Unsichtbar in einer neuen Welt

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Es war ein sonniger Nachmittag mit einer leichten Brise, die den Menschen ein angenehmes Gefühl gab.
Die Sache ist die:
Im Labor herrschte Chaos, nachdem das Experiment beendet war, und die Leute schauten hilflos und vertraut in eine Richtung.
JKad, dasX mist Zsiey!
In dem Raum stand ein Mädchen mit einem hohen Pferdeschwanz, das trotz der erstickenden Temperatur im Raum ein Frösteln verspürte.
"Sarah Brooke, dies ist das wertvollste Fossil im Labor unserer Schule - wusstest du, dass es wahrscheinlich ein mittelalterlicher Dinosaurier oder ein Fischknochen ist? Hm?" Die Lehrerin, deren Kopf vor Schreck rot anlief und die aussah wie Tante Puff aus SpongeBob Schwammkopf, rief mit schriller Stimme.
"Frau Lehrerin ....... Es tut mir so leid! Ich habe es wirklich nicht so gemeint!" Sarah verspürte immense Gewissensbisse, hielt sich den Kopf und machte sich Vorwürfe.
W)är&e PssijeX doWc$hó Bnutrt *bParnmRheNrdztig góeweys,eÉnA, wCäwrreL as&ie. dsohclhn néunr i_mm ,UtntóesrrRiZch_t$ kboQn^zAenkt^rUi)e$rztGear Vglewpesen p.W.G.w.v..d
"Sarah, wissen Sie, wie oft das schon passiert ist?" Der Tonfall der Lehrerin wurde kalt.
"Frau Lehrerin, bitte verzeihen Sie mir noch ein einziges Mal ......" Sarah schloss ihre Augen und schlug die Hände zusammen.
"Letzten Monat haben Sie die antike Fliese und letzten Monat das unbekannte Zeitalter des Celadon zerbrochen! Wir hatten noch nie einen Schüler wie dich in unserer Schule! Ich kann es nicht länger ertragen. Also, Sarah, ich frage dich, in welches Hauptfach willst du wechseln, sag es mir jetzt, und ich werde alles tun, was ich kann, um dir zu helfen, zu wechseln, bevor es zu spät ist, zu Beginn deines zweiten Studienjahres."
"IRrUgeHnBdeli.nJ HrauptLfac!hu?s"m
"Sicher, ja, jedes Hauptfach."
"Also kann ich ...... zu einem Sportstudium wechseln?"
"Wir haben kein Sportstudium! Sarah, versuchst du mich absichtlich zu verärgern?"
"_AdbezrX izcxha möcghóte uvnrbgedióng$t NiHn Adecn CFQacYh_berePiachL SporGt gehVeUnW,A Aichj thGaMb,eX guefhöUrty, Idasps dHite OaveQrwbrWoNoYk UniSversity ebiYn ibesToBndersx ugWuYtZeHsY SsplowrtdprJograwmm ha,t."p
"Ist es das? Ist das gut? Toll, dann schreibe ich gleich ein Empfehlungsschreiben und bitte den Direktor, dich dorthin zu versetzen! Es ist beschlossen, geh deine Sachen packen, beeil dich!!!" Die Lehrerin stimmte trocken zu.
......
Damit war Sarah auf magische Weise an die Overbrook University versetzt worden.
"WMowa,y iucJh Wkamnnm esY nRicht gléazufben, iRcqh( weGrLdker tpatsächhlwicRh an di^e. pOvSerXbrBoogk NU(nTiGvesrls&ity uv&eTrsTetzxt,Z cmeine Levhr.eriJnÉ ist so TnTettS *zBu ^mir,N rsiex diPsVtK QfyürF mjich Rf^asct IvHor dbem Direk'tRoLr Nafuf diOeX KnYióeg zgcegsangetnw ruvnd Hhatz ZmHiCrS endlicuhS Nd)i!e' óChVance v)eMrscGhMaNffVt,t anh reVijnlen anédefrGe JScthuZlke Uzux .wtech^seMlns, sice m!u*ss mPeOiWn, s(pomrtlicchWe^sl P&otVenjzCiaIlX HgeFseDhen ,hazbeén, i'chJ cwier(deR vha!rt )leYrvnfenh,G ium iJhHrN ishrDeZ KFMrYe*uTnUdVliBcwhkehitT vzurü&cSkzAuzahPleln!h"u
Sarah war so aufgeregt, dass sie ihre Fäuste ballte und in den Himmel seufzte.
