The moment the second wish had been granted, silence fell once again.
The air shimmered faintly, still heavy with power. The Genie remained still, observing me with that ageless calm, his expression unreadable.
Then, he spoke.
"And your final wish?"
His words cut through the silence like a blade.
I stood there, heart pounding in my chest, lungs drawing in air like I'd just resurfaced from drowning. The weight of the last two wishes bore down on me—probability and genetics. One to change the world around me, the other to sculpt the very core of my being.
"…I… can't," I murmured, my voice barely audible.
The Genie's head tilted ever so slightly.
"I cannot decide yet," I said, stronger this time. "This power... it's already beyond what I can digest. If I make a third wish now, I might be overwhelmed more than I already am."
The Genie's eyes glinted, as though amused—or perhaps merely understanding.
"A wise delay," he said. "Then I shall wait, until you are ready."
My brows furrowed. "Wait? Where?"
"I will return when the time is right. Call me when your soul stops trembling at the weight it now carries."
Before I could respond, he raised a hand.
A pulse of stillness overtook the space—an ancient stillness that felt like the silence of a forgotten cosmos. And then, just like that… he was gone.
Not a flash. Not a sound. Just absence.
The space where he once stood now felt larger, emptier. And yet, I could breathe again. My shoulders slumped for the first time since this began. The tension that had gripped my body like an iron clasp released. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath until it came out shaky and slow.
Alone at last.
The chamber—the world—was silent.
I dropped to my knees—not from fear, but from the sheer magnitude of surrealism.
These powers were no longer hypothetical constructs. Fantasy had just become reality. And yet, despite all that had transpired, I still couldn't bring myself to truly believe it. My mind resisted, clinging to the comfort of denial.
I had to do something. Something to force my brain to accept this truth.
What better way than to immerse myself in it?
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I slowly rose from the ground and murmured with rare serenity,
"Reality bends to my will… huh."
Stillness.
Then, without warning, I burst into uncontrollable laughter—a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed through the chamber.
Why was I acting like the protagonist of some over-the-top fanfiction?
I knew why.
I'd read too many manga. Too many stories where the unreal was made real, where power came with theatrics and monologues. It had rewired how I processed situations like this.
But… wasn't that fine too?
This was fun.
Still, I couldn't keep circling the same thoughts forever. Enough self-reflection.
It was time to test these so-called magical powers.
I took a deep breath, calming the storm of emotions that still lingered within me. The time for internal turmoil had passed.
Now begins the empirical phase.
Probability Manipulation.
At first glance, it sounds broken—overpowered, even. But the true weight of that term only becomes clear when dissected carefully.
Probability, at its core, is the likelihood of an outcome occurring. It governs everything—from the fall of a leaf, to the flip of a coin, to the success of a surgical operation. Even my next breath could, in theory, fail if the odds aligned just wrong.
So… if I now had control over that system—what exactly could I do with it?
I began pacing slowly across the chamber, hand under my chin. "No vague applications," I muttered. "Specific, measurable, repeatable. Start small. Think like a scientist, not a sorcerer."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin.
Perfect.
I flipped it into the air.
Ting.
Heads.
Again.
Ting.
Heads.
Third time.
Ting.
Heads.
Then I concentrated. I didn't speak any spell. There were no grand gestures. It was just... a thought. A push of intent into the very fabric of possibility.
Let it land on tails.
I flipped the coin.
Tails.
My breath hitched. I flipped it again.
Tails.
Again.
Tails.
Three in a row. Could be chance.
I deepened my focus. Let it land on its edge.
Ridiculous.
Impossible.
I flipped.
Clink.
The coin spun, teetered... and stayed.
Balanced. Upright.
I stared at it in silence.
My heart began to pound—not from excitement, but from the dawning realization.
I wasn't choosing outcomes. I was tilting the odds. The coin could land on its edge, however improbable... and I had made that outcome likely enough.
I crouched beside the coin. "So it's not absolute control," I whispered. "I can't summon a bolt of lightning from a clear sky just by saying the odds of it are 100%. But… if the probability isn't zero… I can push it."
That… that changes everything.
I stood again and looked at the wooden door at the far end of the chamber. It was shut tight.
What's the probability that it's unlocked, even though I distinctly remember locking it earlier?
…Almost zero.
I walked to the door and gently reached for the knob. As I turned it, I nudged the probability.
Clack.
It opened.
I smirked.
"So locks… codes… lotteries… even chance meetings—"
I stopped.
My mind was racing now. A hundred scenarios played out. But I couldn't let the rush carry me away.
"Control," I reminded myself. "Discipline."
This ability… it's not flashy. It doesn't level cities or create illusions. But in the hands of someone calm, patient, and observant—it's terrifying.
Because it can touch anything.
Success.
Failure.
Luck.
Fate.
