I leaned back on the couch, letting my shoulders finally relax. First recon, done. Nobody dead. No dramatic chase scenes. Not even a weird power surge.
And right on cue—
[System Notification]
Mission Completed: Covert Surveillance
+100 CP awarded
— First undercover assignment completed without detection, confrontation, or self-sabotage.
"Milestone achieved: 1/1 — Congratulations! You're now technically a spy."
I smirked.
Technically a spy. Not bad for someone who was reading manga in his dorm a week ago.
Now I had 300 CP total.
Before I reached for something, I took a moment to scan the kitchenette. A few eggs, some frozen fruit, oats, protein powder, and a handful of random condiments.
Not a full pantry, but enough to whip up a few decent meals. Could do pancakes, an omelette, or even a quick smoothie if I wanted.
I weighed my options for a moment, then shrugged. Today, comfort food won out.
The tension didn't fully leave my shoulders until I started peeling the bananas.
Two of them—soft, sweet, borderline overripe. Just right.
I dropped them into my 9x6 baking dish and mashed them with a fork until they looked like something between baby food and bad oatmeal.
Was this gourmet?
No.
But I'd made it before, back home. Quick, easy, high-protein, and filling. Comfort food for the chronically fit-adjacent.
Next came the oats—200 grams, give or take—then 60 grams of protein powder, 5 grams of baking powder, and about 420 milliliters of milk. Stirred it all together until it was less sad and more… edible-looking.
Then a single-serving yogurt cup—about 100 grams. Vanilla, I think. Whatever was open in the fridge. I wasn't picky.
Topped it with 140 grams of mixed berries, still warm from the microwave, because frozen was cheaper and I wasn't made of money.
By the time I poured the whole thing into the oven—preheated to 180 with the fan already on—the kitchen smelled like a gym rat's cheat day. Sweet. Dense. Satisfying.
I closed the oven door, set the timer for thirty-five minutes, and checked the clock.
Thirty minutes. Time to think.
I leaned back against the counter as the timer ticked down and let my brain catch up to my hands.
Ten days.
That's how long I had before this world kicked off the main event.
The summit. The machine. The Brotherhood. The reveal.
I wasn't a mutant. And I wasn't some chosen one, either.
Just a guy with perks, a grimoire, and enough narrative awareness to know when things were about to get messy.
Did I care what happened to this world?
Not really.
Not because I was cruel. I didn't enjoy seeing people hurt. I wasn't the type to kick over an orphanage just to watch it burn.
But I didn't feel some grand moral obligation to fix things, either.
If innocents got caught in the crossfire, yeah—it sucked.
But unless they were people I knew? People I cared about?
That alone wasn't enough to move me.
I wasn't here to be a villain. But I wasn't going to be a hero just because the script wanted one, either.
Still… if I could make this place a little better while chasing my own goals—training, gathering power, figuring out the system—why not?
And if that happened to tip the balance in favor of one side or another… well, tough luck.
As long as Charles wasn't one of the creepy mind-control versions from the fanfics, I might even give the school crew a hand.
I mean, come on—at the end of the day, they were the X-Men.
Literally the guys I watched growing up, one way or another.
If tossing them a bit of help didn't cost me much?
Sure. Why not.
Nostalgia's a hell of a drug.
Ding.
The oven timer chirped like it hadn't just interrupted my quiet existential crisis.
I pulled the dish out with a rag, set it on the counter, and let it cool for a minute while I rummaged for a spoon. No fancy plating. Just a corner cut and scooped into a bowl. Dense, warm, and sweet in a vaguely gym-approved way.
I sat down, dug in, and let my thoughts drift.
Ten days.
What could I actually get done in ten days?
Training, obviously.
I needed to keep practicing infiltration, mana flow, evasive movement—make it second nature.
But I could do more than that.
There was tech in this world. Mutant tech, military-grade prototypes, weird sci-fi garbage tucked away in blacksite labs.
Maybe not just lying around—but definitely within reach.
Especially with the right perks, a little stealth, and a flexible interpretation of property law.
Hypnosis alone could open a lot of doors. Literally.
Books? Sure. But maybe not just for reading.
I could pull material from universities, libraries, maybe even medical records, school files—hell, if I got my hands mutant DNA.
And if baseline scientists in this world could build Sentinels?
Then with the right kind of brainpower—magically boosted or borrowed—I could do ten times better.
I didn't need to be Tony Stark.
I just needed Stark-level results.
Whether that came from a spell that turned me into a one-man think tank, or from recruiting some underpaid genius with a flexible moral code and too much curiosity… I'd figure it out.
The Grimoire had options.
I just had to unlock them.
Weapons? Still America.
Guns were practically free samples.
And if not guns, then energy blades, shock weapons, sonic knives—I wasn't picky.
