Alex's Brooklyn Apartment - 6:00 PM
The narrow space between Alex's bed and kitchenette wasn't much of a training ground—barely six feet of scuffed hardwood floor bordered by secondhand furniture and camera equipment. But it would have to do.
Alex stood in the center of the cramped area, feeling ridiculous. He'd changed into sweatpants and an old NYU t-shirt, clothes that would give him freedom of movement without looking too suspicious if his downstairs neighbors heard anything unusual. Mrs. Rodriguez already complained about his "late-night photography projects," and the last thing he needed was her calling the landlord about strange noises.
In his right hand, he gripped a black umbrella—the closest thing to a sword he could find in his apartment. It was pathetically lightweight compared to the rusted rebar from the dungeon, but it had the right general shape and length.
This is insane, Alex thought, adjusting his stance. I'm about to try copying a B-rank technique with an umbrella in a studio apartment.
But the system interface hovering at the edge of his vision disagreed:
[PRACTICE ENVIRONMENT: SUBOPTIMAL BUT FUNCTIONAL][WEAPON SUBSTITUTE: ACCEPTABLE FOR BASIC TRAINING][SAFETY PARAMETERS: WITHIN ACCEPTABLE LIMITS]
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Alex muttered internally.
He closed his eyes and accessed the Lightning Slash data again. Immediately, the technique filled his mind—not just the visual memory, but the complete kinesthetic experience. He could feel how Marcus's muscles had coiled and released, the precise timing of breath and movement, the flow of awakened energy that had transformed a simple sword strike into something devastating.
The problem was, Alex didn't have awakened energy. Not the way Marcus did.
So how did I pull it off in the dungeon?
Alex opened his eyes and raised the umbrella, trying to mirror the starting position from his mental replay. His stance felt awkward, unnatural. Nothing like the fluid confidence he'd somehow accessed when cornered by the Tunnel Worm.
[POSTURE ANALYSIS: 67% ACCURACY][CORRECTION SUGGESTIONS AVAILABLE]
Helpful arrows appeared in his peripheral vision, indicating micro-adjustments to his feet, shoulders, and grip. Alex followed them, feeling his stance improve incrementally.
[POSTURE ANALYSIS: 84% ACCURACY][READY TO PROCEED]
Taking a deep breath, Alex began the Lightning Slash sequence.
The first attempt was a disaster. He moved too slowly, too consciously, thinking through each step instead of flowing naturally. The umbrella wobbled in his grip, and he nearly tripped over his own feet halfway through the movement.
[EXECUTION RATING: 23%][PRIMARY ISSUES: OVERTHINKING, MUSCLE TENSION, TIMING ERRORS]
Well, that was humbling.
Alex tried again, this time attempting to let instinct guide him rather than conscious thought. It was marginally better—the umbrella moved in something approximating the right pattern, though it felt like a child's crayon scribble compared to Marcus's masterpiece.
[EXECUTION RATING: 31%][IMPROVEMENT NOTED: +8%]
By the fifth attempt, something clicked. Alex stopped trying to think through the technique and instead let the downloaded muscle memory take over. His body began to move with growing confidence, the umbrella cutting through the air in precise arcs.
There was no supernatural speed, no crackling energy, no destructive force—but the fundamental structure was there. The geometric perfection of the movement, the efficient transfer of momentum, the split-second timing that would allow maximum impact.
[EXECUTION RATING: 58%][SIGNIFICANT IMPROVEMENT DETECTED][MASTERY PROGRESS: 18% → 21%]
Three percent in ten minutes of physical practice, Alex marveled, lowering the umbrella. This is incredible.
But as he caught his breath, Alex noticed something concerning. His hands were shaking—not from nerves this time, but from genuine fatigue. His shoulders burned, and there was a deep ache in his core muscles that spoke of exertion far beyond what the simple movements should have required.
[PHYSICAL STRESS WARNING][CURRENT BODY CONDITIONING: INSUFFICIENT FOR EXTENDED PRACTICE][RECOMMENDED BREAK: 45 MINUTES]
My body isn't ready for this, Alex realized. I'm trying to perform techniques designed for someone with years of martial training and enhanced physical conditioning.
He collapsed onto his bed, still gripping the umbrella. The apartment felt stuffy now, and he could smell his own sweat despite the brief practice session. His reflection in the dark window showed flushed cheeks and disheveled hair—he looked like he'd just finished an hour-long workout.
But beneath the fatigue was something else: exhilaration. For a few moments during that last attempt, Alex had felt it—the shadow of what Marcus experienced when he performed the Lightning Slash. The perfect unity of intention and execution, the satisfaction of technical mastery made manifest.
It was addictive.
Alex's phone buzzed with a text from his sister Amy: "Dinner with Mom and Dad tonight. You coming?"
He checked the time—6:30 PM. The family restaurant would be hitting its dinner rush soon, and his parents would expect him to show up for their weekly meal together. It was tradition, and Chinese families took tradition seriously.
"On my way," he texted back, though the thought of facing his family while harboring this enormous secret made his stomach clench.
As Alex changed clothes and gathered his things, the system interface provided one final update:
[PRACTICE SESSION COMPLETE][TOTAL MASTERY GAIN: +3%][NEXT PRACTICE WINDOW: OPTIMAL IN 2 HOURS][PHYSICAL CONDITIONING SUBPROGRAM AVAILABLE][WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACCESS FITNESS OPTIMIZATION PROTOCOLS?]
Alex paused with his hand on the door handle. Fitness optimization protocols? The system could help with physical conditioning too?
The implications were staggering. Not only could he copy techniques from other Awakened, but the system could apparently help him develop the physical foundation needed to perform them properly. It was like having a personal trainer, martial arts instructor, and sports scientist all rolled into one impossible piece of technology.
But that would have to wait. Right now, he had to go pretend to be normal Alex Chen, failed F-rank camera operator, in front of the three people who knew him best in the world.
As he locked his apartment door, Alex caught sight of his reflection one more time in the hallway mirror. He looked tired but normal—no trace of the blue glow behind his eyes, no hint of the revolutionary technology hiding in his brain.
How long can I keep this secret? he wondered as he headed for the stairs.
Behind him, his umbrella lay forgotten on the bed, its black surface still warm from where superhuman precision had flowed through its mundane frame.