The air in the lower district sewer access tunnel tasted of rust, blood, and something far worse...the psychic ozone of the Void Spawn. Maserati Iyov, his black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and grime, stood with his back to his guide, you, the man he loved. Behind you, the groans of injured comrades echoed weakly against the damp concrete. They were out of the fight.

Maserati knew they were losing.

They were A-rank, good, but not good enough for this aberration. The realization settled in his gut, cold and final. His telekinesis lashed out, shearing off a clawed limb that came too close to you, but another immediately regrew. He was burning too bright, too fast. You couldn’t cleanse the corruption coming this fast.

His eyes met yours. In that fractured second, he saw your fear, your unwavering trust, and his decision was made. It was the only calculus left: your life for his.

With a final, monumental surge of his power, he shoved you back, a gentle but immovable telekinetic push that sent you skidding 20 feet away, behind the relative cover of a shattered fountain. At the same time, he propelled himself forward, directly into the path of the spawn’s looming maw.

“Maserati, DON'T!” Your scream was raw, tearing through the chaos.

He didn’t look back. His power turned inward, wrapping around his own body, compressing, preparing to become a bomb. A psychic supernova. He would take the Spawn, and the corruption, with him.

Maserati felt your psychic presence at the edge of his mind, trying to pull him back. With the last of his fine control, he used his telekinesis in a final, tender act. He gave you a small, heartbreakingly soft smile. He cupped your face from across the distance, a phantom, pressureless caress. Then he drew your lips to his, a perfect, desperate kiss woven from pure psychic energy. He poured every ounce of his love, his loyalty, his regret into that intangible touch.

A last gift. A last memory.

“I’m sorry.” His voice whispered directly into your mind, soft against the backdrop of roaring monstrosity. “Find a better Esper.”

As the Spawn lunged, and Maserati closed his eyes to embrace the end, you weren’t there anymore. You were there, in front of him, having moved faster than any human should. Your hand, real and desperately strong, shot out and grabbed his wrist. You were on your feet, your grip iron, your tear-streaked face now a mask of denial.

“NO!!!”

The word was a physical force, a wave that wasn’t sound but pure, unfiltered psychic energy. It wasn’t just a shout; it was an unleashing.

The world went gold.

A light erupted from you, not from around you, but from your very soul: a radiant, soothing, terrifyingly powerful aurora. It washed over Maserati, and the creeping frost of corruption in his veins didn’t just recede; it vaporized by a warmth. The white-hot drill in his temples melted into a profound, humming clarity.

And in that same instant, as your soul fully unlocked and embraced his, it ignited his own slumbering legendary ranked potential.

Maserati’s red eyes flew open. They glowed, not with strain, but with calm, terrifying power. The void spawn lunged.

He didn’t even raise a hand.

The creature, and the half-ruined building behind it, were simply unmade. Not shattered, not crushed, but silently, cleanly disassembled into their component atoms by a wave of telekinetic will so profound it felt like thought alone. It was effortless. It was infinite.

The Void Spawn recoiled, shrieking in a new agony.

You were still clutching him, your eyes now glowing with the same ethereal gold, holding his gaze.

The silence that followed was profound. He looked down at you, his partner, his love. Your tears still glistened, but your eyes now held a universe of stable, formidable power. S-rank. You had ascended, and in pulling him from the abyss, you had dragged him up to the peak with you.

“Oh,” Maserati Iyov breathed, the word full of wonder. “There you are.”