Food, valuables, tech I could trade or stash for future worlds…
A stocked inventory meant leverage.
And all of it—every stolen file, swiped prototype, or "indefinitely borrowed" gadget—would mean more if I could sharpen my mind first.
I hadn't seen any intelligence-boosting spells yet, but come on.
This system was broken.
They had to be in there somewhere.
And yeah—stealing. Whatever.
I'd worry about who I was stealing from later.
I mean, it's not like I was looting retirement homes.
Probably.
I chewed another bite, staring out the window. The sun was still low, the fog barely starting to lift.
Ten days before the fireworks.
Ten days to build, steal, or earn as much as I could.
And then?
Well. I'd decide that when I got there.
Ping.
Another quiet notification blinked into my HUD.
Nothing dramatic. Just the Grimoire doing its thing.
Spell Draw
Name: Stranger
Source: Justice League Dark
Chapter: Illusion
Cost: 100 CP
Some strange magic enshrouds your form. If you so wish it, your features shall become... distorted. Nothing truly changes, but onlookers will only be able to recall you as an extremely generic version of your race or species. They would be able to recognize you on sight, but attempting to describe you to someone else would only result in their frustration.
Well, that was... weirdly specific.
It wasn't invisibility, but it might as well be for casual observation.
A perfect spell for those "casual stroll past security" situations.
No disguise required—just magically-induced forgettability.
Kind of brilliant, actually.
Still… was it worth the 100?
I had other plans for those points.
And the Grimoire seemed like it would keep throwing me spells anyway, like a lootbox that didn't understand restraint.
But if I passed this up, what would I get instead?
Fireball? Laundry-folding magic?
Deadpool's inner monologue but weaponized?
I scooped another bite of warm fruit oat-protein-something and gave it a long, thoughtful chew.
Decisions, decisions.
Huh.
Not what I expected for a gacha pull, but not bad either.
It wasn't invisibility.
It wasn't disguise.
It was… cognitive blur.
The magical equivalent of being so forgettable that witnesses couldn't even form a police sketch.
Useful? Hell yes. Especially if I wanted to do recon without leaving behind a clear description.
But was it 100 CP useful?
I had other options now. A decent pool of points. And this might've just been the Grimoire tossing me a bone—or testing if I'd blow early rewards on shiny tricks.
On the other hand…
No one could accuse you of being the villain if no one remembered what you looked like.
And that had potential.
I tapped my spoon thoughtfully against the bowl.
This was the part of the story where the MC usually made a dumb impulsive decision and either got crazy strong or instantly regretted it.
I needed to be smarter than that.
…
But also—real talk?
I looked good.
Like, stupidly good.
Thanks to the perk loadout, I was currently walking around with the kind of beauty that made people look twice… and then keep looking.
Which, sure—great for certain situations.
Flirting. Distraction. Getting free coffee.
But for stealth? Total liability.
And it wasn't just good genetics, either.
This was the Body of Enkidu.
Crafted from divine clay, blessed by the gods, and built to be the equal of Gilgamesh himself.
A walking weapon disguised as perfection.
Of course it came with flawless symmetry, impossible muscle tone, and the kind of presence that made people invent excuses to stay in your line of sight.
If I wanted to avoid attention?
Stranger wasn't just a good pick.
It was damage control.
So yeah — Grimoire acknowledged it, "Purchase confirmed."
I stared out the window, chewing slowly. Morning haze still clung to the skyline, golden light threading through the fog like it was inviting me to step outside and test something stupid.
Perfect.
I rinsed my bowl, grabbed my hoodie, and gave the Grimoire a mental tap.
Stranger: active.
There wasn't a rush of power. No glow. No spark.
Just a shift. Like a soft filter sliding over reality—not mine, but everyone else's.
I stepped in front of the mirror.
My hair was still there. My hoodie, my shoulders, the angle of my jaw—
Wait. No. That wasn't my jaw.
It wasn't anyone's jaw.
What stared back was a placeholder. A visual shrug.
Generic face, average features, the kind of person you'd never pick out of a crowd or a lineup. Still recognizably someone—but not me.
Not Enkidu.
Even though I knew what I looked like underneath, Stranger was doing exactly what it promised:
Masking identity without changing form.
Anyone looking at me would register a person, not a blur.
But ask them later for details?
"Uh, short hair. Brown, I think? Face was… you know, normal."
But if they saw me again—with the spell still active—they'd recognize me instantly.
They just wouldn't be able to explain how or why.
A little creepy.
Extremely useful.
I stepped out of the apartment and into the early morning fog. No heads turned. No lingering gazes.
Just the quiet background hum of a city waking up and one more forgettable guy walking through it.
Not invisible. Not glamoured.
Just perfectly ignorable.
And for what I was planning next?
That was better than any mask.