CHAPTER 3: FIRST STEPS AND WEIRD VIBES
The mansion was… a lot. Like, 'Billionaire with a penchant for antique furniture and secret passages' a lot. And given Adam's backstory, with the mysterious imp father and astrophysicist mother, it probably did have secret passages. I half expected to find a Batcave-esque setup, only instead of crime-fighting gadgets, it'd be full of advanced theoretical physics equations written on chalkboards and maybe a portal to the Fifth Dimension hidden behind a dusty old tapestry.
The front door creaked open with an ominous groan as I pushed it. "Well, that's not foreboding at all," I muttered, stepping into a cavernous foyer. Dust motes danced in the sparse beams of moonlight filtering through tall, arched windows. The air was thick with the scent of disuse and something else, something indefinable, like static electricity and old secrets.
[LOCATION: ADAM STIELS RESIDENCE. ANCHOR PROXIMITY: MODERATE. POWER OUTPUT: STABLE.]
The System was being uncharacteristically chill. Or maybe it was just as overwhelmed as I was by the sheer square footage.
"Alright, System," I thought, my voice echoing faintly in the silence. "House tour, then. Any hidden stashes of Choco Tacos? Or, you know, ancient artifacts of cosmic power? I'm easy."
No response. The System, it seemed, wasn't big on idle chatter or snack recommendations. Typical.
The first few days were a blur of exploration, emotional whiplash, and accidental magic. The grief for both my mothers was a constant, dull ache, but the sheer novelty of my situation, combined with the bizarre memories of Adam's life, kept me from spiraling. I found Adam's bedroom, surprisingly normal despite the rest of the house's eccentricity, and settled in. It was sparsely furnished, neat, almost spartan. A clear contrast to the grand, neglected rooms elsewhere. It felt like a temporary refuge for a soul that never quite felt at home.
I discovered the "hidden, magically-sealed inheritance" mentioned in the template. Turns out, it wasn't a vault filled with gold doubloons, but a collection of ancient, alien-looking texts and a few surprisingly advanced gadgets tucked away in a sub-basement behind a cleverly disguised bookshelf. The texts were incomprehensible to me, swirling glyphs and symbols that defied earthly languages, but I sensed immense power radiating from them. The gadgets… well, one looked suspiciously like a universal remote that could probably control reality, if I only knew which button to press. I wisely left them untouched for now. My current power levels felt like I was operating a nuclear reactor with a butter knife; best not to add a full-blown reality-altering remote to the mix.
My primary focus, beyond not having a complete mental breakdown, was to gain some semblance of control over Reality Warping. The System had helpfully added more sub-skills to the list, still locked, but visible. Minor Telekinesis was proving to be a slow grind. I spent hours in the mansion, trying to move things. First a feather, then a pen, then a small book. It was painstaking, requiring intense concentration and often resulting in nothing more than a headache. But each successful nudge, each tiny levitation, resulted in a satisfying, if small, [XP GAINED] notification.
"Come on, you glorious paperweight," I muttered one afternoon, glaring at a particularly stubborn antique globe in the study. "Just… rotate. A little. For science. For my sanity." I pushed, mentally, trying to imagine the invisible force, the slight nudge to reality that would make it spin. Nothing. "You know, this is why I was an engineering student. Gravity and friction are such reliable constants. This whole 'will it into existence' thing is far too vague."
Suddenly, the globe didn't just spin. It began to float, slowly ascending towards the ornate ceiling.
"Whoa!" I blinked. My control wasn't that good yet. It was still rising. "Okay, now come down! Come down, you oversized beach ball!"
[SKILL PROGRESS: MINOR TELEKINESIS (Lvl 2). NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: INCREASED LIFT CAPACITY (UP TO 50 KG).]
The globe wobbled, then began its descent, finally landing with a soft thud back on its stand. I stared at it, then at the System notification. "Huh. Guess being mildly exasperated counts as 'pushing the boundaries of what you believe is possible.' Good to know."
Next up: Sensory Illusion (Lvl 1). This one proved to be even trickier. My first attempt, trying to make a dust bunny look like a particularly fluffy cat, resulted in a shimmering blob that smelled faintly of old socks. My second, an attempt to make a cup of stale coffee look like a steaming, freshly brewed latte, just made me sad.
"This is harder than it looks," I complained to the empty room, rubbing my temples. "It's like trying to program a hyper-realistic VR simulation with a potato. What am I missing?"
[HINT: THE IMPLICIT REALITY. FOCUS ON THE FEEL OF THE ILLUSION, NOT JUST THE VISUAL.]
The System, ever so cryptic. The feel of the illusion. Right. Not just what it looked like, but what it felt like to experience it. The warmth, the smell, the subtle steam.
I tried again, picturing the latte. Not just the foam, but the heat of the mug, the rich aroma of roasted beans, the faint, lingering sweetness. I closed my eyes, concentrating on every sensory detail. When I opened them, the stale coffee still looked like stale coffee.
But then, a faint, almost imperceptible scent wafted towards me. Coffee. Rich, aromatic coffee. And if I strained, I could almost hear the faint hiss of an espresso machine.
"Okay," I breathed, impressed despite myself. "Baby steps. But actual progress!"
[SKILL PROGRESS: SENSORY ILLUSION (Lvl 1). XP GAINED: 1.]
The other starting skill, Pocket Storage (Lvl 1), was by far the easiest. I could store up to one cubic meter of non-living matter. Essentially, a personal, portable, and infinitely fashionable hammerspace. My first successful test involved a particularly ugly throw pillow. Poof. Gone. Poof. Back again. This was going to be incredibly useful for, you know, never having to carry a backpack again. And potentially, for storing supervillain-grade weaponry. Or snacks. Definitely snacks.
Months passed. My grief remained, a phantom weight, but I was learning to carry it. The initial volatile power surges became less frequent. I was still profoundly weird, but I was a weirdo with a purpose: to not accidentally destroy the planet, and to prepare for the inevitable future.
Using my meta-knowledge, I started making strategic, anonymous investments. The stock market, cryptocurrency, real estate – with a basic understanding of future trends, it was shockingly easy to turn Adam's existing wealth into a truly ridiculous fortune. My goal wasn't to be a billionaire playboy (been there, done that, the trauma-bond doesn't need more issues), but to secure my financial and physical safety. To have the resources to operate, to travel, and to, you know, afford all the pizza I wanted. I established myself, mostly through proxies and extremely careful manipulations of financial data, as an eccentric, reclusive rich kid. The kind who probably owned a pet unicorn and communicated exclusively through interpretive dance. Perfect cover.
National City was becoming less of a blurry image on a hospital TV and more of a home. I still felt like an outsider, a glitch in the Matrix, but the city itself was vibrant, bustling, and full of… potential. Potential for good, for bad, and for me to subtly influence things from the shadows.