One hundred eighty-one taka.
Rudo walked toward the market, turning the number over in his head. It wasn't a small amount, but it wouldn't last forever either. It would carry him a day, maybe two — then back to zero.
But money wasn't his real goal today. Today's goal was to observe.
The System had said Aliens could be subdued. But it hadn't said how. So the first task was to understand — to go close and understand, not from a distance.
He stepped into the market.
Ordinary Aliens wandered here just like ordinary people — some examining vegetables, some standing alone, some circling the same spot for no reason at all. People stepped around them, keeping a little distance, but no longer afraid.
These ones were weak. Rudo had learned that much by now — you didn't see it with your eyes, you felt it. A weak Alien carried a particular kind of stillness around it, as though its presence barely stirred the air.
Today he sensed something different.
A cluster had formed in the middle of the market — but this one was different from the usual. People weren't approaching, and they weren't quite leaving either. Everyone had simply stopped, as if each of them felt some nameless caution stirring inside.
Rudo moved closer, staying at the edge of the crowd.
The Alien was tall. Nearly twice the height of a man. Its body was a dark ash-gray, stone-like in appearance but soft in its movements, something caught between rock and flesh. It had no eyes — instead, thin cracks ran across its forehead, and heat shimmered faintly from each one, rippling the air.
It walked slowly, from one end of the market to the other, looking at no one.
But the air around it hung heavy.
Rudo felt it in his body before his mind caught up — a pressure in his chest, as if some unseen hand had reached out and squeezed the air itself.
This Alien was not weak.
He watched from a distance for a while. Then a question surfaced — was the System even here.
System.
No sound answered at first. Then a faint presence — not quite a voice, but a response.
I'm here.
Look at this one. Can you see what's inside it?
A brief silence. Then:
It can be tried. But not for free.
What the System showed him began as a sensation — a pressure behind the eyes, as if some third sight were trying to open but couldn't find the space.
This method has no name in your language yet. Call it — Analysis. It's an attempt to read the structure of their body, to understand the rules that govern them from within. If it completes, you'll know what they're made of, what makes them function.
But you don't have the strength. So it won't complete.
Then why try?
Because incomplete information is still information. And by trying, you'll learn what the attempt itself feels like.
Rudo stood still, his eyes fixed on the Alien.
All right.
What happened didn't begin like pain — it began like a pull.
Something inside his head wanted to stretch outward, toward the Alien. For a few seconds Rudo saw — or thought he saw — fragments of images. A structure beneath the stone-like body, a channel where heat moved, and somewhere, a core where all the energy gathered.
Then the pull deepened, and suddenly something pushed back — as though the door he was trying to open had slammed shut against him instead.
A sharp pressure exploded in his head. White flashed across his eyes.
Rudo's knees buckled and he dropped, one hand catching the ground.
A few seconds later the pressure eased. A thin trickle of blood had come from his nose — he wiped it with the back of his hand.
A few people in the crowd had glanced over, but none came closer. Strange sights had become ordinary here by now.
The Alien had paused. The cracks on its forehead had flared slightly brighter for a few seconds — as if it had sensed something trying to touch it. Then it started walking again, slow as before, looking at nothing.
Either it hadn't known, or it hadn't cared enough to notice.
Rudo got to his feet, his head still heavy.
This is the downside?
This is it. Running Analysis without strength burns your own — body and mind both. And if the subject is strong enough, it notices. Most of the time it won't care. But not always.
Meaning there could be danger.
There could be. Every gain has a price. That's the first rule you should remember.
Rudo filed that away.
He left the market with his head still heavy.
He walked for a while without any destination — just to give his body time. The sun was climbing higher. The pressure in his head faded slowly, though it never fully left.
His feet carried him into a newer part of the city — where a handful of shops sold foreign food, where rich kids liked to hang around. A line had formed outside one shop — a new food place, its name written in English, burgers visible through the glass, hot and glistening, the smell of fried onions drifting all the way to the street.
