Darkness slowly peeled away like curtains lifting.
Kang Dohyun woke with a violent gasp, clutching his chest as if someone had tried to carve something into it. Sweat drenched the sheets beneath him. The ceiling above him spun slightly—no, tilted, like reality hadn't fully reattached yet.
"What… the hell was that?" he muttered, panting.
His heart hammered like it wanted out.
It felt as if someone had rebuilt him from the inside out. No metaphors—literal reconstruction. His bones felt denser. His muscles felt… alive, twitchier, eager. His senses were painfully sharp.
He could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
And a faint car alarm two streets over.
And the beat of his own pulse in his ears.
It was overwhelming.
He sat up too fast, gripping his forehead.
"This is insane… this is actually insane."
The pain from choosing the talent had been so intense he'd blacked out, and the aftershock was still burning in his veins.
He looked around for the translucent screen from earlier.
"Status," he said instinctively.
The screen appeared again—clean, simple.
[Talent: Acquisition]
No levels.
No stats.
Just a name.
But it felt heavy.
Like he had just put his hand on the ignition of something enormous.
He swallowed hard.
If this was the actual "Acquisition" the fandom theorized about…If this was the hypothetical ability people used to explain James Lee's mythical growth…
Then he wasn't just given a cheat.
He was handed a door.
A limitless one.
He touched his chest again, grounding himself.
Focus.Panicking won't change anything.Think like a reader. Think like someone who knows exactly how dangerous this world is.
He stood up on slightly shaky legs and walked to the mirror.
His reflection stared back—sweaty, flushed, panting—but undeniably sharper.
His eyes looked clearer.
His posture straighter.
His breathing steadier.
"Okay… okay. Calm down. One step at a time," he whispered to himself. "You're not some protagonist. You're a civilian with a god-tier talent. The smart move is to learn how it works without doing anything stupid."
No running into main characters.
No "accidentally" joining a crew.
No picking fights.
Not yet.
He splashed cold water on his face, letting the shock bring him fully awake.
As he dried off, a plan formed.
Testing.Observation.Repetition.
He needed to understand this talent before anything else.
He needed to use it.
Dohyun rummaged around the desk until he found the smartphone again. It wasn't locked, no passcode—thank god.
He typed quickly.
"Basic boxing drills for beginners."
He opened a video.
A coach demonstrating jabs, crosses, footwork.
He watched closely, leaning in, eyes narrowed.
Something inside him shifted.
Not a physical feeling—but a mental one.
His brain was absorbing the information too fast.Almost like it was creating new slots for it.
He stood up slowly, raised his hands, and mimicked the form.
Jab.
His fist cut the air with a sharpness that startled him.
Cross.
His weight shifted perfectly across his hips without thinking.
Combination.
It didn't feel learned.It felt familiar.Like muscle memory borrowed from someone else.
He froze mid-motion.
"…Holy shit."
This wasn't copying.This wasn't instant mastery.
But it wasn't "beginner" movement either.
He tried again, focusing on the coach's foot placement this time.
A spark flicked inside him.
Something clicked.
He moved again—smoother, cleaner, closer to proper form.
He lowered his hands slowly.
A laugh escaped him, half disbelief, half exhilaration.
"This is real. This is actually real."
He could acquire skill.But not like a cheat code.Through exposure. Experience. Repetition.
Just like the description said.
And that meant—Every fight he saw.Every technique he witnessed.Every movement he studied.Every style he brushed against—
—could become his.
Slowly.
But infinitely.
He felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
"…I might actually survive this world."
He grabbed another video—this one more advanced. A professional sparring clip with angled footwork and slips.
As he watched, he felt the faint mental tug again.
Patterns forming.Rhythms syncing.His brain cataloging movement like it was building a library.
He tried replicating a slip.
Too slow.Uncoordinated.
He tried again.
Better.
Again.
Almost natural.
He kept drilling for thirty minutes straight, sweat dripping, breath hot, but every repetition felt like adding another brick to a foundation.
Then he stopped abruptly.
Another realization hit him.
If watching already triggered faint adaptation…
What about experiencing?
His eyes drifted toward the wooden floor.
He crouched.
And punched it.
"—!"
His knuckles screamed immediately, pain flaring up his hand.
"…Okay. Idiot. Bad idea," he hissed, shaking his fingers.
But even through the pain, another sensation came.
Subtle.Almost microscopic.But there.
His hand… adjusted?
His form tightened.
His wrist aligned instinctively, like his body analyzed the mistake and prevented future injuries.
He stared at his reddened knuckles in awe.
"Acquisition… works on failure too."
That was insane.That was dangerous.That was addicting.
He stood again, heart racing for entirely new reasons.
This wasn't power handed to him.
This was power grown.
And the more he interacted with the world, the faster it would evolve.
But another thought hit him—
a cold, grounding one.
Growth attracts danger.If he grew too fast, or too noticeably…
Gun would notice.Goo would notice.Workers would notice.The 1st Generation would definitely notice.
And James Lee…
He shook his head vigorously.
"Nope. Nope. Not thinking about that man yet."
He wasn't ready for any of that.
Which meant his training had to be discreet.
At home.Online.In private.
Slow, steady, invisible improvement.
He wasn't trying to be a hero.He wasn't trying to "fix" the story.He wasn't here to play protagonist.
He was here to survive.
Then—maybe—thrive.
He sat down on the bed, breathing deeply.
The first steps were clear:
Test Acquisition in controlled environments
Monitor physical changes
Avoid ALL plot-significant characters
Track the timeline
Stay alive
He opened a new video—kick basics this time.
As he raised his leg and copied the motion, feeling tiny adjustments ripple through his stance, a thought settled into his mind.
He wasn't just in Lookism.
He wasn't just reborn.
He was evolving.
And this world—this dangerous, chaotic world—was now his training ground.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"…Let's see how far this can go."