Two Months Passed
Akira stood in front of his house door once more, his hand hovering over the handle. The air inside was stale, undisturbed, as if time itself had paused the moment he left. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the silence. The familiar scent of dust and old wood greeted him, but it felt distant, like a memory he could barely grasp.
He released a long sigh, his eyes drifting to the mirror veiled with a thin layer of dust. His reflection stared back at him—a adolescent transformed. His figure had filled out, his shoulders broader, his frame more defined. His hair, now longer, framed his face, giving him a rugged, almost wild appearance. But it was his eyes that caught his attention. They were sharper, colder, filled with a steely resolve that hadn't been there before.
"Two months," he thought, his voice echoing in his mind. "Two months of blood, sweat, and sand."
Akira turned away from the mirror, his mind set. The questions about the system's origins would have to wait. For now, he had a goal, and nothing—not exhaustion, not doubt, not even the system itself—would stand in his way.
He dropped the pouch of magic stones he'd collected beside the door, the clinking sound breaking the silence. The stones were a testament to his growth, a physical reminder of the battles he'd fought and the levels he'd gained. But they felt hollow now, meaningless in the face of what he'd left behind.
He sank into the ratty armchair in the corner, the familiar creak of the springs bringing a strange sense of comfort. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, his body sinking into the worn fabric. But his mind refused to rest. It raced with thoughts of the past, the present, and the uncertain future.
As he sat there, Akira's mind drifted to the system—the mysterious force that had become his constant companion. Over the past two months, he had pushed himself to the limit, testing the boundaries of his abilities and trying to understand the rules that governed them. The system had been both a blessing and a curse, granting him incredible power but leaving him with more questions than answers.
"Like the system said before the skills I already have don't consume mana at all," he mused, his brow furrowing. "That must be tied to my intelligence stat. But even though they don't drain mana, using them takes a toll on me. When the skill duration ends, I feel terrible—exhausted, like I've been running for days. And I can't activate them again until the cooldown passes. It's like my body and mind need time to recover, even if my mana pool is untouched."
He clenched his fists, recalling the battles he'd fought. The White Lightning attribute had been a game-changer, its raw destructive power turning the tide in his favor more times than he could count. But even that came with a cost.
"The White Lightning doesn't drain much of my mana either," he thought. "But if I use it for too long, I get mentally drained. My vision blurs, my focus shatters, and I can't fight anymore. It's like my mind can't handle the strain, even if my body is fine. And the more I level up, the stronger my skills become—but the strain gets worse too. It's a double-edged sword."
"I also learned how to use White Lightning more effectively in the past two months. I can infuse my fist with it, making my blows even more devastating. Also, I've noticed something: Soul Infusion and White Lightning are related. When I activate Soul Infusion, small white bolts of lightning crackle around me as if my attribute is responding to my skill."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "The system never answers my questions about how it was created or how I gained it. All it says is, 'I'm here to help the user grow and accomplish their goal.' At first, I tried to figure it out—how it works, where it came from, why me? But I gave up. It doesn't matter. I was ready to sell my soul for power, and I got it. I don't care how it happened or where it came from. As long as it helps me get my revenge, that's all that matters."
Akira's jaw tightened as he thought of the ones who had taken everything from him. The system was a tool, a means to an end. And he would use it to its fullest, no matter the cost.
Then Akira opened his status window, the glowing interface materializing before him. He scanned the numbers, his eyes lingering on each stat.
[Status Window]
[Name: Akira Shoto]
[Level: 41]
[Attribute: White Lightning]
[Strength: 66]
[Stamina: 66]
[Agility: 66]
[Endurance: 66]
[Intelligence: 66]
[Purpose:] Seek out those who have hurt you and marshal the will to exact vengeance. On this path, will and strength are forced upon you.
[Reward:] Increased power with clarity of purpose.
[Added Active Skill:]
[Soul Infusion]
[Description:] Temporarily infuse the body with residual energy of the soul, greatly increasing physical strength and speed, as well as magical energies. It will also provide stamina and fast regeneration while active.
[Duration: 10 minutes]
[Cooldown: 30 minutes]
[Passive Skills Added:]
[Rapid Growth]
[Description:] Your growth rate is higher compared to the other STARS and enables you to gain experience from combat and challenges more quickly.
[Effect:] Gain 200% more experience rate from all the combat and challenges you face.
[Perfected Symmetry]
[Description:] This passive skill balances your stats as you grow to ensure no stat becomes too weak. As your overall power grows, this skill spreads experience more evenly across all attributes, ensuring well-rounded growth and avoiding any critical deficiency in battle.
[Skill: ????]
