Chapter 4: The Art of Adaptation
The sky hung heavy with the deep hues of twilight as the MC strolled through the bustling night market. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted spices and sizzling oil, but his mind was elsewhere—on the strange sensation he'd felt earlier, like a faint ripple through reality.
He wasn't like others. Ever since the day he woke up with his powers, he'd known he was different. But just how different—that was something he was still figuring out.
He paused near a stall selling skewered vegetables, eyes scanning the crowd without much focus. His ability wasn't flashy—no fireballs, no glowing swords. It was subtle. Quiet. But devastating when used correctly.
He could learn anything.
It wasn't just copying; it was as if his mind processed the world differently—every movement, every action, every pattern was something he could absorb, refine, and perfect. Whether it was a fighting technique, a sleight of hand, or even how someone breathed when they lied—if he saw it, he knew it. And once he knew it, no one did it better.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. It was almost too easy.
His thoughts drifted back to the first time he became aware of this gift. It wasn't a grand awakening—no lightning bolts or mysterious mentors. Just a quiet realization one day when a pickpocket brushed past him. Without thinking, he mirrored the motion perfectly, slipping a coin from the thief's belt as effortlessly as breathing.
The pickpocket never even noticed.
From there, it only grew stronger. Every time he observed something new, the ability sharpened. Reflexes faster. Awareness heightened. As if his brain wasn't just watching—it was rewriting itself, optimizing every skill he encountered.
And tonight, he'd felt something—or rather, someone—different.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. Near the far edge of the market, a figure slipped through the crowd with an ease that stood out. Too smooth. Too precise.
Not a common thief.
Intrigued, he followed quietly. The figure weaved through the alleyways, eventually disappearing into a crumbling industrial district. The scent of rust and oil hung heavy in the air as he approached a dilapidated factory.
He leaned against a wall, hands in his pockets, heart steady. It wasn't fear that buzzed in his veins—it was curiosity. Whoever this was… they were different. And different meant interesting.
"You've been following me for a while," a voice rang out—smooth, calm, and unmistakably aware.
The MC chuckled softly, stepping into view. "You're not exactly subtle."
The stranger stood beneath a broken skylight. Cloaked in dark fabric, their face was partially obscured by a metallic mask. Their posture was relaxed, but the way they held themselves—controlled, balanced—told him they were no amateur.
"You're not like the others," the stranger said, tilting their head. "You're… too calm."
"I could say the same about you," the MC replied. "Most people don't notice when I follow them."
The stranger laughed—a quiet, cold sound. "I'm not most people."
A ripple passed through the air as the stranger raised a hand. The space between them shimmered—an invisible force gathering.
Ah. So that's what's different.
The MC's eyes narrowed slightly, every detail locking into place. The way their fingers moved, the subtle shift of their weight—it wasn't magic. It was some kind of manipulation of energy, focused and deliberate.
"I don't like being followed," the stranger warned, a pulse of force shooting toward him.
Without thinking, the MC moved. Fast. His body slipped to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast as it shattered the wall behind him. But his mind wasn't on the attack—it was already breaking down the technique.
"Impressive," he murmured, straightening. "Energy manipulation, huh?"
The stranger's stance shifted slightly—surprised but still poised. "You're still standing. Most people would've been scattered across the alley by now."
"Lucky me."
Another wave of force came, but this time, the MC was ready. He didn't dodge—he adjusted. His body flowed with the energy rather than against it, letting it graze harmlessly past him. A new trick learned.
The stranger froze for a fraction of a second. "You're… adapting?"
A smile played at the MC's lips. "Like I said—you're interesting."
The stranger lowered their hand slightly, tension still humming in the air. There was a flicker of curiosity beneath their mask, though they tried to hide it. "You're not just a regular stalker, then. What do you want?"
The MC tilted his head, considering the question. What did he want? Power? Control? No. Those things didn't matter to him.
"I'm just curious," he said finally. "I see something new, and I can't help myself."
"Curiosity can get you killed," the stranger warned, but there was no real malice in their tone.
"Maybe," the MC allowed, "but not tonight."
The stranger stepped back into the shadows, but their voice lingered. "You might be fun to keep around. If you survive, that is."
The MC chuckled softly to himself as they vanished. He wasn't worried. If anything, he was looking forward to their next encounter.
For now, though, he turned and strolled back into the city lights, mind already unraveling the mechanics of energy manipulation—another skill to refine. Another advantage.