chest didn’t know which rhythm to follow anymore.The evening had settled over the city like a heavy wool blanket, warm but suffocating. A soft breeze wandered through the city park, teasing the tips of the trees and rustling the yellowed pages of an abandoned flyer s