Forgotten Depths / The Weight of Change

The sun had barely risen over Pune when Kaname guided Jiho through a stretch of broken roads and rusted fences. They stopped at what looked like nothing more than an abandoned warehouse. Jiho squinted, confused.

“This it? Bruh, you dragged me all the way here for… dirt?” he muttered.

Kaname didn’t answer. He pressed his palm against a cracked stone plate hidden beneath a mess of dry leaves. With a low rumble, the ground shifted. Dust flew up as the earth split open, revealing a staircase that seemed to spiral endlessly downward.

Jiho’s eyes widened. “No way… an underground base?”

“Follow me,” Kaname said simply, his tone carrying that same unshaken calm.

The deeper they descended, the cooler the air became, until Jiho finally stepped into a place that looked nothing like the India he knew. Holographic screens floated in the air, robotic arms moved with surgical precision, and vials of glowing liquid bubbled in glass containers. It was like stepping into a sci-fi movie.

And then he saw her.

She stood by one of the terminals, adjusting her glasses with nervous fingers. A lab coat hung over her frame, but it did little to hide her curves. Her skin was pale, her hair silky black, her features almost doll-like. And every time her eyes accidentally met Jiho’s, her cheeks flared red.

Jiho blinked twice. Bruh… no way… this much beautiful scientist in real life?

Kaname broke the silence. “Yumi. This boy wants to become a Vector.”

She turned toward them, voice soft, almost trembling. “O-oh… I see.” She handed Jiho a sleek transparent pad, its surface glowing with text. “You’ll need to fill out an application. It’s standard procedure.”

Jiho scanned through it.

Name

Date of Birth

Clan (Optional)

Blood Group

Reason for Joining

At the bottom, one line stood out in bold:
This organisation will not be responsible for any harm, damage, or death caused to the applicant.

Jiho hesitated, staring at it for a moment. But really, what else did he have? With a sharp exhale, he scribbled his details and handed the pad back. “Guess I’m in.”

Kaname placed a hand on Jiho’s shoulder. “Good. Now, let’s see if you even meet the basic requirements.”

They entered a circular chamber, its walls lined with glowing conduits. In the center stood a scanner. Jiho stepped inside, the machine whirring as numbers flashed across the screen.

“Normal humans,” Kaname explained, “barely cross a hundred KAI points. Ordinary Vectors range anywhere between a hundred thousand and ten million.”

The screen beeped, locking onto Jiho’s reading.

10,000.

Jiho’s jaw dropped. “Wait—hold up. That’s… above average, right?”

Kaname smirked faintly. “Above the minimum. That’s all that matters.”

Jiho frowned. “Bruh, the minimum’s what—500?”

Kaname shook his head. “One thousand.”

Jiho’s eyes widened. So I’m like… ten times stronger already? But Kaname’s calm expression didn’t let him bask in it for long.

“Don’t get cocky. Power is useless without control. And control starts with the body.”

The training ground was brutal. Sweat stained the concrete, weights lined the walls, and in the corner sat a treadmill that looked like it belonged in a torture chamber.

Kaname laid it out in a voice that allowed no arguments. “One hundred sit-ups. Fifty push-ups. One hundred and twenty squats. Seven kilometers of running.”

Jiho’s jaw hit the floor. “HUH?! No way I can do all that every day!” His face twisted in that annoying cartoonish grimace only he could pull off.

Kaname’s gaze didn’t waver. “For gaining something, you must lose something. Remember that.”

Jiho groaned but dropped to the floor anyway. The first run nearly killed him. By the time he stumbled off the track, his lungs burned like fire and his body felt like jelly. He collapsed on the ground, muttering, “Yup… I’m dead. Bury me here.”

Yumi, blushing as always, offered him a bottle filled with neon-blue liquid. “T-this should help with recovery…”

He drank it in one gulp, and instantly his body felt lighter, his muscles loosening as if melting the pain away. He shot her a grateful look, and she turned away quickly, cheeks pink.

Days passed.

The second morning, Jiho’s body screamed with soreness, but he dragged himself back into the lab anyway. His legs gave up halfway through the squats, but Kaname’s sharp tone whipped him back to his feet. The third day, he noticed something strange. His body wasn’t breaking down as fast. The runs became smoother. The sit-ups didn’t burn as much. Something was changing.

Kaname noticed it too. Watching from the sidelines, his thoughts were cold and sharp. KAI is accelerating his metabolism. His body’s adapting at a frightening speed.

By the fifth day, Jiho had shed ten kilograms. His movements grew lighter, sharper. His reflection in the mirror barely looked like the same boy—his once-heavy frame was slimming, his muscles starting to show.

By the tenth day, he had lost twelve kilograms in total, his height pushing up to six-foot-two. Even Yumi, always shy, couldn’t help sneaking glances when she thought he wasn’t looking. Jiho caught her once, grinned, and she nearly dropped her datapad in embarrassment.

Kaname, arms crossed, studied him quietly. This boy… he’s different. Built for this.

On the eleventh day, Kaname finally called an end to the grind. “Enough. You’ve done well. But weight loss is only the beginning.”

He led Jiho through a long corridor until they stopped at a large steel door. Across its surface, glowing words pulsed faintly in blue:

“Lightning-Wind Test.”

Kaname placed his hand against the door and smirked. “Now… let’s see your true abilities.”

The door creaked open, a rush of air escaping into the corridor. Jiho swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest. Whatever waited for him inside… this was where the real test began.