I GOT SUMMONED WITH THE POWER OF NUKES

CONTRADICTORY REALITY

Ren walked the palace corridors with a quiet, measured stride, eyes tracking the walls like a man counting beats. Every ten steps, faint cracks scored the stone—too precise, too arranged to be natural. They weren't random. They whispered of structure beneath the surface, a pattern that did not want discovery. He said nothing. Curiosity here was a blade; careless hands bled.

Dianca's palm closed around his, warm a d steady. Her touch anchored him, slow and honest in a place that tried to soften everything with perfume and illusion. For now, that was enough.

They stepped into the garden and the scene emptied him out.

Boys knelt in rows, bodies curled under an invisible force, faces twisted with pain. Girls lounged under silk canopies, sipping chilled drinks, laughter spilling like coins—bright, deliberate. The sound landed wrong in Ren's chest.

His grip tightened on Dianca's hand. She followed his eyes, the color draining from her face. She read it the same way: if she did nothing, Ren would be bent to the ground like the others.

Before she could move, a voice cut the air—sharp, cold, practiced.

"I am Floria," the woman announced, tall and hard as flint. Eyes like knives. "I will instruct you. I will teach manners."

Floria moved like a whip. One moment Ren stood; the next she yanked his hair and dragged him into the open. The air smelled of cut grass and sun; for a second the scent felt obscene, laughing at his humiliation.

Ren tasted iron. He breathed slow, measured—then bowed. Better to concede a motion than waste force on spectacle.

Dianca's friend dragged her toward the girls' seats. Her fingers shook. She wanted to speak—wanted to wrench the scene apart—but fear pressed a hand over her throat. She let herself be pulled away, eyes glued to Ren.

Floria loomed, one hand clamped around his throat. Her fingers were iron.

"Shut up," she snapped. "Men are born to be broken by women."

She slammed him into the dirt. Pain flared, sharp and precise. Ren coughed, breath burning. He lifted his chin.

"So… you say that to your father too?" he asked, voice flat.

Silence, like a held breath. Then Floria's face soured. Her aura cracked outward—weight folding into his chest, ribs protesting under pressure. He felt bones threaten to c***k.

Ren's gaze did not shift. He let the words out slow, cold. "What's wrong? Does that sting? Maybe your actions speak louder than your words."

Her eyes snapped. She clamped his head between both hands; magic snapped in her wrists, ready to split him in two.

Something in Ren answered—[Nucleons], humming low, a fever under skin. A pulse of annihilation clawed at his veins. The image he could not shake: the FAT BOY, white flash, everything gone. His muscles tensed. If she pushed, he would erase her, the canopy, the garden. He tasted the logic of absolute ends: burn the field to stop the fire.

A voice snapped the moment like a string.

"Enough, Floria. Release him."

An advisor stepped forward, cold authority in her tone. Floria froze, teeth grinding, then let go. Ren dropped to the ground, coughing, palms clawing at dirt. Too close. Closer than he'd permit.

The advisor's gaze swept the boys, and her order rang out, cold and unyielding:"Run. Until your bodies give out."

Ren forced himself upright, legs trembling, and joined the laps with Alex at his side. His lungs burned, sweat cutting down his face—but worse than the ache was the sight across the field.

Dianca.

She sat with the girls, smiling—laughing. And not at him. At another boy.

The stranger leaned close, charm dripping from every gesture, every word. The girls flocked to him like birds to seed. They laughed with him. Welcomed him. Trusted him.

Why him? Why now? When I'm bleeding, she's laughing with him?

Jealousy flared—hot, ugly, precise.

A darker thought coiled in his mind: Could he be a front for something deeper? An unknown source even the Queen can't control?

Ren shook his head sharply. No. That's impossible. I've seen her aura crush the air itself. Her magic is absolute. No stray pawn escapes that net. Which means… His eyes narrowed. …he's tied to the palace. Royal blood, or special privileges. A pet groomed to play this role.

"Bro," Ren breathed to Alex between breaths, "don't you think something's wrong?"

Alex's face was tight. "Yeah. That boy—his presence isn't natural. Too perfect. Too staged."

Ren's eyes narrowed. "Not just culture. Manipulation. The queen. Maybe that boy. Maybe something worse."

Noah, running ahead, kicked a gust of wind—an easy display of control. Turbulence knocked boys off balance, bodies stuttering. Ren ground his teeth. Nothing fit.

Alex's voice dropped. "The girls should be shielded by their protection spells. They shouldn't be this… pliable. Yet—they are."

Ren watched Dianca laugh, an itch behind his ribs. "…Which means someone's bending them. Controlling the protection, or the minds under it."

Alex's jaw hardened. "Survival here won't be about raw force. It'll be about thinking faster than the people who set the rules."

Ren blinked, a fraction of pride sharp in his chest. "You're growing, Alex. Fast." He let the compliment sit, then added, dry and dangerous: "Keep the core. Bend the surface. That's how real people survive."

Before Alex could answer, the world slammed them to the earth. Gravity crushed bones into marrow, pressure folding lungs flat. The advisor's voice rolled over them.

"From today, you belong to the frontlines. Your enemies are Dragons, Demons, Fairies. They wear human skin. You will fight—or you will die."

Air left the boys' lungs in a synchronized gasp. Ren's vision blurred white at the edges; every muscle screamed.

He forced the words from a throat that felt like gravel. "We… agree. Remove… the gravity."

The pressure released. The advisor's mouth curved—a small, satisfied bend. "A wise choice," she sneered. "At least one of you has sense."

Ren staggered up as the world settled. Noah lunged, fury raw. "You i***t!" He hit Ren with a fist that landed clean across the jaw. Ren crumpled, taste of blood thick in his mouth.

Nucleons surged—hot and insistent. For a breath Ren saw nothing but the idea of flame and silence. He imagined Noah vaporized, gone. The fantasy lasted a heartbeat.

Alex shoved Noah back, voice a hard edge. "Enough. If Ren hadn't agreed she would've forced it anyway. You'd prefer chains?"

Ren spat blood and pushed to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice came low, iron-tempered. "I'm not your leader. I don't want followers. I want survival. Share the goal, come. If not—get out of my way."

He walked to the water barrels, blood dripping slow from his lip.

This world is rotten.

Twisted and lacquered.

Cracks in the stone, crooked smiles in the throne room, that boy who fits too neatly into every space. Dianca laughing with him. Threads, all of them—tied to something beneath the palace.

If I don't pull at them… I'll lose everything.