Chapter 08

Chapter 08

The Man Who Shouldn’t Exist

Rain fell differently inside Ahenemma Academy.

It didn’t fall straight—it bent, slid, vanished into the canopy before touching the ground, as if the forest itself decided what was allowed to reach the earth. Obrimpong noticed this as he sat on the edge of the training hall roof, knees drawn to his chest.

Below him, Kojo was attempting to cook instant noodles over a spirit burner.

“This academy can summon curses,” Kojo complained, “but hot water is where they draw the line?”

Adwoa didn’t look up from sharpening her blade. “If you burn the forest down, I’ll finish you myself.”

Mawuli lay flat on his back, staring at the rain. “Fire solves many problems.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Obrimpong said.

Mawuli tilted his head. “See? He’s learning.”

The bell rang—three slow chimes.

Osebɔ stood beneath the rain, unmoving, robes dry.

“Gather,” he said.

They obeyed.

“There is something you must understand,” Osebɔ continued. “The world believes curses are born from emotion alone. Fear. Hatred. Regret.”

He paused.

“That is a lie.”

The forest darkened.

“Some curses,” Osebɔ said, “are made.”

The air split.

A figure stepped through—not tearing space, but folding it. Black cloth, familiar movement, a presence that made Obrimpong’s skin crawl.

The mask was smooth. Featureless.

Adwoa’s hand tightened on her weapon. “That’s him.”

Obrimpong didn’t ask how she knew.

The masked man tilted his head slightly, as if amused.

“So,” the man said, voice calm, cultured, wrong, “this is where they hide the children now.”

Kojo whispered, “Please tell me this is a test.”

“It is not,” Osebɔ replied.

The masked man moved.

Not attacking—observing.

He walked through the clearing, rain parting around him. His gaze lingered on each of them, measuring.

“You,” he said, pointing at Mawuli. “Too detached. That will cost you.”

Mawuli smiled thinly. “People say that.”

The man turned to Kojo. “You laugh because you fear silence.”

Kojo opened his mouth, then closed it.

Finally, the mask faced Obrimpong.

“And you,” the man said softly. “You shouldn’t be alive.”

Obrimpong felt his chest tighten.

“You were not meant to escape,” the man continued. “Not that day. Not any day.”

Adwoa stepped forward. “Stay away from him.”

The man chuckled. “Anger suits you. It will break you beautifully.”

Osebɔ raised a hand.

The forest answered.

Shadows surged, ancient symbols igniting along the trees. The masked man stopped.

“Enough,” Osebɔ said. “You will not touch them.”

The masked man bowed slightly. “Of course. Not yet.”

He looked at Obrimpong one last time.

“Grow well,” he said. “I hate wasted potential.”

Then he stepped backward—and was gone.

Silence fell hard.

Kojo exhaled shakily. “I vote we skip whatever lesson was next.”

Osebɔ’s expression was grim. “That man is called Sunsuma-Honhommɔne.”

Mawuli frowned. “Shadow demon?”

“Something like that,” Osebɔ said. “He is a relic. A student who refused to remain one.”

Adwoa’s voice was tight. “He made the kidnappers.”

“Yes,” Osebɔ replied. “And worse.”

That night, Obrimpong couldn’t sleep.

He dreamed of masks. Of forests burning. Of children running and never arriving.

And beneath it all, a single truth settled into him like stone:

This wasn’t training anymore.

It was a countdown.

And the man who shouldn’t exist had finally remembered Obrimpong Kesse.