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Alex wiped a mixture of sweat and rain from his forehead, gripping the strap of his worn-out canvas bag tighter.
He was nineteen, lean, short with messy black hair that stuck to his face.
"Just my luck," Alex muttered, his breathing heavy. "Uncle John said it would rain, but I didn’t think the sky would open up like this."
He wasn’t a powerful Gene warrior, just an average awakener with a F rank gene, living in Iron Creek City with his middle-aged Uncle John, a gruff ...
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