The night settled over the city, the familiar hum of its rhythm filling the air. Inside the apartment, Martin leaned back against the worn couch, his eyes fixed on the dim ceiling, his thoughts elsewhere.
Time moved on, unhindered and relentless, and soon it was approaching 11 PM when his sharp hearing picked up on soft footsteps in the corridor outside.
Only one set of heels clicked against the concrete floor, much to his surprise.
He stubbed out yet another cigarette on the floor, watching the ember die beneath his foot, and waited. The sound of the heels grew closer until they stopped right outside his door.
A gentle knock followed, but the knock was strong enough to cause the loose door to swing open.
For a moment, there was hesitation on the other side. Then the door was fully pushed open, allowing a cloud of cigarette smoke to rush out and flood the corridor.
Through the haze, Martin made out the silhouette of a tall woman, her form cutting a sharp contrast against the gloom of the hallway.
She stood there, waving her hand in front of her face with a frown, clearly displeased by the suffocating atmosphere in the apartment.
Her black business suit was tight and immaculate, its lines as sharp as the expression on her pale face.
The undershirt she wore gleamed white against the darkness, as white as her complexion, while her long black hair shimmered under the corridor light.
"I've never heard of someone committing suicide in this manner before," she said, her tone tinged with disgust. "I have to say, Lucia's friends are rare talents indeed."
Martin raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her opening remark. By now, he could sense that this woman didn't come with bad intentions, but her presence carried an unsettling weight.
As the smoke slowly dissipated, allowing clearer visibility, she remained standing by the threshold, not bothering to step inside.
"As much as I want to take on one more client, I really hate smoking," she said, her voice turning casual as she shifted slightly toward the corridor. "Shall we take this conversation to the rooftop?"
Martin didn't hesitate. He stood up, leaving the cigarette pack on the table, and followed her out without a word. Fear didn't cross his mind—if anything, curiosity took its place.
The woman walked ahead of him, her sharp heels clicking against the floor as they made their way to the rooftop.
When they reached the stairwell, she threw a glance over her shoulder, as if to test his nerves.
"Aren't you worried I could have a team waiting in the corridor for you?" she asked with an almost playful tone.
Martin smirked. "A corridor's worth of people isn't enough to take me down."
The woman chuckled lightly. Of course, Martin didn't reveal that his heightened hearing had already scanned the entire floor, and she was alone. No ambush awaited him.
As they ascended the stairs, she spoke again, her voice smooth yet guarded. "I manage security. Not the typical kind you're probably imagining. Let's just say, my line of work doesn't involve standing outside buildings with walkie-talkies."
Martin's curiosity grew, but he remained silent as they finally stepped out onto the rooftop.
The cool night air greeted them, and the city lights below flickered like stars on earth. They stood side by side, casting their gaze across the glowing expanse of the provincial capital.
"During the day," the woman began, her voice thoughtful, "this concrete jungle is a wholesome beast. But when night falls, it evolves into something else. A whole different animal."
Martin turned his head slightly, intrigued by her words.
She continued, her eyes locked on the distant lights. "As many might speculate, organized crime isn't just some work of fiction in comics or movies. It exists. Some call it organized crime, others call it controlled crime. And a few even refer to it as the necessary evil that keeps society in check. Hackers, assassins, syndicates, underground gangs, bad cops, corrupted politicians... all of it is real. And nighttime is when they come out to play."
Her words were heavy, loaded with implications. Martin's expression remained unreadable, though his mind was racing.
"Pretty much all influential families and figures have a hand in some shady corners," she added. "As for me, my job is to connect wealthy businessmen with the right... support during the night. And in turn, they offer their own support during the day."
She handed Martin a business card, her dark eyes gleaming under the city lights. "There's no rush. Many people feel like they're too righteous or moral to rely on such groups, but I guarantee, if you're going to be successful, you'll need to accept that the lines aren't so clear."
Martin took the card without a word, glancing at it before slipping it into his pocket. His brow furrowed slightly as he absorbed everything she said.
He wasn't one to refuse potential opportunities, but this world she was describing... it was darker than he had expected.
"I'll leave you to think it over," she said, turning toward the rooftop exit. "I'll be in touch. And don't worry... if you're good, they'll leave you alone. But if you start to rise too quickly, well..."
She smiled faintly. "They'll come back."
With that, she walked away, her heels clicking on the concrete as she disappeared down the stairs, leaving Martin alone with his thoughts under the starry night sky.
Midnight was half an hour away, but his mind was already spinning, contemplating what he had just learned.
Time chipped away at the clock, each minute dissolving into the next. Martin stood alone on the rooftop, the city lights twinkling below like distant stars, lost in thought.
His mind whirred with everything the mysterious woman had told him, but now another thought occupied his focus. He needed answers—about himself, about the changes he'd experienced.
The night deepened, and soon, the familiar sensation washed over him. Midnight struck.
Martin straightened, feeling the supernatural rush he had become so familiar with. The bell chime echoed in his mind as the invisible energy began to stir within him.
His thoughts, once muddled with concerns and doubts, sharpened into a singular desire.
Looking out at the vast city, Martin's lips parted, and his voice cut through the quiet night. "I want to understand my current body."
The words flowed with ease. This wasn't a wish for power or wealth. It wasn't something that would alter the course of the world. It was a simple wish, a personal one—centered around himself.
As the words left his mouth, Martin felt something shift deep within. The mysterious energy in his mind—the same energy that he had learned to detect over the past few days—flickered.
For the first time, he felt it deplete ever-so-slightly, an almost negligible amount draining from his reserves.
It was minuscule, barely a drop, but it was there. And that alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
He waited for the system to respond, for the familiar golden lines to weave together into words, but they didn't come. Instead, an overwhelming sensation coursed through his body. Every muscle, every tendon, every bone hummed with life.
He became hyper-aware of his body in ways he had never experienced before.
His heart beat steadily in his chest, yet Martin could feel the blood pumping through his veins with precision. His lungs expanded and contracted with practiced rhythm, each breath filling his senses with cool night air. His muscles, taut and powerful, seemed to coil and release with an effortless grace.
It was as if his body had become a finely tuned machine, and for the first time, Martin understood the full scope of what had happened to him. The wish was granting him an awareness of his body that went far beyond what he had ever expected.
But something else was happening, too—something more subtle and far more alarming.
The depletion of energy in his mind hadn't stopped. Though small, the drain continued.
It wasn't just tied to the wish he had made—it was tied to his very existence. Every second of enhanced awareness, every ounce of power he now possessed, was coming at a cost.
A hidden cost.
His pupils dilated in shock as the realization hit him. The system didn't just give—there was always a price to be paid, no matter how small. The stronger his body became, the more enhanced his senses grew, the more he was tapping into this energy.
And the more he tapped into it, the more it drained.
It wasn't enough to weaken him now. But over time? If he wasn't careful, if he overexerted himself, that energy could deplete entirely.
And what then?
He clenched his fists, his mind racing with questions. The system's cause and effect cycle wasn't just about external influences. It applied to him, too. His every action, every wish, every use of his enhanced body—it all came at a price. And the more he used it, the more he'd have to pay.