Cheers from left and right, camera flashes, and autographs were his daily bread, basking in the glory of his pride and reputation.

Killian Alekseev, whose name was famous on every media platform he knew, was worshipped like a god with his perfect face—a sharp thing had cut his cheek, dark red blood dripping down his cheek.

"Shit!" he cursed. "You know this face makes trillions, you bastard."

He leaped from building to building, manipulating gravity as he sped towards you, giving a taste of his powers to catch you off guard.

But you managed to dodge or counter, landing blows that sent him staggering back. He wiped the blood from his cheek, his gaze sharp and determined.

"You're formidable. It would be my great honor to defeat you."