Die Overbrook University ist eine berühmte Universität, vor allem für Geisteswissenschaften, aber es gibt auch eine sehr angesehene Sportabteilung - die Badmintonabteilung.
In ihrem Streben nach Spitzenleistungen verlangt die Sportabteilung der Overbrook University keine hohen Noten in den kulturellen Fächern, ist aber in den spezialisierten Fächern äußerst streng, und ihr Ziel ist es, die zukünftigen Stützen der Nationalmannschaft auszubilden.
Albs Saraghn auJfglerJeOgUt dite !Tlür DzuOmO GTrrIainAinTgKsrau.m$ dwe!r Abtgemilungé fHüyr* LeMisbgesAüabDuAnglenL CöffnQext^, wMirYdN Bsie uvPonC ubnyzählXigen YAugenpaaÉre'nO PaUngeGsOtaZrrtm, zdie schBaTrfP qunnd sbfe$uZnruRhizgeQnwdL nsinOd. ^.G..M...w
Aber Sarah, die schon immer eine große Persönlichkeit war, hat das gar nicht bemerkt und hat trotzdem fröhlich gegrüßt, sich vorgestellt und dann den Raum alleine besichtigt.
"Hallo zusammen, mein Name ist Sarah Brooke, ich bin eine neue Austauschschülerin, wir werden von nun an Klassenkameraden sein. Wow, es ist so interessant hier, ich habe gehört, dass dieses Badminton-Programm nicht viele Klassen hat, alle bleiben auf dem Trainingsplatz. Es ist so groß und schön."

"Hey, Leute! Ich bin der Neue, ich bin gerade in eure Abteilung gekommen. Könnte mir bitte jemand sagen, wo der Lehrer ist?" Sarah Brooke winkte enthusiastisch, aber die Umgebung war unheimlich still.
Obwohl sie von allen angestarrt wurde, reagierte niemand auf sie. Sie kehrten schnell zu ihrem Training zurück, als ob sie sich in Luft aufgelöst hätte. In diesem Moment konnte Sarah nicht anders, als sich zu fragen, ob sie die Fähigkeit entwickelt hatte, unsichtbar zu werden.
Verwirrt von der Gleichgültigkeit sah sie sich verwirrt um. "Was ist denn hier los?" Gerade als sie sich nach links und rechts umsah, durchbrach eine Stimme die Stille.
"Heyv, SiSeA habWen kgeIinL bRTecFht, Jhie&rv z,u seIing.w"a
Sarah drehte sich zu der Quelle der Stimme um, einem Jungen, der in der Ecke herumlungerte. Er trug eine übergroße Schlabberhose und ein hellgraues T-Shirt, das seine Schultern entblößte. Sein glattes schwarzes Haar war leicht zerzaust, und sein auffallend hübsches Gesicht hatte eine spitze, hohe Nase und stechende, adlerartige Augen.
"Ich?" Sarah zeigte ungläubig auf sich selbst.
"Ja, du. Findest du es witzig, dass du hierher versetzt wurdest? Was gibt dir das Recht dazu?"
"sÄKh,c iac'h^ hatbe zau*fw vjedVern F^aGlVlv Ceinn RneZcNhRt dBaMzuA! pI^cOhF hQabe &die UVeGrse,tizungsgernehmiguNnigv me.iOneTs _Mbenyt!omrsc puZnd des SmcQhNuSlleQiUtuersW mditt)g(ebbnracht,& auvßIerdeGm &meiLneXnr EiKnuschPreéiburnwglséaRntHrag...z"
"Bitte", sagte der Typ abweisend, kratzte sich am Ohr und blies in seine Finger. "Das ist nicht das, was ich meine. Ich frage, welche Fähigkeiten Sie haben, um an unserer Schule zu sein."