"Probability is the silent hand behind every miracle and disaster," I said aloud. "And now... I can guide that hand."
For the first time, I smiled—not from madness, not from disbelief, but from something sharper.
Conviction.
I had chosen wisely.
...
...
...
...
My fingers slowly uncurl from the loose fist I'd unknowingly formed. The aftershocks of what I just accomplished still tingled at the edges of my senses, like phantom electricity brushing against my nerves. A smile, subdued yet unshakable, formed on my face. Probability—my first wish—had proven itself real, malleable, and most terrifyingly... obedient.
But that was only the beginning.
Without allowing awe to fester into paralysis, I took a deep breath and shifted my thoughts to the second wish—the more intimate, more delicate, and potentially more catastrophic of the two.
A deep breath steadied me.
Now… the second wish.
Genetic manipulation.
If probability manipulation governed the world outside me, then this... was dominion over myself.
This one, unlike probability, was not about influencing the external world. It was an inward dive—intimate, surgical, dangerously potent.
I sat down again, cross-legged, placing both palms on my knees. My fingers twitched slightly as I closed my eyes, not for any mystical reason, but to focus—truly focus. Probability felt like writing a script for reality to act out. This… this was rewiring the very hardware I was running on.
"So," I whispered into the stillness, "where do I begin?"
The thought of instantly giving myself superhuman strength, speed, perfect immunity, or absurd longevity—it all rushed to the forefront. But the very flood of options was itself paralyzing. There had to be structure. I could not allow excitement to override precision.
"I need a baseline." My eyes opened. "Let's start by understanding… what I even am now."
Almost reflexively, I focused inward—not metaphorically, but literally. A strange awareness sparked. I could feel my genes. Like perceiving code in a language I had never been taught, yet instinctively understood.
I saw it all.
My DNA unraveled before my mind's eye—strands of code, twisted ladders of biology. It was like diving through a sea of living, breathing instruction manuals. I hovered over chromosomes, scanned proteins, read enzyme expressions. I could isolate traits—my eye color, bone density, my susceptibility to caffeine, even why my left knee sometimes popped when I stood.
"This is absurd," I muttered, lips parting in sheer disbelief.
And yet, it was real.
I didn't just see the code—I could touch it. Manipulate it. Fold genes over themselves like origami. It was frighteningly intuitive.
Naturally, temptation crept in. Superhuman strength? Just up-regulate muscle fiber density. Speed? Enhance fast-twitch muscles, modify neurological signal transmission. Pain resistance? Edit the receptors. Immortality? Telomerase activation, cellular repair optimization, apoptosis delay.
But I didn't move yet.
Because each change came with a cost—a consequence I'd have to bear or mitigate. Extreme muscle density would demand more oxygen, more energy. Faster nerve signals meant increased calorie consumption, or possibly even damaging overheating. And immortality? How long before I grew numb to everything?
This wasn't a video game. I didn't have a "save point."
"I need to start simple. Build a foundation."
So I began with efficiency. Not enhancement—optimization.
I tweaked my metabolism first, making it more stable. No more sugar crashes or sudden fatigue. Then I bolstered my immune system—not just for common viruses, but tuned it to be reactive and adaptive. A perfect memory of every invader, faster than any vaccine.
And then… vision.
I increased my light spectrum range. Instantly, the chamber around me shifted. The world became... layered. I saw ultraviolet traces, faint heat signatures. Dust patterns danced like whispers. Every surface carried secrets in light I'd never been able to see before.
"...Damn." It was the only word I could manage.
Next, healing.
I didn't go for Wolverine-level regeneration—too dangerous. Instead, I fine-tuned my clotting process, upped stem cell distribution and recalibrated inflammation control. I'd recover from most wounds twice as fast now, without sacrificing balance.
It felt like tuning an engine that was already running—and now it purred.
I stood slowly, stretching out my arms.
Nothing had changed outwardly. I was still me. Same limbs, same skin, same heartbeat. And yet I knew I wasn't the same. Inside, I was cleaner. Sharper. Like a machine freshly oiled and fine-tuned for performance.
Still…
"This is just the beginning."
I hadn't touched appearance. I hadn't even gone near the more controversial edits—memory alteration, emotional modulation, genetic fusion with other organisms. Those would come later, if ever. For now, I had forged a body that worked with me, not against me.
And I felt... alive.
For the first time in what felt like years, my body wasn't a prison or a shell—it was a tool. A canvas. A trusted ally.
I looked up at the empty air where the Genie had once stood, and murmured:
"You weren't lying... This is beyond power. It's evolution."
Then silence again. Not the heavy, suffocating stillness from before—but a calm, living quiet.
The storm had passed. And I was the one left standing in its wake.
Now, only one thing remained.
The final wish.
But I wasn't ready—not yet.
For now, I had the tools.
Next... I needed a purpose.