Chapter 12: final confrontation (IV)

The city hummed under the moonlight, neon signs flickering against the wet asphalt. Derek crouched atop a fire escape, hood up, leather jacket tight against his shoulders, katana strapped to his back. His eyes traced every movement below, every shadow, every twitch of light. He had waited a week, tracking the copycat, studying patterns, analyzing mistakes. Tonight, it would end.

A figure emerged from the alley—a reflection of Derek himself. Same height. Same build. Same sharp eyes. But Derek could see the cracks in the copycat’s composure.

“You really think this ends well for you?” Derek whispered, voice low but cutting through the drizzle.

The copycat laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “Thunder,” he said, stepping forward, mimicking Derek’s gait. “You’re predictable. That’s why you’ll fail.”

“I’m predictable only because I study everything,” Derek replied, stepping down from the fire escape. “You, however, are reckless.”

The copycat drew a small knife, glinting under the streetlights. “You talk too much,” he sneered. “And I act.”

Derek smirked. “Then act. I’m ready.”

Before another word, the copycat lunged. Derek sidestepped, using the alley wall to vault over a pile of crates, landing silently behind him. A sharp kick sent the knife skittering across wet pavement. The copycat growled, spinning around, fists raised.

“You think that was clever?” the copycat shouted. “I know your moves, Thunder. I’ve studied you.”

“I know my moves better,” Derek shot back. “And I adapt.”

The fight erupted in a blur of strikes and blocks. Derek’s fists were precise, fast, calculating. The copycat’s attacks were chaotic, powerful but lacking focus. Derek ducked a hook, twisted, and delivered a knee strike to the ribs. The copycat staggered but recovered, swinging wildly.

“Missed me!” Derek taunted, ducking another punch. “You’re sloppy. You’re angry. That’s your weakness.”

The copycat growled, swinging again. Derek deflected, grabbed the attacker’s arm, and threw him against a dumpster. Metal clanged. Rain sprayed. The copycat’s knife clattered to the ground again.

“You’re good,” the copycat admitted between gritted teeth. “Better than I expected. But not enough.”

Derek crouched, eyes sharp. “Not enough? That’s funny. You’ve been trying to be me for a week and you still think you’re me.”

The copycat charged, barreling like a bull. Derek rolled, swept his legs, and flipped him over. The copycat hit the ground hard, rain washing over his soaked jacket. He scrambled, fury flashing in his eyes.

“You’re insane,” he hissed. “You can’t stop me.”

“I don’t stop you. You stop yourself,” Derek said, voice cold and measured. “Your arrogance, your impatience—they’re killing you.”

Another swing—this time with a metal pipe. Derek ducked, grabbed it mid-air, and twisted. Sparks flew as the pipe struck the wall. He tossed it aside. “You think weapons make you dangerous?” Derek asked. “Skill does. Strategy does.”

The copycat snarled and launched a spinning kick. Derek caught it mid-flight, twisted, and slammed the attacker to the ground. “Focus,” Derek said, pinning him. “Without focus, you’re just flailing.”

“You think this proves anything?” the copycat spat. “Even if you stop me, everyone believes me!”

“They believe what you show them,” Derek replied, eyes cold. “And I’m about to show them the truth.” He reached into the copycat’s coat and pulled out a flash drive. “This contains every lie, every crime you pinned on me. Every detail.”

The copycat froze. “No… you don’t have it.”

“I always find the truth,” Derek said. “And tonight, you face it.”

The copycat struggled beneath him. “You can’t win. Even if you expose me, people will doubt you!”

Derek leaned close, voice low and sharp. “People doubt. That’s natural. But evidence doesn’t lie. And this…” he held the drive higher, letting the moonlight reflect off it, “is proof. Every fake transaction, every stolen identity, every act you blamed on me. All documented.”

The copycat’s eyes widened. He tried to reach for the drive, but Derek twisted away, keeping control. “Give up?” Derek asked. “Or should I make you regret this another way?”

“You don’t understand,” the copycat hissed. “I am necessary. People need me!”

“They need truth more,” Derek shot back. “And you can’t provide that.”

The copycat made a desperate dash for escape, but Derek anticipated it, leaping, tackling him against the alley wall. Rain poured over them both. “Where do you think you’re going?” Derek demanded, holding him firmly.

“You’re insane!” the copycat screamed, struggling.

“I’m precise,” Derek said, voice calm, almost clinical. “You’re chaotic. That’s why you lose.”

The sound of sirens in the distance didn’t distract Derek. His focus was absolute. Every muscle, every thought, every breath was dedicated to reclaiming what was his. He disarmed the copycat completely, securing both the flash drive and the knife.

“Last chance,” Derek said. “You come clean, or I make sure the world knows everything about you.”

The copycat laughed bitterly. “You think they’ll believe you?”

“They have to,” Derek replied, voice firm. “Evidence doesn’t lie. Lies collapse under truth.”

Hours later, the copycat was in custody. Derek handed over the evidence to trusted authorities. Every single crime the copycat committed under Derek’s name was documented. Fingerprints, timestamps, GPS logs—it all matched the copycat. Derek watched, calm, as the authorities verified everything.

A week passed. Derek received a message from the academy: “We’ve reviewed the case. You are welcome to enroll.”

Derek stared at the text, eyes narrowed. He smiled faintly. “I don’t need them.” He deleted the message.

Instead, he walked the city streets alone. Rain had stopped. Puddles reflected neon lights like shattered glass. Derek paused on a rooftop, looking over the skyline. Every alley, every shadow, every fight had led to this.

“This isn’t about approval,” he whispered. “It’s about truth. Justice. And control over what’s mine.”

Below, life continued—people unaware of the chaos Derek had endured, of the copycat who almost destroyed him, of the precision, the strategy, the intelligence required to reclaim everything. Derek didn’t seek recognition. He didn’t seek applause. He sought results.

“Cold Genius,” he muttered. “Not because I want the title… but because I earned it.”

The night was silent except for the distant hum of traffic and the faint drip of water from a broken gutter. Derek sheathed his katana, zipped up his jacket, and stepped back into the shadows.

The copycat’s reign was over. But Derek knew this wasn’t the end. There would always be threats. Always challenges. But tonight, he had reminded the world—and himself—what it meant to face chaos with precision.

And somewhere deep down, he allowed himself a rare thought: satisfaction.

Not pride. Not arrogance. Satisfaction.

Because truth, once seized, could never be stolen again.

Derek disappeared into the night, leaving only footprints and reflection in puddles behind. The city had not seen the last of him. But it had seen enough to know one thing: the Cold Genius had returned.