Seven Years Later
Seven years had passed since the naked man first appeared in this world.
He was officially placed under the supervision of Chief Megnon. HQ had moved forward with their investigation, determined to prove that he had come through a Gate. It was the only theory that made any sense—after all, where else could someone like him have come from?
He had been subjected to every type of test and experiment imaginable. Blood work, scans, stress trials—each one designed to uncover the truth. The conclusion? He was human. At least, mostly. But one thing set him apart: he was faster, stronger, and far more durable than the average man.
Eventually, HQ decided to release him.
His behavior had been flawless—remarkably optimistic, even. He never lost hope, always smiling, always prepared, as if waiting for something. He often told the guards, "My rival, Prime, isn't going to stay ahead of me forever."
What kept him calm was the thought that Prime hadn't shown any activity in the past seven years either.
He'd ramble on to the other inmates about it—how Prime wouldn't make a move until he had a worthy rival to face. Some guards rolled their eyes, others laughed. The inmates? Most just begged for a different cellmate, someone more "normal."
But one thing haunted his mind constantly: Pulse.
Unlike chi, which he had once learned to harness through inner focus and discipline, Pulse was a mystery. How did it work? Why hadn't he awakened?
Chief Megnon was the only one who really humored his questions. Over time, a strange sort of friendship formed between them—awkward, dry, but real in its own way. Maybe it was the naked guy's unshakable belief that he would awaken that made Megnon stick around.
One day, while observing him training,
Megnon sighed and muttered,
"Look, Naked Guy—not everyone awakens with something amazing. Some abilities are straight-up useless if you ask me. I've seen Pulse powers that let people go without food for weeks, some glow in the dark, and others that let them fly or throw cars like toys. It's a lottery."
He leaned back against the wall to the cell.
Naked guy still focused on his training while Megnon kept talking.
"Hell, some people never awaken at all. It all comes down to your Core—and whether your body can fuse with the Pulse or not. Most awaken by birth. By eighteen, over 90% of potential users are already past the threshold. After that? It's rare. Real rare. So… maybe give it a rest?"
He didn't reply right away. Then he asked quietly,
"What age did he awaken?"
"My rival?" Megnon chuckled. "You mean Prime?"
He shrugged. "Can't say. I don't know much about him, and honestly? Not a fan."
Naked Guy stared through the bars.
"Why? Is he arrogant?"
Megnon tilted her head. "Not really. He genuinely believes he's protecting people. That's the scary part."
he hesitated, then said, "You'll learn about him soon enough. When the time's right."
That night, as silence settled over the compound, Naked Guy lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He was beginning to understand.
Over those seven years, he had studied the planet's power system obsessively—testing every method, every theory. He applied what he had once known about chi and tried to fuse it with what he'd learned here.
It always came back to one thing: fusion.
Back in the past Eastern Temple of Kortoro
Voices of children echoed through the courtyard.
"Hahaha! Look at this clown!"
A group of boys laughed, pointing at a lone figure doing push-ups on the stone tiles.
"Chi isn't about push-ups, dumbass," one of them jeered. "It's spiritual. You're supposed to meditate, not act like some meathead!"
Still, the boy continued.
"156… 157… 158…"
Another boy picked up a stone and hurled it. It struck the boy's forehead with a thunk, drawing blood. He flinched but didn't stop. His master had told him: Ignore them. They are royals, you're just an outsider.
Then—BANG!
The boy who threw the stone collapsed to the ground.
The courtyard fell silent.
Gin looked up to see a familiar figure standing over the fallen bully.
Katsu.
"How many times have I told you idiots to stop picking on the new kid?" Katsu growled, his voice sharp with authority. The bullies scattered like rats, fleeing with their tails between their legs.
Katsu knelt beside Gin, shaking his head. "You freak out when ants crawl on you, but you're calm as a monk when a rock cracks your skull.
"Gin, you always amaze me," Katsu said, watching him with a mix of frustration and admiration. "You could've taken them down without even trying."
Gin kept doing push-ups, eyes locked on the ground. "I'm not a royal. I'm an outsider. Master reminds me of that every day."
Katsu crossed his arms. "Yeah, but he still chose you. That means something."
He let out a quiet sigh, then knelt beside him, gently placing a hand on Gin's forehead to heal the bleeding wound. Katsu never said much about it, but he was the only one who treated Gin differently—like a brother.
"I don't fight back," Gin said quietly, his voice calm and steady. "Because nothing compares to the moment someone realizes they were wrong about you—the look on their face when their expectations break, when you shatter the limits they set for you. That moment… it's worth more than gold, It's priceless."
Chief Officer Megnon sat behind the desk, flipping through the thick file of Gin Maximus — a name that had become a household name in their system. The detaine. Seven years without an outburst, without emotion, just raw, unyielding energy.
