"Orientation complete," the voice said.
"Recommendation: conduct initial module trial within twenty-four hours to unlock adaptive feedback," it continued.
"Wait, hold on a moment. That's it?" I raised my voice at the faceless system.
I'd read enough light novels to know that systems usually had a purpose.
Cultivation systems made you stronger. Cooking systems made you a top chef. Some were for gaming while others were for fending off monsters that suddenly ravaged the apopcalypse world.
But this? Detection, foresight, performance boosts… It didn't fit neatly into any of those boxes.
What did it actually want me to do?
The thought lingered, then I pushed it aside. No point in overthinking — not yet. First, I needed to finish the module trial. That would unlock "adaptive feedback," which, if the name was anything to go by, might make the system more responsive to my questions.
I studied the three glowing icons for a moment before tapping the star.
"Activate Star Sense."
[Activation Confirmed – Level 1]
[Range: 10 meters]
[Cooldown: None]
The panel dimmed slightly, and my eyes tingled — a subtle warmth that made me blink.
I glanced around the room to see if anything changed. Nothing. Of course nothing. There wasn't anyone here but me.
Then I had an idea. "System — can I use Star Sense on myself?"
[Star Potential Visibility: Not Available for Self-Targeting]
[Basic Profile: Accessible]
So it couldn't tell me my potential, but it could show me… what, a character sheet?
"Show profile."
The panel expanded until it hovered in front of me like a semi-transparent screen.
Profile – Lydia Han
Age: 20
Health: 78/100 (Good – Minor Fatigue)
Appearance: 68/100 (Healthy; Rested)
Charisma: 59/100 (Situational)
Intelligence: 88/100 (High)
Adaptability: 74/100 (Above Average)
Luck: 42/100 (Below Average)
I tilted my head. "Wow. You really went there with the luck score."
[All scores are system-generated from objective data inputs]
"Uh-huh. Sure."
The numbers weren't bad — better than what I'd expect if it was grading thirty-three-year-old me. Still, it was strange seeing myself broken down into neat little bars and numbers, like I was an NPC (non-player character) in someone else's game.
I glanced toward the apartment door, considering. I guess I would have to go out to find someone — a neighbour, the building manager — just to see how the skill worked on another person.
But… not yet.
After all, if the stories I'd read had taught me anything, it was that the first real test should be done carefully. Preferably without witnesses. And, I didn't want to give others another reason to make fun of me, should I end up acting silly again.
I flicked my gaze to the floating panel still suspended at the edge of my vision. I closed Star Sense and tapped on the one that looked like an open script.
Script Master – Level 1
[Predict narrative event chains based on environmental data.]
[Accuracy: 38%]
[Target Required: Select a specific person, object, or location.]
[Outcome: One predicted event involving the target.]
[Prediction Range: 12 Hours]
[Cooldown: 12 hours]
I frowned at the number. Thirty-eight percent.
That was barely better than guessing. If this was supposed to be some kind of overpowered system, it was doing a pretty good job of disappointing me right out of the gate. Perhaps it has got to do with the fact that the module is only at Level 1. Makes sense for the prediction accuracy and range to increase with its level.
Hmm a twelve hour cooldown? That meant I couldn't just spam it to brute-force answers — I'd need to choose my predictions carefully. I'd read enough light novels to know not to start with something dangerous. If this thing was going to work, I needed a safe test.
'Script Master,' I said aloud in my mind. 'Activate.'
[Please specify target.]
I grinned. Seems like I did not have to say the commands out loud.
Okay, what should be my target? I took a quick look around the house and my eyes landed on the electric kettle sitting in the corner of the kitchen.
"Kettle," I said. "What's going to happen to it in the next twelve hours?"
The system hesitated before responding.
[Prediction: Kettle will be used to boil water at 9:17. Probability: 64%.]
[Script Master Cooldown: 11 hours, 59 minutes]
That… was anticlimactic. But also strangely reassuring. If it could predict something like that, maybe it really was tracking different factors in the environment — even people's behaviors and actions.
Still, 64% wasn't exactly fate. Which meant the system could be wrong. And in a way, while a little unnerving, makes it interesting as well.
Interesting? The word surfaced quietly. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt it — a faint stir, like a current moving just beneath the skin.
Since it is only around eight now, there still is some time to go before I can assess if the "prophecy" comes true. I'd make the most of the time until my next try.
Next up, Performance Boost.
The description was short and vague: Temporary enhancement to mental focus, processing speed, and recall accuracy. Duration: 10 minutes. Cooldown: 48 hours.
"…So basically like drinking three espressos without the heart palpitations?" I muttered to myself.
I figured there was no harm in trying it now. No one was around to see me fail if it went wrong. I opened my old puzzle game — the kind with endless logic grids I used to be obsessed with in high school. Back then, the hardest difficulty would take me twenty minutes if I was lucky.
I tapped Activate.
It was like someone flipped a dozen switches in my head all at once. The clues made sense before I even finished reading them. My eyes darted across columns, my fingers flew over the keyboard, and connections sparked instantly.
Seven minutes later, I was done. Perfect score. No guesswork. Just pure clarity.
Then the boost started to fade. It wasn't a crash, just… like wading through viscous syrup after sprinting on air. The cooldown timer blinked in the corner: 47 hours, 53 minutes remaining.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. "Okay… definitely not something I can use every day. But if I ever need to impress someone…"
The thought lingered longer than I expected — a seed waiting for the right moment to sprout.
Before heading out to test Star Sense, I went back to my room to gather more intel on the current world. That's when I spotted my old phone — the one I'd had back then — half-buried beneath the scattered papers on my desk.
I picked it up. It was old — heavier than I remembered, the kind with a small rectangular screen and thick plastic casing. A model from more than a decade ago, when "smartphone" meant something with an internet browser that took five minutes to load a single page. The battery indicator blinked at me weakly, like it wasn't sure if it wanted to bother staying alive.
Still, it worked.
The interface was clunky, slow, but functional. If this was really thirteen years in the past, I could at least see what the internet looked like again.
I opened the browser. Pages loaded in pieces, images appearing line by line, and the text looked cramped on the tiny display.
News headlines, product ads, and grainy videos from the early days of streaming filled the screen.
For a moment, I just stared.
This was… familiar, but it was also like looking through a time capsule I didn't know I'd buried.
For a while, I just stood there, thinking.
The strangeness of the past few hours had faded into something quieter.
The air in the apartment was still cool, the faint hum of the fridge still familiar, the distant noise of the street below unchanged.
This didn't feel like a dream anymore.
It felt… real.