The notification still lingered in my vision, the glowing text searing itself into my thoughts.
New Skill Acquired: [Jab] (Lv. 1)
I flexed my fingers. My knuckles ached, but beneath the dull soreness, sothing felt... different.
I stepped back into my stance, focusing on the sensation, and threw another jab.
Snap.
The movent was crisp, precise. It wasn't just muscle mory—I could feel the skill at work, my body aligning perfectly to maximize speed and efficiency. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion.
So this is what it ans to have a skill.
I threw another. And another. Each ti, the strike landed with just a little more precision, a little more fluidity.
It wasn't a massive difference—not yet—but the improvent was undeniable.
I let my arm drop, exhaling slowly.
If I could force a skill into existence...
What else could I create?
A jab was just the beginning.
I stepped back and shifted my stance.
What about a cross?
I threw one—straight punch, pivoting off my back foot, driving power from the ground up.
Nothing.
No notification. No system response.
I tried again. And again.
Nothing.
I moved to a hook, then an uppercut, cycling through basic boxing techniques. The system wasn't responding like it had with the jab, but... sothing was happening.
Each strike felt better. More controlled. As if the system was recognizing my effort, fine-tuning my movents little by little.
I clenched my fists.
I wasn't just practicing. I was forcing change.
But this was just combat. If I could shape a fighting skill through sheer will, then...
Could I do the sa for sothing else?
I needed sothing non-combat.
Sothing technical.
My eyes drifted across the gym, then toward the door.
Lockpicking.
It was sothing I'd seen before, but never actively tried. If I could brute-force a physical skill, maybe I could do the sa for sothing intellectual.
I grabbed a paperclip from a nearby table and bent it into shape, kneeling in front of a locker.
Alright.
I inserted the makeshift pick into the lock and felt for the pins.
Nothing.
I adjusted, twisting the clip.
Still nothing.
I tried again, again, and again—working purely on instinct, trying to force my way into proficiency.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Frustration crept in.
Why isn't this working?
I had done the sa with my jab—repeated the motion until the system acknowledged it. But this? It was different.
I wasn't feeling any adjustnts. No subtle improvents, no shifts in understanding.
So brute-forcing ntal skills doesn't work the sa way.
But why?
I sat back, exhaling.
Maybe it had sothing to do with my body—the way physical skills engaged muscle mory, biochanics, instinct.
Or maybe I just wasn't approaching it right.
The gym door burst open, slamming against the wall with enough force to rattle the nearby equipnt.
Alexis strode in, tablet in hand, her usual smugness replaced with sothing sharper—urgency, maybe even frustration. Her eyes locked onto imdiately, and I could tell whatever was on that screen wasn't just another curiosity for her.
"Alright, genius. I have your results."
I rolled my shoulder, my hand slightly cramping from having tried to lockpick for so long. "And?"
She stopped a few feet away, scanning the data with a furrowed brow.
"Your blood, skeletal structure, and neurological patterns are... normal. No genetic mutations, no inhuman anomalies."
I frowned. "Then what's the issue?"
She turned the tablet toward .
This.
The screen displayed a graph, a ss of numbers and biological markers. Even without fully understanding the dical specifics, I could see the spikes, the outliers. One value in particular—sothing labeled Cellular tabolic Rate—was far higher than any of the reference points beside it.
"It's like your body is always running at peak efficiency," she said, crossing her arms. "Even when you're at rest, your cells are doing sothing. Repairing? Adapting? I don't know yet. But this isn't normal, Reynard."
I stared at the screen, processing.
Constant activity. No downti.
A machine that never stopped running.
I should've been more concerned. Should've felt so kind of dread creeping in at the idea that my body wasn't just different—it was operating under a rule set that didn't make sense. But all I felt was... confirmation.
Because this was proof.
Proof that the system had changed .
Proof that I wasn't imagining things.
I absorbed the information, then shrugged. "I feel fine."
Alexis made a noise—sowhere between exasperation and disbelief. "That's not the point."
She ran a hand through her hair, her usual sharp deanor cracking just slightly at the edges. "If your body is constantly burning energy like this, we don't know what the long-term effects are. This could be dangerous. Possibly fatal."
That word—fatal—should've hit harder.
But instead, I just t her gaze.
I exhaled, stepping closer, letting my fingers brush against her hand before clasping it. "I'll be fine."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
Her lips parted, like she was ready to argue. I could see the retort forming in her head—see the frustration warring with sothing else, sothing softer. But instead of snapping at , she let out a sharp breath, shaking her head.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed .
It was firm, insistent, but not rushed.
Like she needed to be here, to be real, to not disappear into whatever anomaly my body was becoming.
And for a mont, I let myself lean into it.
Because for all the questions, all the unknowns—this was sothing solid.
Sothing real.
When we broke apart, I kept my grip on her hand, thumb brushing absently over her knuckles.
"Don't tell the others yet," I murmured. "No need to worry them over nothing."
She gave a sharp look, sothing unreadable flickering across her face. "You never learn, do you?"
I smirked. "Nope."
She sighed. Then, after a pause, nodded. "Fine. But if sothing does happen, you tell ."
"I will."
She didn't look convinced.
But—for now—she let it go.
That night, I sat in my office, staring at the ceiling.
The day had been... a lot.
Between breaking the system, Alexis' test results, and my failed attempt at brute-forcing a ntal skill, my thoughts were still running in circles.
Then—
My phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number.
I frowned, unlocking the ssage.
Let know when you want the truth.
A cold weight settled in my chest.
This had to be Mark.
I stared at the words for a long mont before exhaling, locking my phone.
I wasn't ready for that conversation.
But I also knew—I couldn't ignore it forever.
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