Raditya's hand hovered over the console. Azure energy crackled around his fingers, unstable, almost hungry. He could feel it wanting to discharge. His father’s voice still echoed in his head, a unique blend of twisted affection and cold calculation that only he could pull off."If this world must forget, then Father is the first I will erase." He hadn't meant it as a threat. That was the worst part. He'd meant it as a kindness.The contract. Mayor Mulyadi's signature at the bottom, clean and unhurried, like the man had signed a building permit. Leo's fleeing thoughts had carried that detail to him and Raditya wished they hadn't. Because now he couldn't stop thinking about what it meant for everyone still inside those walls.His eyes moved across the monitors. One feed after another. The chaos was getting worse. The hum of the system thrummed against his skin, a symphony of impending doom.A deafening klaxon wailed, far louder and more insistent than the usual fire drill alarms. It was

The pandemonium was absolute. Teachers, students, agents alike, were now lost in a whirlwind of personal confessions and amplified grievances. The Organization’s tight grip on the school was fractured. Raditya had unleashed not just chaos, but anarchy.And in the midst of it all, a chilling thought surfaced, separate from the throng. It wasn’t from a teacher or student. It was sharper, colder, more dangerous. It was from a distant consciousness, one that echoed in the deeper layers of the school’s network. It was a familiar echo, a twisted reflection of his own amplified abilities.As Raditya struggled to maintain the immense psychic broadcast, feeling the edges of his consciousness fraying, he saw a figure emerge from the terrified crowds in the auditorium. It was Clara. Tears streamed down her face, her once bright eyes now vacant and dull. But her thoughts, amplified and distorted, pulsed with a raw, broken desire for him.“Radit… you always made me feel special… please… make them

Pandemonium wasn’t confined to the auditorium. It was everywhere. Corridors that moments ago had been filled with orderly students now resembled a battleground of exposed minds. Groups of students, hysterical and disoriented, stumbled through the halls.Some clutched their heads, eyes wide with incomprehension as mental transmissions from their teachers and friends hammered them.Raditya’s raw psionic sense, despite Argo’s filtering chip, felt like an open wound. He could perceive the overload, the sensory ‘overdose’ of unfiltered truths now coursing through the students’ nervous systems.Many were openly weeping, overcome by the shame of their own thoughts, suddenly aware that everyone around them knew their deepest, most trivial secrets like the crush on the chemistry teacher or the desire to steal candy from the co-op.Others shrieked with anger, turning on anyone perceived as part of the system, their faces distorted by paranoia and betrayal. The sheer noise of their individual me

The Foundation agent, focused solely on Raditya, twitched at the unexpected sound. It was an emotional reaction, something unusual for them. In that split second, a shadow, quicker than human eyes could follow, lunged from behind Raditya.It was The Mirror. The figure is now confirmed as a distinct, evolving antagonist. It took advantage of the chaos in the corridors to bypass Argo’s defenses and ambush them.This wasn’t a standard Cleaner. The Mirror wasn't a mask. It was a personification of reflected will, a mind honed for mental combat, a vessel capable of incredible psychic resistance and redirection. His metallic boots scraped against the concrete floor as he appeared, a stark figure of imposing authority. His suit, rather than plain armor, had sleek, almost artistic lines, a polished obsidian that shimmered even in the dim, chaotic light.A cowl hid the upper half of his face, but his eyes glowed with an unnerving scarlet intensity, radiating immense, focused hostility, almost p

Raditya froze. Bianca’s unconscious weight in his arms felt heavier than lead, a brutal reminder of the sacrifice made just seconds ago to bring down The Mirror.Blood seeped from her nose, warm and sticky against his shirt, and her shallow, ragged breaths clawed at his already frayed nerves. Every muscle in his body screamed, his head pounded with a mix of raw grief, physical exhaustion, and the receding echo of a colossal psychic battle.His vision, still alternating between murky gray and searing flashes of electric blue, blurred at the edges, refusing to truly focus on the horror that now filled the service tunnel’s emergency exit.Pak Bambang, his father. He stood there, framed by the cold, sterile white light of the command center beyond, a stark contrast to the grime and chaos of the tunnel. No longer a holographic projection, but real, tangible, in a crisp, white lab coat that shimmered ominously.There was no fatherly warmth in his gaze, only a chilling blend of scientific sa