The Disappearance of the Pulitzer Prize

Nevada, Ston Town.

The town was ordinary and unremarkable, like countless others, with no outstanding buildings, scenery, or historical sites.

The Sequoia Forest in the distance was perhaps its one distinctive sight.

Sequoias were the thickest of all trees, with records of some reaching as high as 110 meters.

There were no hundred-meter sequoias in the forest near town, but those sixty or seventy meters tall were as numerous as stars, standing continuously throughout the woods.

Most of the town's houses were also built and reinforced with sequoia wood.

The town's lumbering craze had never faded. Whenever someone needed to reinforce their house, build a fence, or stock up on firewood for heating, a group of energetic middle-aged men would get together to fell some trees.

Bringing down a massive sequoia sixty meters tall, so wide that it took four or five people to encircle it, gave them an immense sense of accomplishment, as though they had tripped a giant. The earth sprayed up, and the ground shook as the colossal tree crashed down from the sky.

Sequoia wood resisted decay, but it cracked and splintered easily, which meant it was not actually suitable as a building material!

Watching thick-cut timber being hauled past his front door through the window, Mike silently looked down on those ignorant country bumpkins. Although they had helped build his own house, that did not stop him from privately belittling them.

What he did not know was that sequoia wood, once pulped and processed into engineered lumber, was resistant to decay and highly compression-resistant.

Only after all the thick-cut timber had passed his house did he open the door and step outside with a sigh of relief. Those loggers had no news value whatsoever, and every time he saw them, they would casually say things like, "Mike's all grown up," "Mike's going places," "Mike's a news reporter," or "Mike, you should report on the town. There's warmth beneath its peaceful surface."

That was why Mike did not want to greet them. He had no desire to indulge their enthusiasm.

Who knew what they thought was worth reporting about the dullness of Ston Town?

If he had not come home for the holidays to visit his family, he would never have set foot in this town without the slightest news value.

He should have been in Naxino City, interviewing business tycoons and famous singers, writing stories worthy of a Pulitzer Prize. After all, he had graduated from Naxino City University, joined the Naxino Daily as an official reporter, and was a rising star of tomorrow.

He hoped that moment was not far away, his heart burning with anticipation.

It was as though heaven itself was helping him.

As the sun sank westward, the evening glow gradually gave way to night, and the stars began to gleam.

A streak of light carved an arc through the dark sky.

"A meteor?"

With both hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, Mike raised his head to watch the streak. The meteor seemed quite close. He could almost make out its blurred outline, the blazing front plunging downward through a stream of crimson air.

Then, in the instant before his next blink, the meteor he had taken for a shooting star exploded with a deafening bang. The blast made Mike's body jolt, startling him.

Immediately afterward, thick black smoke poured from the "meteor's" tail. Right before Mike's eyes, it plunged diagonally into the Sequoia Forest, trailing smoke.

Mike stared after it. Thick black smoke rose from the Sequoia Forest. That "meteor" had clearly crashed headfirst into the woods, scraping against sequoias as it went down. He could imagine just how violent that teeth-grinding sound of impact must have been.

The booming explosion woke the town from the night.

"That's a meteor!"

"A meteor on fire crashed into the Sequoia Forest!"

"Call the fire department! Notify the police!"

"Alert everyone in town! There could be a forest fire!"

"The Sequoia Forest isn't far from town. The fire could spread here. Everyone needs to be ready to evacuate at any time!"

Experienced middle-aged men shouted orders at the people coming out of their houses, preparing for the possibility of a forest fire.

Sequoias themselves were fire-resistant and did not ignite easily, but forest fires often started with the vegetation around them. If one spread to this town, where most houses were made of wood, it would be a catastrophic disaster.

The black smoke rising from the Sequoia Forest threw the town into a panic.

Mike shuddered. That was definitely not a meteor, though he had no idea what it was.

It was very likely something new. He could feel it—his instincts as a newly promoted reporter from the Naxino Daily were tingling!

The Pulitzer Prize was calling to him, and his heart blazed.

Goosebumps rose across his skin, and he trembled with excitement. The heat of it steamed through his body. Pulling his hands from his hoodie pockets, he turned and sprinted back toward his house, ignoring the crowd preparing to evacuate and the middle-aged men shouting for him to go notify others.