This kind of thing was new to this city. Most people had heard of it; few had actually eaten one.
Rudo stood and checked the price — one hundred fifty taka, for a single burger.
He had one hundred eighty-one.
He did the math for a moment.
Spending nearly everything he had on one thing was a risk. But this food was new here, rare, and rarity always carved out its own kind of value — like an old photograph, only from the opposite direction. An old thing's value came from its age; a new thing's value came from how hard it was to get.
He joined the line. It moved forward slowly.
He bought the burger for one hundred fifty taka. Thirty-one remained in his hand.
He stepped out, the hot box in his hand.
A rickshaw stood outside the shop. A middle-aged man sat inside it, talking on the phone, glancing at the line again and again with visible irritation — he was in a hurry, but he didn't want to give up his place either.
Rudo walked up to the rickshaw with the box in hand.
"Sir, you can have this without waiting in line. It's hot, right now."
The man lowered his phone and looked over. He glanced at the box, then at the boy — his clothes plain though not torn, his face sun-darkened.
"How much?"
"Two hundred."
"That's fifty more than it's worth."
"The line will cost you twenty minutes. You're in a hurry."
The man thought it over for a second. Then he pulled out his wallet.
Two hundred taka.
The rickshaw pulled away. Rudo stood there with the money in his hand.
Thirty-one plus two hundred — two hundred thirty-one.
Profit again. Another one-time trick.
He understood this wouldn't work again tomorrow — the shopkeeper would recognize him now, and the same trick wouldn't fly twice in the same line. Every method worked in one particular moment, one particular set of circumstances, and then it burned out.
Every method you use is one-time only, the System said, suddenly. Have you noticed that?
I have.
It isn't a problem. It's a symptom. You can spot patterns, but you still haven't built anything that grows on its own. That's what strength does — once it's built, it grows by itself.
The words lodged themselves in his mind.
He returned to the broken house at dusk.
His stomach wasn't properly full today — he'd sold the burger, not eaten it himself. But he had two hundred thirty-one taka in hand, and that was peace enough for one day.
He sat down on the sheet. The heaviness in his head still hadn't fully lifted.
Should I try using strength today?
You can. But I'll tell you the result in advance — not much will come of it.
Why?
Because you have no strength stored up inside you. What you spent today hasn't refilled yet.
He sat with his eyes closed, following the System's instructions — spine straight, breath slow, attention turned inward.
For a while, nothing happened.
Then came a faintest sensation — in the middle of his chest, a warmth like a single point, so slight that his mind couldn't be sure whether it was real or imagined.
What is this?
This is everything. This is all that's inside you right now.
Why so little?
Because it has to be built. It doesn't come on its own.
Rudo opened his eyes.
How is it built?
The System paused, as if considering where to begin.
You need to understand two things. Dark Matter. And Dark Energy.
You've probably heard both names somewhere — in a science textbook, or a magazine. But what people understand is only half the truth. These two things don't only exist out in space — they exist here on this earth too, in the air, in the ground, inside your own body, only so faint that ordinary people never feel them.
Dark Matter is the foundation. It accumulates inside the body, slowly, forming a structure — the same way a house cannot stand without a foundation, strength cannot be held without one either.
Dark Energy is the output. It stands on that foundation and acts outward — exerting force, driving abilities, running Analysis, transforming things.
Neither works without the other. Without a foundation, energy scatters — it can't be held. Without energy, a foundation is just an inert structure, good for nothing.
What you felt today is just a single point of Dark Matter. So little that no Dark Energy is even forming yet.
Then how do I grow it?
Through practice. Through time. And — in certain cases, by taking it from outside sources.
What do you mean, outside sources?
Aliens carry this same thing inside them, just in different proportions. A strong Alien means more Dark Matter, more Dark Energy stored within it. If you're ever able to subdue one, part of what it holds could bond with you.
That thing from today — the black object?
That's a small vessel. There's a little stored inside it. But it hasn't merged with you yet — it's only sitting beside you.
