By the time I reached my safehouse, I was more than ready to crash.
No roommates. No questions. Just a clean room, blackout curtains, and a bolt on the door. Quiet. Boring. Mine.
I slid the lock, dropped the bag, and finally let the spell drop.
Safe. For now.
[System Notification]
Celestial Grimoire Update
+50 CP awarded
— Ongoing stealth training logged.
— Continuous motion, mana cycling, and environmental blending achieved.
"Good habits are hard to see. That's the point."
[System Notification]
Celestial Grimoire Update
+150 CP awarded
— Triple infiltration confirmed.
— Undetected and unrecorded.
"If no one remembers you, did it even happen?"
[System Notification]
Celestial Grimoire Update
+100 CP awarded
— Major government facility breached.
— No alarms triggered, no signatures left behind.
"Your legend grows in silence."
I leaned back on the couch, arms behind my head, eyes half-lidded.
Three hundred more.
Added to the three hundred I already had, the total was starting to look respectable.
"A decent little treasure pile," I muttered. "Now I just need something actually worth spending it on."
I paused, frowning slightly.
Come to think of it…
That was the second time the Grimoire dropped points right after I got home.
Was that the trigger? Finishing the job and making it back in one piece?
Or maybe it only counted once I stopped pushing.
Not that I'd dropped Stranger. I still hadn't. Just in case.
Maybe that was it.
The Grimoire waited for the moment I exhaled. The pause. The reset.
Like it was watching not just the mission, but the come-down.
Whatever the reason, it was learning my rhythms.
And right on cue, the interface flickered.
Spell Draw
Name: Amezaiku Crafting Anthology
Source: Golden Sky Stories
Chapter: Lore
Cost: 100 CP
Description:
Amezaiku is a traditional art of shaping candy into symbolic forms. Once a religious ritual, now an artistic pastime—though with practice (and magic), your taffy sculptures might just come to life.
I stared at it.
Candy animals.
Living. Candy. Animals.
...
"No."
I rerolled before the sentence even finished forming in my head.
The screen blinked, glitched once, then stabilized.
Spell Draw
Name: Assassin
Source: Fate/kaleid liner PRISMA ILLYA
Chapter: Transformation
Cost: 200 CP
Description:
The Class Card of Hassan-i-Sabbah, the Hundred-Faced Hassan.
— Includes Limit Expand: summon a noble phantasm (weapon-form).
— Includes Install: gain full Assassin abilities and noble phantasms.
Parameters
Strength: C
Mana: D
Endurance: D
Luck: E
Agility: B
Skills
Presence Concealment: A
Projectile (Daggers): C
Protection from Wind: B
Self-Modification: D
Noble Phantasm
Zabaniya: Delusional Illusion — creates thirty autonomous combat copies of the user while installed.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
A short, sharp breath slipped out.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Assassin. One of the most broken stealth kits in Fate.
And now I had it. Here. In X-Men.
I scrolled the description again, slower this time.
Presence Concealment: A.
Not just "don't see me."
This was "you won't even realize I was real."
In a world where most people relied on tech, mutants, and line-of-sight to track threats... this was a nightmare. For them.
Presence Concealment wasn't just stealth—it was magical forgettability.
Not identical to Stranger, but close enough to guess they'd layer.
And if it worked anything like in Fate?
I could walk into half the Institute, kill someone, walk out, and the cameras would have static.
Hell, the memories might too.
I leaned back against the couch, exhaled slowly.
There were maybe two people in this world I had to worry about now.
Charles.
Jean.
Maybe.
Even then, not by accident. Not without intent and leverage.
I hit Confirm.
Perk Acquired: Assassin – Class Card Installed
Reminder: usage limited by mana. Cooldown after uninstall: 1 hour.
I let out a long breath. This time, it came with a grin.
I scrolled the stats again, taking my time.
Strength: C.
Thirty times human average.
With my base, this wasn't an upgrade—it was dominance.I could already hold my own against guys like Logan. Now I could do it laughing.
Endurance: D.
If a car hit me, the car would lose.
Agility: B.
Faster than traffic. A blur, if that.
