Teji met his mom.
She stood there in front of him—soft smile, warm eyes, arms open like she had been waiting all this time. The wind was gentle, like the world had paused to breathe. It felt... too peaceful. Too right.
Teji blinked.
"But… you're…"
He couldn't say it. His chest tightened.
His mother gently tilted her head, her voice like a blanket over old wounds.
"Hey," she said. "The world is cruel, right? But issokay. You got this. I trust you."
He took a shaky breath.
Her voice. It was exactly how he remembered it—raw, real, full of love.
Teji stepped forward, eyes glimmering, reaching out to touch her hand—
And then, the warmth vanished.
The air turned cold.
Darkness swallowed the scene.
He gasped awake.
The couch beneath him was lumpy and damp. Mold clawed at the edges of the walls, and cobwebs hung like dead memories from the ceiling. His old house hadn't aged well. Or maybe it had just given up, like everything else in his life.
Silence. Then—
Grrgggh…
His stomach growled, loud and sharp like a reminder from reality.
"Ah… gotta find some food for today," Teji muttered, rubbing his eyes. His voice was hoarse, distant. Like even it had been sleeping too long.
He threw on a ragged jacket and stepped outside.
The city wasn't loud—not yet. It was just past 10 a.m., and the streets still carried that slow, waking heaviness. The sun cut through narrow alleyways, casting long shadows over rusted shutters and broken pavement. A few scattered stalls lined the dim food lane—makeshift vendors with sputtering gas burners and signs faded by time. Smoke curled lazily into the air, thick with the scent of grilled meat, stale oil, and old concrete.
Teji moved through it quietly, hands in his jacket pockets. He wasn't desperate anymore—not for food, at least. The card Boizano gave him still sat snug in his wallet, a lifeline disguised as a special agent's clearance. He'd already cashed out enough to keep himself going for weeks if he played it smart.
He stopped at a stall selling ramen, his eyes skimming the menu lazily, wondering if his stomach could handle chili this early.
Then—
"Help! Thief! Someone stop him!"
The shout snapped through the street like a whip. Teji's head turned sharply.
A woman stood a few stalls down, frantic and pointing. A man in a black mask was barreling through the crowd, clutching a small handbag tight to his chest. He weaved past a food cart, knocking over a plastic stool as two uniformed guards stumbled after him, clearly outpaced.
The thief was fast—but unlucky.
He was running straight toward Teji.
Teji didn't flinch. He didn't panic. He just watched.
Then, just as the thief tried to dart past, Teji stuck out his left leg—casual, almost bored.
Wham.
The thief hit the pavement face-first, skidding a little across the concrete as the bag slipped from his grip. A grunt of pain escaped him.
One of the guards shouted from a distance, "Nice one!"
They were still a few meters away, pushing through the crowd.
But before they could reach him, the thief groaned, slowly lifting his head off the pavement. Blood trickled from a scrape on his chin. Then—suddenly—he lunged up.
A flash of silver.
The crowd gasped.
The thief now stood, a small knife clutched tightly in his hand, trembling but aimed straight at Teji. His eyes were wild, desperate.
"I don't care what happens next," he hissed, voice shaking. "As long as you don't get outta here alive."
Teji didn't flinch.
No panic. No hesitation.
He slipped his right hand into his jacket and drew his pistol in one fluid motion. The cold metal gleamed under the gray morning light as he raised it—aimed directly at the thief's face.
"Who do you think won't get outta here alive?" Teji replied, his voice steady, unreadable.
Time seemed to freeze.
Then the two guards finally caught up—eyes wide as they took in the scene. They immediately drew their own sidearms—smaller and more standard issue—and pointed them not at the thief… but at Teji.
"Hey! I know you helped us," one said sharply, voice full of warning, "but drop your weapon. Now."
"Don't cause a scene," added the second. "No more havoc in public. We'll handle it."
Teji's gaze didn't waver from the thief. His finger stayed resting on the trigger, but he said nothing—yet.
The tension hung thick in the air.
Bystanders watched, holding their breath.
Teji raised both hands, his pistol still in his right, and slowly turned to face the guards. Calmly, without a word, his left hand reached beneath the collar of his shirt. A thin, metallic chain slid out, and hanging from it—shimmering under the dusty morning light—was his red dog tag.
The moment the guards saw it, their expressions changed instantly. Eyes widened. Jaws stiffened. Their weapons dropped ever so slightly.
Everyone in security, law enforcement, and any branch remotely tied to defense knew what the red dog tag meant.
One of the guards stepped forward nervously, holstering his sidearm.
"We apologize for pointing our guns at you just now, sir" he said, voice tight.
Teji walked toward them, slow and deliberate. He stopped just a breath away, looking each of them in the eye.
"If you didn't recognize my face," Teji said coldly, "it means you didn't read the latest update about my arrival in this country, right?"
Neither of the guards responded.
"This time, I'll let it slide. But if any of you points a weapon at me again…"
He leaned in slightly.
"There will be no more excuses."
The guards stiffened. One of them swallowed hard, his knees visibly trembling.
Teji turned his attention back to the thief, who was still holding the knife with shaky hands.
"Now, back to you," Teji said. "You stole. Then you threatened me. Under this country's law, that's jail time—and a criminal record."
The thief's face paled.
"But I have my own rules," Teji continued. "No jail. No files. Just a lesson."
Teji took a step closer, his shadow stretching across the trembling thief.
"You'll walk away clean. But only after being a punching bag. So, everyone watching remembers what happens when you try to steal."
The thief dropped the knife, falling to his knees. "Please... no... I'm sorry. Please—"
Teji didn't wait.
Teji clenched his fist and swung a brutal punch straight to the thief's face. The impact cracked through the air like a whip. The thief's body lifted off the ground and flew back several meters before crashing onto the street, completely unconscious.
Gasps rippled through the small crowd nearby. Even the guards flinched at the force.
Without a word, Teji adjusted his shirt and calmly tucked the red dog tag back beneath his collar. The tension in the air lingered, thick and still.
He turned, walked a few steps forward to the nearest stall—where the whole scene had unfolded—and stood in front of the counter. The vendor, clearly shaken but trying to keep cool, gave him a nervous smile.
Teji glanced at the menu.
"Ramen," he said. "With eggs. Extra broth if you've got it."
The vendor nodded quickly, his hands moving out of muscle memory.
But inside, his nerves buzzed like static.
He cracked an egg into the broth, then another.
He'd seen a lot on these streets—drunks, junkies, even once a man bleeding from the neck—but never someone like this.
That red dog tag...
Only the highest-level operatives carried that. Ghosts in the system.
"Who the hell is this guy?" he murmured.
The younger of the two guards holstered his gun, staring at the unconscious thief crumpled on the street.
"Red tag... I thought those were just rumors."
His partner shook his head, still pale.
"They're not rumors. They're warnings. That guy? He's not just an agent. He's a storm waiting to happen."
Both guards glanced over at Teji, who now sat calmly, waiting for his ramen like nothing had happened.
That, somehow, made it even scarier.
From across the street, a man leaned silently against the side of a broken vending machine, half-shrouded in shadow. His eyes didn't blink once during the entire scene. Not when the red dog tag came out. Not when the thief went flying.
He just watched.
Teji hadn't changed much—still sharp, still dangerous. Still carrying that weight in his eyes.
The man smirked faintly.
"So... after all he's still alive."
Without another word, he melted into the moving crowd, leaving behind only the low hum of city noise.
[End of Chapter 5]