Rudo glanced at the black object lying beside him. In the dark, its light — some color he couldn't name — still glowed, faint.
How do I merge it?
You're not ready yet. When you are, you'll know.
There's one more thing, the System said, after a moment. Weapons. Armor. These are part of this world too.
What are they made from?
It starts with Atoms. But not ordinary Atoms — certain Elements that didn't exist on the ordinary earth, ones that arrived with the Aliens or were created under their influence. Call them Heavy Elements — heavy not just in weight, but in power.
These Elements can be forged into things — a sword, a suit of armor, anything that can withstand far more than ordinary metal.
But forging it isn't enough on its own. Every object has to be powered — switched on, the same way a lamp doesn't light up just by wiring it in; it needs electricity.
That electricity — that's Dark Energy. Your own.
So even with a weapon in hand, without strength it's just a piece of metal.
Exactly.
Rudo locked the information away. A picture was slowly coming into focus — in this world, power didn't just mean money, and it didn't just mean physical strength. It was a system, arranged in layers, and each layer had its own price of entry.
Right now, he wasn't even fully standing on the lowest layer.
By now, the weight in his head had almost lifted. The night was deepening.
There's one thing I was told wrong, Rudo suddenly thought, recalling something from the tea stall. Haji Shaheb's son went to the Star Union. But can anyone go?
The System paused briefly, as though the question was unexpected but important.
No. Not everyone can.
The Star Union doesn't take everyone. The body needs a particular kind of capacity — a tolerance — without which, if part of an Alien is introduced into it, the body rejects it, or the person dies. Not everyone has this tolerance.
Those who have it sit for a test. Only those who pass get to go. It's a selection — not an open door for everyone.
Haji Shaheb's son passed that selection. That's why he went, when countless others couldn't.
Rudo took note of the correction. He'd misunderstood before — thought anyone could go if they simply wanted to. The reality was far narrower.
And the ones who go — why do they go?
Mostly for one reason. Strength. To grow their own bodies, to make themselves stronger. There's competition in this world now — the ranks of Civilization, the path of Creature Cultivation — and those without the patience to walk that slow road go looking for a shortcut.
The Star Union is that shortcut. But it takes something in exchange — I told you that already.
Taste goes, sleep goes, laughter goes — that's what you said.
Those were small examples. The full picture runs deeper. What's lost is a layer of feeling — not all of it, only part. A person doesn't turn into a complete machine. He can still laugh, still cry, still love — but less than before, with more distance than before, as if a thin pane of glass has settled between him and his own feelings.
That's the price. Not everyone accepts it knowingly. Some take it even after knowing, because surviving in this world without strength is hard.
There's another word I heard somewhere, Rudo said, trying to remember. Where he'd heard it wasn't clear — maybe on the radio, maybe from someone at the market. Mega Corpse.
This time the System took a little longer to answer.
I won't say much about this now. Just know this much — even a dead body can hold strength. Some bodies don't empty out even after death. There are those who make use of that strength.
Who?
The answer to that question isn't for your level yet. It will come later.
Rudo didn't push further. He understood by now that not every question would get its answer right away.
The night deepened. The weight in his head had fully lifted by now, but his body was tired.
He lay down, the black object beside him.
He replayed the day in his mind — reaching for a strong Alien, paying his first price for it, buying a burger only to sell it, and then, piece by piece, an entire world's rules unfolding before him.
Dark Matter. Dark Energy. Heavy Elements. The Star Union's selection. A hint of something called Mega Corpse.
None of it complete. But every piece was fitting together with the others, slowly, like a picture that still couldn't be seen in full.
Sleep, the System said, gently. Practice starts tomorrow. Today you only learned.
How long will it take — to become strong?
I don't know. That depends on you. The one who never stops arrives eventually, even if late. The one who stops never arrives at all.
Rudo closed his eyes.
Through the roofless gap above, the sky was visible. Stars.
He fell asleep with something new in his mind — something that hadn't been there yesterday, something not yet fully understood even today — but something he would begin working toward starting tomorrow.