To the average eye, I might as well not exist.
I glanced at the updated stats on my HUD.
Mana: D.
No fanfare, no chant. Just raw magical capacity staring back at me.
If I wanted to paint a wall with spells or outlast a siege, I could probably do both without breaking a sweat.
Luck: E.
Ten times the average human... which meant I might win rock-paper-scissors more often, but destiny was still gonna treat me like a speed bump.
And then there was Presence Concealment: A.
Even Charles and Jean would need to be paying attention—and not just "awake," but actively probing, focused, with a thread to pull.
And even if they were? It would take a direct probe, a lock, maybe a tag on me. If I kept discipline, I'd slide past them ten times out of ten.
That level of concealment didn't just bend minds—it rewrote them.
To this world, I'd be background noise. White static.
Nothing worth remembering.
And if somehow, against all odds, someone did catch me?
I looked at the Noble Phantasm.
Zabaniya: Delusional Illusion – C+
Thirty independent copies. Same skills. Same stats. Regenerate on uninstall.
Thirty of me.
No backup plan on Earth could handle that.
I leaned back and laughed—real and low, no tension left in it.
Then I paused.
I hadn't even tried the transformation yet.
I selected Install: Assassin.
The activation was instant. No chant, no flourish—just a clean surge through the system.
And then the shift hit.
My clothes changed in a blink.
Same way it happened to Illya when she popped a card, but this wasn't frills and ribbons.
This wasn't even built to impress.
The fabric clung like shadow—layered wraps of black and ash-grey, coarsely stitched and scorched at the edges.
Some parts looked burnt. Others, patched together like battlefield salvage.
A hood draped low over my eyes, the folds fraying from heat or time. Underneath, I could call up a smooth bone-white mask with a thought—blank, anonymous, final.
Mask on. Hood up. Or nothing at all. The Class Card adapted.
The lower layers wrapped down my arms and torso in interwoven spirals, with the kind of tactical looseness that let you move without drag.
Feet covered by soft-leather boots, reinforced at the soles—muffled on pavement, silent on wood, invisible on sand.
No armor plates. No shine.
Just a set made for one job: get in, kill, disappear.
It didn't feel like putting on a costume.
Felt more natural than it should've. Like the gear already knew me.
The kind of outfit you wear when you don't want to be seen and plan to kill someone.
I flexed one hand. Smooth. No resistance.
A quick menu flick showed the mana cost ticking live.
Drain: 9.50/sec.
Regen: 6.75/sec.
I watched it for a full thirty seconds.
The bar was falling—slow, but consistent.
Not fast enough to panic.
But fast enough to matter.
With a pool of 6,250 mana, that meant roughly forty minutes before I'd burn out.
Not something I could leave on forever.
But long enough to matter.
I didn't say anything. Just stared at the interface.
Then nodded, once.
This wasn't just an emergency switch.
This was my frontline configuration—timed, yes, but built for action.
I didn't drop Stranger.
No point changing habits that worked.
But from now on, I was operating installed.
I opened my phone, flipped through the ancient interface.
Year 2000 tech. Slow. No GPS lock.
Didn't matter.
I wasn't looking for roads.
I was looking for pots.
Specifically: smashable ones.
Terraria logic still applied.
That meant loot.
Old cultural centers, galleries, artisan schools, historical buildings—anywhere with a budget for decorative ceramics.
I took note. Then started moving.
Agility: B.
Roughly x40 human sprint speed.
The kind of movement that shouldn't be possible on foot.
And yet.
Pedestrians moved like they were stuck in lag.
I wasn't just fast—I was fast-forward.
Corners came and went like tutorial prompts.
I flowed through the grid like a loaded save file—precise, clean, untouchable.
No drag, no sound, no trace—unless I wanted there to be. Everything just worked.
I zeroed in on my first target: a community arts center two blocks east.
Ceramics program and pots everywhere.
Doors were locked.
I cracked the hinges, nudged the door out of the way, and stepped inside.
I moved fast.
Not rushed—just efficient.
Handmade jugs, vases, bowls, and whatever Kyle's First Coil Attempt was supposed to be.