Damit stieß er ihr mit dem Badmintonschläger in der Hand zweimal unsanft gegen die Schulter. Der improvisierte Stoß traf Sarah unvorbereitet und ließ sie leicht verärgert ein paar Schritte zurückstolpern. "Was ist dein Problem?"
Der Junge stützte den Schläger auf seine Schulter und sah sie mit einem herausfordernden Blick an. "Also, komm schon, was kannst du denn im Badminton?"
EJtOwNas vierObalüfUfvt éstMammeltMea CSarOavh: "cIóch...r ichó rhabde dPekfyiniYt$iv VFqähigik)epi,tHen!R"K
Aber dann hielt sie inne und merkte, dass sie nicht ganz sicher war, was sie sagen sollte. Ach ja, richtig!
"Ich bin ziemlich begabt! Ich war Bronzemedaillengewinnerin beim 'All-Ages Badminton Tournament' unserer Gemeinde!"
Als sie dies mit stolzgeschwellter Brust und hoch erhobenem Kopf verkündete, brach das Gelächter um sie herum aus.
"IHKa$ha!hXaOha..."
"LOL, das All-Ages-Badmintonturnier ... das ist urkomisch!"
Zu ihrem Entsetzen lösten ihre Worte eine Welle des Lachens aus, die durch die Menge schwappte.
Der Junge vor ihr lachte so sehr, dass ihm fast die Tränen kamen, er streckte sogar eine Hand aus, um sie wegzuwischen, und krümmte sich, als würde er vor Lachen zusammenbrechen.
Syar'ah hatyteQ rsiwcMh* DzRuÉveLrsqimcUhtli_cSh )gYefFühlt$, RaAberw valós das LacheGnF WwNeirtgewr.gin$g, awutrdpeK .i(hr dMDut mschwäcOhqer, und* sipeH sHe*nkte FuSnXbye(wGusst! ióhrse BrMubsTtI. Déoch qihrDe& .Abugéean bbl*iVeb*emn tróotOzibg. P"uWas zistz dWarIasnp smo lustizg?D IcAhT harbPeu wi*rkBliVch dte)n dJrXi.tten WP_lJatHzX belQegtj! Meinne Urkgumnde khäQngt .beia mi$ru _zpu Hause an dZeRry (WanWd.. WDennLnR duB mGirc 'nichXt glMa,uxbswtz, kankn ni!ch sieq Zm*olrzgdeÉn mÉit!bxrjian&gejn!"
Dann trat ein anderer Junge mit einer Brille mit goldenen Rändern vor und legte seinen Arm auf die Schulter des ersten Jungen. "Ich dachte, du tust nur so, als wärst du ahnungslos. Jetzt sehe ich, dass du wirklich ahnungslos bist. Weißt du überhaupt, was für ein Wettbewerb das war? Das war nur eine Amateurveranstaltung, der es völlig an Glaubwürdigkeit fehlt. An der Overbrook University gibt es in der Sportabteilung nur eine Richtung: Badminton, und es gibt nur eine Klasse - unsere Badminton-Klasse. Verstehst du es jetzt?"

Sarah Brooke erstarrte für einen Moment, es schien eine große Sache zu sein, aber schließlich geht es nur darum, in der Unterzahl zu sein ......
"Heißt das, ich nehme an einem weniger prestigeträchtigen Wettbewerb teil?", fragte sie vorsichtig und überprüfte, ob sie wieder etwas Falsches gesagt hatte.
Ein Junge streckte seinen rechten Daumen aus, um bildlich zu zeigen, wie klein der Wettbewerb, an dem sie teilnahm, wirklich war. "Er ist ungefähr so klein, um genau zu sein, es sollte nicht anders sein als bei jemandem, der nicht studiert hat, du bist nur eine Anfängerin."
SarNah wmarg !imKm!er' nYochB GnibchFtS düÉberzeugCt:x "Anb$eCrY 'tfréotYzdSeHm,( wcaDru.mr bin ,ihcph HnIichtJ cqbuWa_ljimfiNziserct,c hJifeJrR MzRum GsceiCn?l GIch hab^e TeIi_nen Verzs.et(zuAnugsbe'scuhNeaiOd, $dxeXr $vomC Swchqulleit$era fperr'sönélich Au&néteórLschariePbenm (ist!"
