The city lights of Arvale flickered like the last breath of dying stars, stretched across the night like a tapestry of false hope. Towering skyscrapers gleamed with artificial brilliance, yet beneath the chrome and steel was a world suffocating in routine. In a black luxury sedan parked silently at the edge of a dimly lit street, sat a man alone with his thoughts—a man who had everything, and yet, nothing.
Muru Shan. A name known across nations, whispered with reverence in academic circles, in boardrooms, in elite gatherings. The genius of the generation. The pinnacle of what humans could aspire to be. Born without a known mother or father, raised in the impersonal arms of the state's child care system, his life should have been a tragedy. But it wasn't.
By the time he was six, he was reading doctoral-level texts. By ten, he'd built his own AI. By eighteen, he had already founded a tech empire, and by twenty-five, he was the sole owner of ten multinational companies. Strength? He trained his body like he trained his mind—perfectly. Martial arts, fencing, swimming, shooting—he mastered them all. People admired him, envied him, worshipped him.
But no one understood him.
Because no matter how high he climbed, how flawlessly he performed, life offered him no resistance. It bent around him. It broke before him. It bored him.
As the car idled, Muru looked out the window. Raindrops gently tapped the glass, mirroring the emptiness echoing inside him. His face was calm—always calm. Perfectly symmetrical features, deep black eyes that could pierce through lies, and short, thick black hair that never disobeyed gravity. Yet tonight, he looked more like a statue than a man.
He wasn't late for anything. He had no appointments left. No friends waiting. No family to call. Just silence. Just the endless hum of a world he had already conquered.
"I wonder," he murmured, fingers tapping the steering wheel rhythmically. "What's left to experience?"
Suddenly, the car jolted. A sharp hiss of air followed. Flat tire. He glanced at the console—rear left.
Muru stepped out, umbrella in hand, into the rain-slicked night. The air was heavy with humidity and the scent of wet concrete. He crouched to inspect the tire, unbothered by the inconvenience. But as he rose, he heard footsteps—hurried, uncertain, desperate.
Two men emerged from the shadows. Young, thin, faces hidden beneath cheap cloth masks. One held a rusted switchblade; the other gripped a heavy metal pipe.
"Wallet. Phone. Now!" the one with the knife barked. His hands shook. His eyes were wide with panic.
Muru stared at them, unmoving. He could've ended this in less than a second. Every move they made was a slow dance to him, predictable and clumsy.
But he didn't lift a finger.
"Are you deaf?! Give it to us!"
They lunged. The pipe struck his ribs. The knife slid into his abdomen. Pain bloomed—not sharp, but dull. Warm. Almost... grounding.
Blood pooled at his feet, mixing with the rain. He stumbled back against the car, letting the red flow freely. The attackers, confused by his lack of resistance, backed away and ran. Their silhouettes vanished into the alley, swallowed by the night.
Muru collapsed.
The rain fell harder now, as if the sky mourned the fall of a man it never understood.
He felt his heartbeat slowing, his limbs growing colder. But in his mind—there was peace.
*Is this how it ends?* he thought. *No struggle. No regret. No fear.*
A strange relief washed over him. In those final moments, lying in a puddle of blood and rain, he wasn't thinking of success or wealth or the empires he'd built.
He was thinking of a life unfulfilled.
A life without challenge. Without pain. Without meaning.
"What if..." he whispered, breath shallow, "what if life had been harder? What if I had felt betrayal? Weakness? Loss?"
The stars above blurred, tears—or rain—clouding his vision.
"I want... a hard life," he breathed.
And then—darkness.
But the story didn't end.
A pulse. A vibration. A crack in the void.
Muru's consciousness floated in a place that wasn't light or dark. Time didn't move. Space didn't exist. Yet something ancient stirred.
A voice, distant and echoing like the tolling of a bell through infinity, spoke.
"Request acknowledged."
The void trembled.
"You shall be reborn, not as the master of peace, but as the harbinger of chaos. Pain shall be your guide. Betrayal your companion. And your heart—your heart shall burn with the fire of those who suffer."
Another pulse. His soul began to change. Something was being stitched into it—something alien.
"A life of hardship, as you wished. But remember, once begun, there is no return."
And in that timeless realm, Muru smiled.
For the first time in his existence, he felt... alive.
And so, the perfect man died.
And something far more dangerous was born.