I left the apartment just past six, the sky still wearing its early-morning gray.
The concrete steps down the stairwell were slick with condensation, and Lao Wei's door was cracked open again. He sat shirtless in a stained undershirt, dragging on a cigarette like the building's shared oxygen belonged to him. He gave me a side-glance and grunted.
I nodded back.
Words didn't matter much between neighbors. Everyone had their own problems. No one asked questions unless they had to. That was how I liked it.
Especially now.
The world outside was already buzzing. On the street corner, a woman in slippers slapped vegetables on a cutting board while her husband yelled at a stray dog. The scent of soy sauce, vinegar, and charcoal drifted from the breakfast stalls.
Shanghai didn't stop for anyone.Not even newly awakened nobodies with world-breaking finger snaps.
I pulled my hoodie up and tucked my hands into the sleeves. I couldn't stop glancing at my fingers. As if they'd glow or spark with every thought. They didn't. And that scared me more.
Because it meant I looked normal.
And normal people got stepped on.
I took the metro two stops down to Longhua Middle Road, transferring lines toward the industrial zone where I'd been scheduled for another shift at a logistics warehouse. One of those boring, low-pay day jobs they gave to people like me—men without papers, licenses, or guild placements.
I hadn't decided if I was still going to show up.
Part of me felt like I didn't need to anymore.
I could summon fire. Ice. Force. Electricity. I could whisper reality into motion with a single snap.
But power didn't pay rent. Not unless you could register it—and I wasn't about to march into the China National Awakening Registry and explain that I had a god-tier reality skill with no cooldowns and no weaknesses.
I'd be dead in a week. Dissected in some blacksite lab. Or "drafted" by one of those shadow guilds people whispered about in forums—like the Heaven's Mirror, or the Silent Chain.
I wasn't ready for that.
Not yet.
The station was packed.
Teens in school uniforms jostled each other near the vending machines. An old uncle muttered at his newspaper while the metal seats buzzed under fluorescent lights. Office workers poured in through the east entrance, faces blank, eyes wired to phones.
And in the middle of it all, I saw a familiar face.
"Tianlei?"
I turned.
It was Xu Zhihao — wiry, always grinning, and wearing that same rust-orange hoodie he'd probably never washed. We used to work together loading shipping crates out by the river last winter. He'd quit when his cousin landed him a position as an errand-runner at Tianwei Logistics.
"Zhihao," I said, forcing a smile.
He elbowed me in the ribs. "Man, it's been a while! You look like you haven't slept."
"Didn't."
He squinted at me. "Still working at the warehouse near Baoshan?"
I shrugged. "Maybe not for long."
His brow furrowed, but he didn't press. That was the nice thing about Zhihao—he didn't dig unless you gave him a shovel.
We stood side-by-side on the platform, watching a line of students stream into the next car.
Zhihao nodded toward one of the large screens near the ceiling.
[S-RANK HUNTER CAO JIAN CLEARS RIFT IN RECORD TIME][ABILITY: GRAVITY DISTORTION]
"Think he's stronger than that guy from Guangzhou?" he asked me.
"Probably."
"You ever wish you awakened?" he said, tossing it out casually.
I paused.
"Every day."
"Yeah. Me too." He stretched and yawned. "My cousin said one of the new guys at Tianwei got lightning powers. He charged a whole forklift battery with his hands. They already gave him a bonus."
I kept my hands deep in my hoodie.
Zhihao didn't notice.
By the time I arrived at the warehouse district, the sky was already turning gold. Forklifts beeped. Steel containers thudded against pavement. The air smelled like rubber, metal, and diesel fumes.
I didn't clock in. I just watched from across the street for a few minutes.
Everyone moved like they were underwater, slow, tired. No one smiled.
My manager, Old Guo, was screaming at a guy near the main gate—probably for stacking crates wrong again. His voice echoed even over the machinery.
I turned away and walked toward the side alley near the utility shed.
No one saw me leave.
I wandered past a closed dumpling shop, down a cracked path lined with overgrown bushes. Pigeons scattered as I passed. There was an old cement clearing ahead where kids used to practice skateboarding. I used to eat lunch here.
Now it was empty.
Perfect.
I took off my backpack, set it on the ground, and looked around one last time.
Nothing. No cameras. No people. Just peeling graffiti and a broken fence.
I exhaled slowly.
"Water."
Snap.
A small stream erupted in the air and fell like a fountain for two seconds before evaporating.
Still worked.
I smiled faintly.
Then I tried again.
"Thunder."
Snap.
A loud crack tore through the clearing, and a thin streak of blue lightning arced between two rusted poles. I stumbled back, adrenaline surging.
Too loud.
Way too loud.
I listened, heart pounding.
No footsteps. No shouts.
Still alone.
My chest was tight, but I wasn't scared. I was alive.
"Stone."
Snap.
A sharp thunk sounded as a jagged rock the size of a soccer ball slammed into the dirt at my feet. I crouched beside it, ran my hand over the surface.
Rough. Real.
I could create matter. Not just energy or fire or noise—but objects.
The possibilities spiraled in my head.
A rustle in the bushes made me spin around.
I wasn't alone anymore.
A kid—maybe ten years old, wearing a blue jacket and red shoes—peeked through the chain-link fence. He blinked at me like he was seeing a ghost.
"Hey!" I called out.
He flinched. "Are you a Hunter?"
My blood froze.
"No," I said quickly. "Go home."
His eyes darted to the scorch marks on the ground. "I saw lightning. You did that."
I stepped closer. "You didn't see anything. Understand?"
He hesitated.
Then nodded slowly. "I won't tell."
"You better not."
He ran off, sneakers slapping against the concrete as he vanished down the alley.
I stared after him for a long moment, hands shaking.
Too close.
I didn't test anything else that day.
I rode the metro home in silence, head low, hoodie up. Every screech of the train wheels felt like a warning. Every glance felt suspicious. I kept seeing that kid's face.
He had the look of someone who believed in heroes.
I wasn't one.
Back at the apartment, I locked the door, shut the curtains, and sat on my bed for a long time.
I opened the system window again, hoping for answers.
Nothing.
No new messages. No stats. No tutorials.
Just a blinking line at the bottom:
[Your skill is limited only by what you speak—and what you dare to imagine.]
My mouth went dry.
I hadn't imagined that line before.
It was new.
So the system was watching me.
Or maybe it only spoke when it felt like it.
Either way, the message was clear.
I had power. I had freedom.But I had no safety.
The more I used it, the more people would see.
And eventually, someone would come knocking.
Hunter authorities. Mercenary guilds. The military. Even foreign agents.
If they found out what I could do, I wouldn't be a person anymore.
Just a weapon to be aimed and locked away.
I looked at my hands again.
They didn't glow. They didn't tremble.
But they held something stronger than fire or thunder or light.
They held a secret.
And that secret would either save my life—
Or destroy it.