[Condition: Locked]
"My growth rate really fell," Akira muttered, scratching his chin. "Guess that's what I get for sticking with D-rank dungeons. That fake ID capped me."
"But that - A memory crossed his mind… that was a different story. The sheer scale of that fight pushed me to new heights."
He closed the window, rolling his shoulders and stretching out the knots from countless battles. He'd gathered a good amount of magic stones in the last two months—enough that Hiroshi should be able to get him a decent payout.
"Right," Akira said to himself. "First, I need to send these to Hiroshi. Then, maybe a haircut and some new clothes. Can't be showing up looking like some kind of wild beast."
His grandmother flashed into his mind, and the smile faded. "She must be worried sick… that she hasn't hear from me since forever. I have to see her."
Later, having sent the magical stones to Hiroshi, Akira pocketed his money and disappeared into the quiet alleys of the city. He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the streets for a decent tailor.
He came upon a humble shop, the smell of fresh fabric greeting him as he entered.
The tailor, an elderly man with kind eyes, greeted him warmly. Akira picked out a sleek black sports costume—a lightweight hoodie-style shirt paired with comfortable, flexible sports pants. He threw them over his shoulder, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction as he left the shop.
Next, he made his way to a barber's shop. The barber, a young man with a friendly smile, gestured for him to sit. Akira watched himself in the mirror as the barber worked shears through the long strands, literally and figuratively feeling the weight of the past two months fall away with every lock.
"Two months," he thought, his eyes narrowing. "Two months of fighting, leveling, honing my abilities. No one's been there to see it, to measure my growth, but I can feel it. There's a difference in my stance, in the way I feel. I'm stronger. Way stronger than I was before. The D-rank dungeons aren't even a challenge anymore. But I still haven't tested myself against another awakened in a real fight. That'll come soon enough."
He stepped out onto the street, feeling refreshed yet somehow unchanged. His new clothes fit comfortably, the fabric soft against his skin. He began making his way to his grandmother's town, his heart heavy with anticipation.
He arrived at Seoul Village in Bukchon, the familiar stone-paved streets unraveling before him. Every step brought back memories—some sweet, some bitter. The tree where they used to carve their initials, the corner shop where they'd buy candy… it felt like peeling back the layers of time, each memory tinged with the realization of all he'd left behind.
As he walked, a voice pierced his thoughts.
"Akira?"
He froze, his head snapping toward the voice. There stood Hiro, a few feet away, his high school friend he hadn't seen in a long time.
Hiro was 19, with a lean build and striking yellow eyes behind simple rectangular glasses. His black, slightly messy hair framed a calm, thoughtful face, and he tended to dress in dark, fitted clothes. His eyes were wide, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and relief upon his face.
"Is… is that really you?" Hiro's voice broke as he edged forward cautiously, as if he half-expected Akira to disappear if he got too close.
"I thought you were… I thought you were dead!"
Akira gave Hiro a hard stare and a slow nod of his head.
"It's really me, Hiro," he said in that low, even voice of his.
Hiro approached, his eyes scanning Akira's face as if trying to map the changes.
"Everyone thought you were gone, Akira. Your grandmother… she…" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed, trying to steady himself. "She was devastated. Someone—an officer—came… they told her you had died. She even held a funeral."
The words struck Akira with the weight of a handful of stones, each heavier than the last.
"I'm sorry, Hiro," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "There's so much you don't know. I was trapped, cut off. I couldn't reach anyone."
He stopped here, unable to say any more, unable to explain the half-life he had existed in.
Hiro nodded, his features soft, though his eyes still reflected some of the pain.
"You really don't need to explain it all. Just… come with me. She needs to see you."
He motioned toward the path that took them back toward Akira's grandmother's house, and they walked onward in silence.
As they strolled, the streets they had roamed as kids unraveled before them. Everything was so familiar that Akira felt the pang of bittersweet emotion. The tree where they used to carve their initials, the corner shop where they'd buy candy… he felt like peeling back the layers of time, each memory tinged with the realization of all he'd left behind and the path he had chosen—or rather, the path that had chosen him.
They started walking on the narrow path uphill toward her small little house, nestled between the cherry blossom trees, with faded chipped wall paint.
As they came up to the house, Hiro turned to him.
"She never stopped believing you would come back, you know," he said softly. "Even after they told her… she held onto hope. But as time went on…" He faltered. "You were the only one she had left, Akira."
Akira fisted his hands at his sides, fighting the scratching guilt.
They reached the front steps, where Hiro gave an encouraging nod.
"Come," Hiro said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions in his eyes.
Akira took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he reached for the door.