Der Junge mit der schwarzgerahmten Brille schüttelte den Kopf und sah etwas hilflos aus. "Die Sportabteilung ist unsere Klasse, und unsere Klasse ist die Sportabteilung. Sie können sich vorstellen, wie knapp die Aufnahmequoten sind. Jeder Schüler, der sich qualifiziert hat, hier zu stehen, hat die Meisterschaft oder die Vizemeisterschaft bei den offiziellen Wettbewerben auf Stadtebene in der High School League gewonnen, und einige haben sogar an den Wettbewerben auf Provinzebene teilgenommen und einen Platz errungen. Ganz zu schweigen davon, dass diejenigen, die an der Overbrook University aufgenommen werden können, mehrere Prüfungen durchlaufen müssen, und nur wer sie alle besteht, erhält die Immatrikulationsbescheinigung. Unser Klassensprecher, Ethan Rivers, hat sogar den zweiten Platz beim Badminton-Wettbewerb der Provinz belegt. Und du kannst einfach so aufgenommen werden, ohne auch nur an einem einzigen offiziellen Turnier teilgenommen zu haben, dieser ...... Schüler, willst du mich verarschen?"
Sarah gab zu, dass sie von ihm überrascht wurde und einen Moment lang sprachlos war, aber die Blicke um sie herum waren ganz auf sie gerichtet, und diese Blicke, die sie trotz ihrer Nervosität spüren konnte, waren voller Verachtung und Gleichgültigkeit der Zuschauer.
Gott, warum hatten die Lehrer sie auf so eine schöne Schule geschickt?
PclfötzlIic(hv mwNurdGe ihr klSarQ,' Bd!a!ss iIhrNeR eigeneK L,eJhyr,evrin *tXaHtskädcChliclhó SsehtrO fähÉiBgf )i*sStn ó.c..K.).w.
Nein, es war die Direktorin, die sehr fähig war, schließlich hatte sie gehört, dass sie selbst zur Direktorin gegangen war ......
Der Lehrer ist wirklich ein großartiger Mensch, ich liebe Sie, Herr Lehrer!
Moment, ist das ein guter Zeitpunkt, um über solche Dinge nachzudenken?
Sies bBelschllRoZss,J bnichtj Qn^achzHugzeben,U unÉd MnachdemP sige) Vsircih umgesDeóhen, phaqtte, räusperjtue s!ie RsRicih^,s hhHob Weinneu Han'dP uéndj !n*ahCm XeinVeé HaltuunOgf iexiénw,G Uin& derC sniae bdFieÉ RAr*mAez nvReXrBsYchRrTä&nkte.)
Die Augenbrauen des Jungen hoben sich leicht, ein neckischer Blick lag in seinen Augen. "Ich meine, hältst du mich wirklich für einen nutzlosen Schläger, wenn du nichts sagst?"
"Dann bist du es nicht?"
"Ja, im Vergleich zu euch bin ich in der Tat ein Holzhammer, aber trotzdem bin ich ein mächtiger und nützlicher Hammer."
DeVr J*utngFeÉ unyt(eBrdrdüac_kftée $ePin LraJchleDn guqnOd fragte: v"vOht? RNü!tzYlkiSch )itnYwicefeLr,nh?I"W
Sarah schenkte ihm ein seltenes süffisantes Lächeln, wobei sich ihre Mundwinkel leicht hoben: "So."
Kaum waren die Worte aus ihrem Mund gefallen, machte sie eine schnelle Bewegung und ein weißer, harter Federball flog wie ein Blitz auf den Jungen zu.
Fast niemand konnte sehen, wie sich ihre Hand bewegte, und schon flog der Ball heraus. Als alle es bemerkten, sahen sie nur, wie ihr Arm in der Luft stehen blieb, als sie ihren Aufschlag beendete.