The Sequoia Forest pouring out black smoke had most likely not caught fire. The smoke was probably from a mechanical explosion, not burning vegetation.

Gasping, he yanked open the front door and rushed into his room. He pulled his precious Pentax K1000 camera from the wardrobe, hurriedly loaded a roll of film into it, and hung it around his neck. Without even saying goodbye to his parents, he took the stairs two or three at a time in frantic haste and dragged his mountain bike from the garage.

Even his aching legs could not suppress his excitement. He pedaled that newly released mountain bike with all his strength, breathing heavily as he raced toward the Sequoia Forest belching thick smoke. The panicked town behind him was left far behind his flushed, excited face.

The closer he got to the forest, the more certain he became that no wildfire had spread. The thick black smoke was merely the result of a mechanical explosion.

Near his destination, when he reached a slope too difficult for his mountain bike to climb, he abandoned it outright. The adrenaline driven by his excitement held up his aching limbs, and despite usually doing little exercise, he burst forth with endless strength.

His palms and knees were scraped bloody as he climbed the slope, and he nearly slid back down several times, but his excitement forced him upward every time.

He ran farther along a stretch of soft dirt road until his limbs went numb. He had pushed past the limits of exhaustion through overexertion; tomorrow, his back and limbs would surely ache so badly that he would want nothing more than to lie in bed.

The last time he had been in such a state was when he had refused to admit defeat and joined a football competition at Naxino City University, only to get beaten senseless.

This time, however, he was not disappointed.

Just as he had expected, the Pulitzer Prize was already waving at him. This was a discovery great enough to win the Pulitzer Prize.

A huge section of sequoia bark had been scraped away, exposing the deep wood beneath.

Holding his breath, he stared wide-eyed at the white spaceship pouring out thick black smoke. It possessed a strangely futuristic, science-fiction beauty. Half of it was already charred black, rolling with smoke, while scattered sparks flickered around it without forming a forest fire.

A man hung halfway out of the sci-fi spaceship. Its brutal landing had knocked him unconscious. His mixed Chinese and Western features carried an unusual beauty, while a deep vertical scar on his left cheek gave him a cold, harsh air.

He was a rugged man with a unique charm, the sort who would probably drive the flirtatious girls at Naxino City University mad.

Mike stepped forward, wanting to save him, but the thick smoke made him cough repeatedly and retreat. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he covered his mouth. Only when he touched the camera hanging from his chest did he come to his senses.

"Why save him? Take pictures first."

He quickly raised the camera to his eye and began snapping photos. Each click and turn of the film sent him deeper into fantasies of the Pulitzer Prize.

The camera's shutter sounds made him complain inwardly. If he had known, he should have skipped dating and bought the latest Canon A-1 camera instead. The Pentax K1000 in his hands was for beginner photographers, without automatic metering or autofocus. It was truly unworthy of a future Pulitzer Prize winner.

Even after he had used up the entire roll of film, he still was not satisfied, licking his cracked lips.

Only then did he remember to save the man.

Much of the smoke had dispersed. He walked to the side, fanning away the waves of black smoke as he tried to pull the man hanging from the spaceship free.

"He's so heavy!"

Mike grabbed his hand and pulled hard, only to discover that he could not move him at all. He was as heavy as iron.

It was not that his body was caught on anything. The man's body itself was as heavy as iron. Mike stared in astonishment as he used every ounce of strength he had, yet could not budge him in the slightest.

"This definitely isn't an Earthling's weight. He isn't human!"

Mike stared at the man hanging from the spaceship in shock.

Suddenly, silently.

Dark figures emerged one after another from the forest, surrounding the area.

Mike jumped, then saw a tall, powerfully built man in an army colonel's uniform step forward.

Seeing a soldier who defended the country, Mike breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes brightened, and he quickly called out, "Come help! He's so heavy. He doesn't seem to be from Earth."

Colonel Slade's gaze sharpened as he looked at the man hanging from the alien spaceship. This is the alien? He looks exactly like a human! He stepped forward and, in less than a blink, crossed the distance to Mike. Before Mike's disbelieving, shocked eyes, his right hand flashed into a blurred afterimage in the darkness and struck Mike's carotid artery with a swift hand chop, using precisely enough force to knock him unconscious.