Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger

Chapter 418: EX 418. True Torture

Gordon stared at the woman beside him for a long second, his eyes unfocused, as if she were a reflection that might vanish if he blinked. She noticed the look and frowned.

"Gordon... what’s wrong?" She pulled her hand away from his chest.

"You’re scaring me."

Realization flickered through him. He forced a breath, then another, and managed a weak smile.

"I’m sorry, dear." He reached out to pat her back, but she leaned away from his touch.

He didn’t take offense as he scratched the back of his head, trying to steady himself.

"It was just a nightmare."

Valeria studied him, suspicion creeping into her calm green eyes.

"Then what happened in this nightmare," she asked quietly, "to make you scream like that?"

Gordon opened his mouth to answer. Then he froze.

A shape stood beyond the bedroom window, a darker shadow against the night. His heart lurched at the sight. As he lost his balance and fell backward off the bed with a dull thud.

Valeria leaned over the mattress, irritation replacing concern.

"Gordon, what is wrong with you tonight?"

He didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the window.

But the silhouette was gone.

Gordon blinked, breath shallow.

’Am I imagining things?’

Valeria sighed.

"Did you fall because of the nightmare?"

He looked up at her, confusion washing over his face.

"What nightmare?"

Her expression hardened. She stood, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "I’m sleeping with the kids. If you want to act crazy tonight, do it alone. I keep telling you to take it easy with work, but you never listen."

Her voice faded as she left the room, still muttering under her breath.

The door closed loudly behind her.

Gordon lay there on the floor, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were tangled, slippery. He soon recalled he’d had a nightmare. He knew it had terrified him.

But he couldn’t remember a single detail.

"Why do I feel like I’m forgetting something important?" he murmured.

His eyes drifted to the clock. 3:00 a.m.

He stiffened.

"I can’t lose sleep over some dream," he muttered. "And a dream that’s not even worth remembering, no less."

He climbed back into bed and, despite the unease curling in his chest, exhaustion pulled him under.

Thunder rolled outside, low and distant at first, then louder as rain began to hammer against the windows.

Gordon slept through it all.

In the corner of the room, a dark silhouette formed once more, watching his sleeping figure as the storm raged.

After a long moment, it dissolved into nothing, leaving only the sound of rain.

Morning came quietly.

Gordon woke just after seven, the pale light leaking through the curtains. It was a decent hour. He washed up, dressed, and headed for the dining table, only to find his parents already awake.

His mother sat on the couch, eyes fixed on the television. His father sat nearby, newspaper raised, never looking up.

"Morning, Dad. Mom. Hope you slept well."

No answer. His mother didn’t even turn her head. His father flipped a page.

The silence felt wrong, but before Gordon could dwell on it, the clock caught his eye. 8:20.

He stiffened. Too late.

Valeria stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands.

"Gordon, don’t forget. It’s your turn to take the kids today."

He froze halfway to the door, suitcase in hand.

"Right. I... almost forgot."

Raising his voice, he called out,

"Hurry it up with breakfast."

Two children, a boy and a girl, pushed back their chairs and walked past him without a word.

They followed him to the car, and soon after, they arrived at their school.

"Be safe today, okay," They ignored him completely and slammed the car door shut.

Gordon stared at the closed door, stunned.

Then the clock on the dashboard blinked. 8:50 a.m.

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling out of the school zone and pressing down on the accelerator, the unease in his chest left behind with the sound of tires on asphalt.

Gordon arrived at the station just as the city was fully awake.

As a detective, Gordon was a respected man. That respect had not come easily. When he was young, he had dreamed of being a super hero, the kind that saved people without hesitation.

Reality had crushed that fantasy early. Super heroes did not exist in their world, so he chose the closest thing the world would allow and became a cop.

He stepped through the station doors, the familiar hum of voices and ringing phones washing over him.

Officers greeted him as he passed, nods of respect, quiet hellos. Gordon returned them with practiced ease.

This was a place where he mattered. Where his name carried weight. He had built that brick by brick, case by case, and he clung to it fiercely.

His job. His reputation. His family.

Though lately, his family had felt... off.

As he reached his office, the strange behavior from that morning crept back into his thoughts. The cold looks. The silence. The way his children had slammed the car door without a word. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Before he could dwell on it, an officer hurried up and stopped in front of his door.

"Detective," the man said, voice tense. "We’ve got new leads on the White Devils case."

The unease vanished instantly.

Gordon’s eyes sharpened as he turned toward him.

"Good," he said, already reaching for the door. "Let’s talk in my office."

The door closed behind them.

The White Devils had haunted the city for years. A meticulous killer who staged every murder as a suicide, yet always left a signature.

Gordon had been assigned the case for a year and a half, chasing smoke and dead ends, watching files pile up while the body count grew. Until now.

A victim had survived.

Barely breathing, shaking, but alive. Enough to give a description for a sketch.

That was what the officer placed on Gordon’s desk that made his breath seize.

The charcoal lines stared back at him with cruel familiarity.

The curve of the jaw. The eyes. The calm expression that never quite reached warmth.

It was Valeria, his wife.

Rendered in smudged graphite and labeled Suspect.

The officer smiled, oblivious.

"We finally got a face, sir."

Gordon looked at the picture for a while before slowly lifting his gaze, wondering how the officer couldn’t recognize his wife.

But before he could speak, his phone rang.

The screen lit up.

It was his kid’s school.

A cold dread crawled up his spine as he answered.

Gunshots suddenly cracked through the speaker.

Then the line went dead.

The real torture had finally began.