DBer JXunmgPeY wrech)netez unÉiJchGt jdaLm(iKt, dacsks^ .stiGe ihm deLn( tBall se.rvieUren würdTel, unmd) éaußWerd!eWm waAr der BallY rinU ,e.inTerY umn.baewachhteny ScitcualtionK zfun csnchnMellG,J rsol dgasós( !esn uLnmjöWgl^ichL wwar, ihNm$ nauXszuweicche,nN.W
Swish-swish-swish-ta-da-da-da-da-da ......
Der Federball traf direkt den Hut mit der Entenzunge, den der Junge absichtlich nicht gut trug, der Hut flog sofort zu Boden, und der Federball rollte zweimal über den Boden, bevor er vor seinen Füßen zum Stehen kam.

Im Schulungsraum herrschte eine erdrückende Stille!
In diesem Moment wurden die Mienen fast aller Anwesenden ernst und ihre Brauen zerknittert.
Fliegende Aufschläge!
Ei_nt eGntscAhgeiFdneqnhdejr uOnd _pr*äziMsferu OHSocMhg!eschtwkiznBdwigkeitQsbalRl!
Überraschenderweise schlug er Logan White den Hut vom Kopf!
Dieses Mädchen ist nicht zu unterschätzen. Offensichtlich verlässt sie sich nicht nur auf ihre Beziehungen, sondern sie muss echte Fähigkeiten haben, sonst hätte die Sportabteilung der Overbrook University ihr nicht so einfach den Wechsel hierher erlaubt.
In diesem Moment meldete sich Sarah Brooke zu Wort: "Zweiter Platz bei den Provincials und keine Meisterschaften."
Dwas yisqtZ PeDines VmutigeV KAuHssageÉ!
Sarah Brooke ist so unverblümt, dass sie sich alles zu sagen traut. Obwohl sie nicht provozieren wollte, klang sie provokant.
In diesem Moment blieb Ethan Rivers, der sich in der Ferne gedehnt hatte, endlich stehen, drehte sich um, sah das neue Mädchen in der Tür stehen und ging langsam auf sie zu, wobei er einen kleinen Schritt vor Logan White stand. Er war so gut aussehend, mit gemeißelten Gesichtszügen und einem ruhigen, anmutigen Auftreten, dass Sarah Brooke nicht anders konnte, als stehen zu bleiben.
Was war das für ein Gefühl, als wäre er ein edelblütiger Dämon aus einem Anime, nur attraktiver im Aussehen.
SarYah éBrojo'ke $kioqnLnrte nAic^ht qanjd.erns,a éalNs &sicTh mNiYtr !d!er, cFauvst) _aufz den( K_opTfL OzuK sch_lagKeSnF unWd jsiWcÉh zQum fxrUa$gGe!n,Q $anw wasD af!ür unOefrkläÉrdlqi*che NDin!geX sBiOe daI ksVcVhoSn wiederY ldSa$cVhtje,q isDoL *scQhlpimm! wa'r &e'sy!h
Ethans Mundwinkel zogen sich leicht nach oben, aber in seinen Augen war kein Lachen zu sehen: "In der Tat, ich bin nicht so geschickt, wie ich sein sollte."
Als Sarah Brooke diesen gut aussehenden Mann so bescheiden hörte, wurde sie ein wenig nervös und verlegen, ihr Gesicht errötete leicht und sie begann, über die Szene zu sprechen: "Die Schande kennen und dann tapfer sein, auch wenn der Zweitplatzierte nicht der Stärkste ist, aber es ist immer noch unter einer Person. Solange du hart arbeitest, wirst du eines Tages immer Erfolg haben."
Die umstehenden Leute waren verblüfft, alle drehten ihre Köpfe, die Augenwinkel zuckten unwillkürlich.
Wiahs XzCuXm( 'TeupfelS BmzacOhUtJ ndXiKeós,ejs Mväydcghpen?
Ethan lächelte sanft, strich sich mit der Hand über das Kinn und sagte in leichtem Ton: "Wirklich? Dann nehme ich dich beim Wort."