No pulse still
His fingers hovered over the file, tracing the years of records. He was past the scientifically proven age of typical pulse bloom, and became ordinary so HQ didn't deem Him a threat anymore or gate S ranked catastrophe. Gin had kept the same story — no deviation. The medical readings were consistent: nothing, just a hollow shell with no signs, yet a never-ending drive.
Standing beside him was his secretary and personal assistant, eyes scanning the same file, brow slightly furrowed.
"How has he survived all this time?" she asked, glancing over at Megnon. Her voice held a quiet curiosity, tinged with something harder to place—an edge of concern. "It doesn't make sense."
A man held captive this long should be clawing at the walls, fighting tooth and nail to escape this penitentiary.
But Gin didn't.
He went to the library.
Megnon leaned back, a cold smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. "HQ's decided to release him. They're giving him everything he needs."
He paused, his voice dipping into something darker.
"He spends most of his time reading. Always ends up in the library."
The assistant tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Maybe he's searching for something. Filling a void… or just distracting himself."
Megnon gave a low chuckle. "Nah. He's obsessed with cameras."
"Cameras?" she echoed, brows knitting. "Didn't they say he was a loose screw?"
"Yeah. One minute it's theories on Prime, next it's aperture settings and focal lengths. It's bizarre." Megnon's gaze dropped back to the file. "He says the camera'll help him catch up to Prime."
She blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Megnon's voice was almost quiet now, like he was reciting something remembered. "He told me once, 'In all my years, I've never seen anyone so fixated on something so far beyond them.'"
He gave a sigh, tapping the file with a finger. "I pity him, sometimes. But what can we do? He'll be out soon. We'll see how the world handles him."
His hand lingered on the notes. "That camera fixation... strange."
She raised a brow, mildly amused. "Sounds like a crackhead obsession."
"I wish it was," Megnon muttered, grabbing a pen and signing the release form with a deliberate flourish. "But we both know he's not on drugs. He's just the kind of guy who keeps setting goals way beyond his reality. A dreamer."
He looked up at her.
"And maybe… we still need people like that. Even if they burn out trying."
"He'll either crash and burn," Megnon muttered, "or he'll prove us all wrong."
She chuckled softly, but couldn't hide the warmth rising to her cheeks. "He does look fit," she admitted. "His body—it's like he's been training nonstop. After all these years, that kind of discipline... it's hard to ignore."
Her gaze drifted to the screen where Gin's image lingered, caught mid-pushup. The camera didn't offer much more than a blur of muscle and sweat, but it was enough. Something about his unrelenting routine, his silent drive—it stirred something in her.
A strange flutter. Vulnerability.
Megnon's voice cut through the moment.Clicking the button on the mic. "Bring in the naked guy."
She blinked, startled. "Excuse me,sir?"
He smirked. "That's what they call him around here."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips.
"Oh," Megnon added dryly towards the mic, "and make sure he actually takes a damn shower this time."
He leaned back, hands now off the intercom button, hearing a tone sharp and professional. "Yes, boss. On it." From the other end
As the reinforced door began to slide open with a hiss, her eyes flicked once more to the screen.
Gin Maximus.
The prisoner they couldn't understand.
A man shaped by silence, sweat, and obsession.
A legend in chains they will never forget.
And now, a mystery she couldn't seem to shake loose.
Back at the cell
1056…
1057….
1058 …..
Gin was counting aloud — accurately and rhythmically. Sweat dripped onto the concrete floor like it had something to say.
"Hey mehn," his cellmate groaned from the upper bunk, pressing a rag to his nose. "You makin' my nose bleed with all that stink. Go bathe, I'm tryin' to finish my sentence in peace."
Gin grinned, teeth glinting in the dim light. His high spirits didn't match the scars on his back or the swelling around his ribs — a souvenir from the Redspine Humanoid incident. No one here knew why hell hadn't healed. they tried all they could even bringing top pulse officers with healing abilities. they wondered and Gin didn't explain. He never did. It was the same issue he had at his previous world.
Laughter rumbled from his chest, wild and oddly comforting. The cellmate pulled a pillow over his head.
A guard's voice echoed down the corridor. "Hey, naked guy!"
Gin looked up, eyes gleaming.
"They're finally releasing you."
Silence pulsed for a beat. Gin's lips parted — not in reply, but in awe. This cell, this sweat-soaked hellhole, had become his hyperbolic chamber. A crucible where time bent, and the chaos outside he wasn't yet aware he will eventually make sense of the world of planet X
"Release," he whispered, as if tasting the word.
He stood, chest heaving, body bruised but unbroken.
To him, this place hadn't been a cage. It had been a forge.and now it was time to face this new world.