Terraria rules still applied.
Anything pot-shaped meant loot.
Mana stuff. Some coins. A few throwable things. Usual loot table.
I didn't break them on-site. Just dumped them straight into inventory.
Ten seconds later, the shelves were empty.
I hit the next building.
Then another.
Museum annex. Dance studio. University rec center.
Downtown gallery. Cultural exchange hall. Two closed campuses.
Anywhere with decorative ceramics.
By the time I looped back, I'd stockpiled over six hundred pots.
Some nice. Some garbage.
Didn't matter.
They all rolled for loot.
I'd sort it later.
Break them when I needed mana—or a distraction.
For now, this was just stocking up.
I checked the mana bar.
Still draining—steady tick, nothing urgent.
I'd been out for eighteen minutes.
At 3.25 mana per second, that meant I'd burned through a little over half my pool.
Roughly 2,740 mana left.
Still usable.
Not optimal.
Another ten minutes idle.
Time to pick the next move.
Didn't bother with the map.
Just ran.
Full scan of lower Manhattan—outer edge to riverfront, grid to harbor.
Checking rooftops, alleys, secured zones, anything industrial or out of place.
Battery Park. Castle Clinton. Ferry terminals.
Looped the perimeter in under two minutes.
No Brotherhood, no weird machines, no signs of power drain or active surveillance.
Midtown next.
Slipped through streets, above and below.
Office towers, hotel rooftops, old event halls.
Nothing that screamed "mutant revolution machine."
No familiar faces. No psychic pings.
Turned east, then north.
Quick pass past closed campuses and government buildings.
One more loop around the harbor to be sure.
Still nothing.
Clock said I had three minutes of uptime left.
I turned back toward the apartment.
Dropped in through the window.
The shift hit mid-step.
[Class Card: Assassin – Uninstalled]
Cooldown active: 1 hour
Felt like exhaling tension I didn't know I was holding.
Agility bled off first — speed melted out of my limbs.
Strength and Endurance still boosted—about twelve times human normal.
Not enough to juggle trucks.
But enough to break a lock, crack tile, or walk through a wall without noticing.
The silence stayed, though. Courtesy of Stranger. Still running.
I took a breath, rolled my neck, stretched out my shoulders.
Baseline stats again.
Still enhanced. Just not ridiculous.
And right on cue:
[System Notification]
Systematic Looting (Rank A)
+100 CP awarded
— Targeted ceramic holdings across multiple institutions.
— Method: silent extraction via inventory system.
— Intent: magical resource stockpiling.
"Collateral value: immeasurable—materials, labor, and cultural significance."
"You ghosted through half the city and vacuumed up a generation's worth of decorative assets."
"Challenge Unlocked: Museum Heist Tour: Complete the World Edition."
[System Notification]
Urban Ghost
+100 CP awarded
— Crossed Manhattan at ~58% sonic speed.
— No witnesses, no cameras, no consequences.
"Even the pigeons stayed neutral."
[System Notification]
Trespassing
+50 CP awarded
— Multiple unauthorized entries.
— No detection, no trace.
"Somebody's going to check those doors tomorrow."
I stared at the notifications, blinking once.
Then twice.
"...Huh."
It hadn't really clicked until now.
I'd just broken into half a dozen buildings, walked out with enough pottery to stock a kingdom, and didn't leave so much as a fingerprint.
All for a perk that burns mana like a car engine guzzling oil.
And the system gave me a high score for it.
"Challenge unlocked," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at the log.
Was that a joke?
Was I supposed to take this seriously? Or was the system just... bored?
Because nowhere in the description did it say I'd be getting challenges.
So either the Grimoire was adapting to my style… or starting to develop a sense of humor.
I leaned back, watching the HUD flicker quietly.
Somehow, I'd stockpiled enough pottery to supply a dungeon crawl and hadn't even cracked one open yet.
A backup stash. Emergency fuel.
Hell, maybe even a few decent drops—if the loot table played nice.
And now I had six-fifty banked.
"Alright then," I said quietly. "Guess I'm in the game now."