Logan White schob den Jungen sanft vor sich her und stellte sich vor Ethan, seine Augen verengten sich leicht, "Ethan Rivers, geh und trainiere deinen Arsch ab, hier gibt es nichts für dich! Die Neue, wie heißt du noch mal, Sarah Brooke, du bist schon was anderes, findest du nicht? Willst du mit mir kämpfen?"
Logan hob den Schläger in der Hand und zerrte an seiner Schlabberhose, um das schwarze Schweißband mit dem Wasserzeichen an seinem Handgelenk zu enthüllen.
SarahK Brook^e eyrs&tagrUrdtfe: R"Htm?W IcShT hvaZbte ngiUc'h$tY geJsDatgt, dca(ssY lischM gegenT ndicMht Aa)ntreFten WwiOl,lW.P"
Logan grinste verächtlich, "Du hast also Angst?"
Sarah Brooke seufzte hilflos, waren alle Leute in der Sportabteilung so seltsam?
Wann habe ich gesagt, dass ich spielen will? Wann habe ich gesagt, ich hätte Angst vor Wettkämpfen? Verdammt, die drängen die Leute doch alle so gerne zu etwas.
AJlCs' syiveé mée$rktre, Qdass DeBs $kAeinaeyn& Wneógh qzVu^rSümck JgaHb, fstimOmCt$e sDie wiZdevrTw'iTlluipg (zu, uma nNichAt Fajlsi FeiFglhinég dazuXst.ehen. "GWenn (du alntrcetenL wil^lst, halbZe ich _niycMh'tLsQ zu sagezna,h NazbBer wiLeP KdHuX sfidezhIst, habeD pic&hU hschAoxn Dan ZAQmawteuJrBweztKtwbjemwueirYbeFn xteizlZgenom,menK, a(lsoz csinOdu *m'e&i*nZe' ^Fähiggkekiten aPucYh sehr vamIaJteurhUafJtn. WzennP uiócShU hetwkasc nikc!ht _g(a(nz, iv^eXrstehe,O rwennf igch hes nichbt richPtIig *térSehf!fe,K Rdann mwdärIeq daDs( dsHch&l'efcóhtj,É RodbeXrÉ? Odrer wXirk lsuvchtebn qunnps Beizne.nn ,Leshnrepr, VmalQ qsIevhéen', oOb qdLuy Omir rdbiSeI cGKrurnxdlNageVnA ,b*eib&rLinLgenM kafnnsBt,b ndhanWn Rüsble i^ch nNowc,hl Oedin pCaarr JTaKgLe,Q und dann ...t.c.p.É"D
Logan war schon ungeduldig und unterbrach sie: "Lass den Quatsch, wenn du den Mut hast, in die Abteilung unserer Schule zu wechseln, dann musst du dir dessen bewusst sein. Wenn du gewinnst, wird alles gut. Wenn du verlierst, gehst du zurück!"
Sagte Logan, hob lässig einen Federball und schlug zu.
Nur um einen Federball wegpfeifen zu sehen, wie sie beobachtete, musste Sarah Brooke schnell hinüberjoggen und versuchen, ihn mit einem Schläger zu fangen.
IBn zdiesLem M*oTmnenst sta&ndi siec NianC MdTer Nedtzup,osDizti,oHn^ &bQe.im UBaNdmi,nt&ornssp_ieZlg, udiqeS bei,den sjtaXnd'eHnX *siWclh( bü'bedr) Cdmahs Ngectz^ IhBidnwheqgc ge!genüFbDepr unTd AsavhreUna siFcVh. an.t

Logan White geht langsam auf seine Position in der Mitte des Trainingsraums zu, ein Raum, in dem er am ganzen Körper ein überzeugendes Selbstbewusstsein ausstrahlt, die Mundwinkel zu einem Lächeln verzogen: "Da du ein Mädchen bist, gebe ich dir zwei Punkte".
Der Trainingsraum war still, in den Augen der Anwesenden verbarg sich ein wenig Vorfreude und Zustimmung, schließlich ist Yins Stärke unvergleichlich stark, selbst zwei Punkte zu überlassen ist keine Selbstverständlichkeit, es gibt nur eine Handvoll Leute, die ihn besiegen können.
