Nare stood in front of his desk, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the faint interface moving just at the edge of his vision.
It wasn't fully visible unless he focused—but now that he had seen it clearly, it refused to disappear completely. Like it had rooted itself somewhere behind his eyes.
A bead of sweat slid down his neck, then nother.
⸻
[SP +1]
⸻
Nare exhaled through his nose and leaned back slightly against the desk.
"So it's not random," he murmured. "It's tied to everything—movement, stress, reaction. Even attention."
He flexed his fingers, watching how the thin layer of moisture across his skin changed the way his grip felt. It was small, but it visible. Less friction, cleaner motion.
He grabbed his wrist again, tighter this time, testing the resistance. His fingers slipped off instantly.
"Still the same. No improvement yet," he said under his breath, more like he was logging results than complaining. "So the ability doesn't scale automatically. It probably depends on something else."
His gaze drifted back to the interface, to the line that refused to reveal itself.
"…that."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
"You're clearly hiding something from me," he said, almost conversationally. "And whatever that is—it's probably more important than the visible stats."
No response.
He straightened and began pacing slowly across the room, stepping around the mess without thinking. The fan blowed weakly behind him. The window let in air that barely helped.
Another drop of sweat rolled down his arm.
⸻
[SP +1]
⸻
He watched it increase again.
"Too slow," he muttered.
That wasn't enough, not if this was real. Not if this was something he could actually use. His mind drifted, uninvited, back to the competition. His jaw tightened slightly—not out of anger, but recognition.
It didn't matter where he went, new city, new school, it was the same outcome. Someone always picked on him because he was weak, and for a while, he had let it happen. Not anymore.
A slow breath left him.
"If this system is real… then I don't have to stay like this," he thought. "I don't have to keep restarting every time we move. I don't have to keep being the one people look at and decide is weak before I even speak."
Another drop slid down his neck.
⸻
[SP +3]
⸻
His eyes shifted slightly.
"So it reacts to that too," he noted. "Memory. Emotion. Focus."
That meant….he didn't need them in front of him, or an audience. He could generate it himself. A small, thoughtful expression crossed his face.
"Then this isn't just a power," he thought. "It's a system I can control. If I understand it well enough… I can push it as far as I want."
His stomach growled, loud enough to break the moment. Nare blinked, looking down slightly.
"…now?" he muttered.
Another wave followed, sharper this time. The system glitched.
⸻
[Hydration Level: 67%]
⸻
"…right."
He straightened. "That explains the fatigue."
He rolled his shoulders once, testing his balance. There was a slight delay in his movement, not enough to slow him down, but enough to notice.
"So it consumes something," he said quietly. "Water, energy… maybe both."
Another drop of sweat fell.
⸻
[SP +1]
⸻
"…which means I can't keep pushing it like this without support."
His gaze shifted toward the door.
"…fine."
He grabbed the handle and stepped out. The hallway felt cooler, or maybe it was just less suffocating than his room. By the time he reached the stairs, the smell had already followed him. The kitchen came into view. His mother stood near the stove, stirring something in a pot with steady, practiced movements.
Mira sat at the table, scrolling through her phone. Both of them reacted at the same time.
Mira's nose wrinkled instantly.
"Oh my God," she said, looking up. "You didn't even try today, did you?"
Nare pulled out a chair and sat down like nothing was wrong.
"Food's ready," his mother said, but her tone was careful now, more measured. She turned to look at him fully, and paused.
"Nare… when was the last time you took a proper shower?" she asked.
He picked up a spoon. "Recently."
Mira snorted. "That's not an answer. 'Recently' could mean last week for you."
Nare didn't bother defending himself. He focused on the food instead. The first bite made a difference immediately, warmth spread through his chest. The tightness in his body eased slightly.
"…that's better," he thought.
His mother didn't sit. She stayed standing, watching him closely.
"You can't keep doing this," she said, more firmly now. "I don't know what phase this is, but it's not normal."
Nare swallowed before answering.
"It's temporary."
"That's not reassuring," she replied. "Temporary things don't usually make the entire house uncomfortable."
Mira leaned back in her chair, studying him with a look that was half-amused, half-critical.
"You know," she said, "it's actually impressive in a weird way. You have potential. You're tall, you're not ugly, you could've easily had a girlfriend by now."
She gestured vaguely toward him.
"But instead, you've somehow managed to ruin all of that by being… this."
Nare didn't look up.
"…I'm not interested," he said simply.
"In what?" she asked.
"Any of that."
Mira blinked. "Well, looks like it. You're so ahh."
He nodded once.
"Yeah, sure. I don't care about dating. I don't care about any of that. It doesn't do anything for me."
His voice was calm, not so even slightly embarrassed.
"I just want to get stronger," he added.
Mira stared at him for a second, then laughed.
"You say that like you're training for something. You're not in some action movie, Nare."
He didn't respond, because to him, this wasn't a joke anymore. The system glitched faintly again. He finished eating quietly, his focus drifting inward rather than outward. By the time he stood up, the heaviness in his body had eased enough for him to move normally again.
"Thank you," he said to his mother, not looking at her directly.
She didn't reply immediately.
"…just take care of yourself," she said eventually.
The front door slammed open before anything else could be said. The smell of alcohol entered first, then heavy, uneven footsteps followed.
His father staggered into the kitchen, one hand dragging along the wall for balance.
"…home," he muttered.
Mira stiffened. "He's drunk. Again," she said quietly.
"Don't start," he snapped, waving her off.
His gaze shifted, then landed on Nare, lingering.
"…what's that smell?"
A pause, then recognition. "…oh. It's you."
Nare met his eyes without reacting. His father let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You look worse every time I see you," he said. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, but whatever it is—it's not working."
Nare didn't respond, didn't move. That seemed to irritate him more.
"Did you hear me?" his father asked, stepping closer. "Or are you just going to stand there pretending you're better than everyone else again?"
Still nothing. The tension in the room spiked, his father took another step forward, closer now.
"You think staying quiet makes you smart?" he continued. "It doesn't. You're trashy, and the reason for all my misfortune.."
Nare's gaze remained steady, but inside his heart crumbled. His father reached out, angry now.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you—"
His hand brushed against Nare's arm, and slipped completely.
"…what—?"
He tried again, harder this time. His grip failed instantly. His foot shifted, and he lost balance. The next second, he hit the floor hard.
This!
Silence filled the room. Mira stared, then gripped her mouth to muffle a laughter. His mother froze, Nare didn't move.
"Oops." Mira let out, regretting it the moment it came out.