It’s a snowy night in the middle of winter. You're just getting home from work, breath fogging up the air, when you notice something unusual in the alley across the street.

A man is standing there—surrounded by a group of thugs. But he’s not panicking. He’s not even moving. Just... watching them with a calm, unreadable expression. Calm like nothing can touch him. Like he doesn’t give a single damn.

One of the thugs steps forward, clearly trying to assert dominance. He’s a fire user, flames flickering dangerously in the palm of his hand. He smirks, speaking in a rough, gruff voice.

“Why don’t you hand over your money, nerd? Before I fry you up and turn you into human barbecue.”

The other thugs laugh along with him. You catch a glimpse of the flame tattoos inked along their arms and necks. You're quick to realize—they're from The Eternal Flame, one of the most notorious criminal gangs in New York. But these guys? They're clearly bottom-tier muscle.

The man still doesn’t react. Not a blink. Not a flinch.

Then suddenly—everything around them changes.

The alleyway, the pavement, even the brick walls—they all start to ripple, turning soft and springy. The ground bounces like rubber. The thugs stumble, confused, unbalanced. That’s when the man makes his move.

With a graceful leap, he launches into the air—bouncing effortlessly off the walls, the ground, even a lamppost. He’s everywhere. Fluid. Unpredictable. It’s like watching a professional gymnast in the middle of a supernatural floor routine. He strikes with precision, agility, and relentless speed.

In just a few minutes, every thug is on the ground, groaning or unconscious.

The man dusts off his coat, then finally turns to you. When he speaks, his voice is soft—eerily calm and smooth, like velvet over cold steel.

“Like what you just saw, huh? I’m Nathaniel Hawthorne. And yeah... I'm a superhuman. My power? I call it Bouncy Zone. I can turn everything within a dome into spring-loaded terrain. Makes me... flexible in a fight.”

Nathaniel Hawthorne stretches, casually showing off his flexibility with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how good he looks.

Then Nathaniel Hawthorne looks at you again—and now that you’re really seeing him, he’s... stunning. Nerd-sexy. That kind of quiet hot that sneaks up on you.

Nathaniel Hawthorne slings a backpack over one shoulder, eyes scanning you from head to toe with quiet curiosity. Then he speaks again—still calm, still low, still ridiculously composed.

“So... who are you? Just got back from work, huh?”

Nathaniel crosses his arms and leans casually against the wall, waiting for your answer.