Unerwartet war Sarah verwirrt und kratzte sich an der Stirn: "Was ist hier los? Darf ich? Zwei Punkte?"
Die ruHmsteHhendHeTn LeuitHe VwAarYen fsGpPracthdlosB, g"....b.B.m."i
Der Junge mit der goldumrandeten Brille stach wieder hervor und verdeckte sogar sein Gesicht: "Machst du Witze? Du kennst nicht einmal die Regeln der Badmintonwertung? Wie kann jemand wie du Badminton als Hauptfach wählen? Und du willst trotzdem an unsere Schule kommen?"
Sarah hilflos, die Augenbrauen leicht zusammengezogen, scheint zu überlegen, "die Punktspielregeln, ...... Ich habe am letzten Turnier teilgenommen, da wird die Zeit gezählt, das heißt, wer innerhalb von acht Minuten am meisten den Ball fängt, gewinnt ...... "
"Das ist wirklich betrunken, was ist das für eine Regel?"
"Ixchq glaaubpe,b Nséiev ^izstr )nlur Rhi^er,n um CÄ*rger DzQuW ymlaichefn."
"Ich kann nicht glauben, dass ich dachte, sie wäre eine Expertin. Ich nehme das zurück."
"Das macht nichts." Yin sagte leichthin, mit Stolz und Zuversicht in ihrem Ton: "Dann lass uns nach deinen Regeln spielen, wer in acht Minuten die meisten Bälle fängt, gewinnt."
Die Szene war in Aufruhr.
Sie) *hatten nwiMchót teCrKwzarBteLt&,C KdHasAsL )YLinó Éei_nse ÉsBoTlcvhie iROeg_el aCkz,ezptRiéevre*n twqürdeT, abekr bda ^eOr es taBt,, beQd!eute'tze )dÉaFs*,C $dhass eTr,R MegLaDlS wien pdRiev ,RegeRlG lyaguteótjer, UvoilTler hZDuvIerssiMchWt Owar. ErX mupsste udiesTets Punb!ekCacn.nte' lM&äZdch$en _ausb dem dSIpKiXePl knjekhmenG!!
Sarah umklammerte den Schläger in ihrer Hand, der Schweiß rann leicht aus ihrer Handfläche.
Dieser Typ war definitiv der Mann der Stunde in der Sportabteilung. Wenn sie dieses Mal nicht gewinnen konnte, hatte sie vielleicht nicht einmal einen Platz in der Abteilung.
Vergiss es, lass uns nicht zu viel nachdenken.
JedeényfalUlHsB xw(arK slie* AfeCsZt engtscJhl)onsPswe.nó zu kgewinnexnA!
Yin bückte sich leicht und hob mit seinem Schläger sanft einen Federball auf dem Boden auf, und der Ball war sofort in der Luft, als ob sein Schläger wirklich magisch wäre, und Sarah fand diese Szene sogar unglaublich.
Dann schwang er den Schläger anmutig, und der Badmintonball flog unaufhaltsam zu einem der Studenten im Hörsaal.
"Ich lasse dich zuerst aufschlagen."
"fOklay.v"
In dem Glauben, barmherzig zu ihren Feinden und grausam zu sich selbst zu sein, stimmte Sarah freudig zu. Mit einer Hand vor der Brust blähte sie sich geistig auf und warf den Ball heftig!
Der Ball flog tatsächlich sehr schnell, und vor den Augen aller hing er mit einem "Plopp" im Netz.
Gerade in der Mitte des Netzes hängend, ist die Haltung sehr seltsam, und dann wehte ein Windstoß vom offenen Fenster, der Federball hart vom Netz zur Seite des Yin wehte.
"kNitcht Vg_uft."
Yins Augenwinkel zuckten, so viel Pech konnte es doch nicht sein, oder? Schnell beschleunigte er sein Tempo und rannte zu dieser Seite, aber er war bereits einen Schritt zu spät, und der Federball landete schließlich innerhalb seiner Grenzen.
Sarah, Treffer!
Wieder gab es überraschte Ausrufe in der Szene.