Knock. Knock.
The door creaked open, and Leonel's heart nearly leapt into his throat.
But it was only his mother. Sarah leaned against the frame with that same serene smile, her golden hair catching the light.
"Leo, supper's ready," she said warmly.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I'll… I'll be there in a jiffy, Mom."
She nodded and pulled the door shut again, leaving him alone with the silence and the faint echo of the system's smug tone in his head.
Leonel swung his legs off the bed, still feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. As he moved, a glint caught his eye from the corner of the room.
The mirror.
For a second, he thought he was imagining it. But when he stepped closer, his breath caught in his chest.
That wasn't the same boy who had collapsed in the library last night.
He had grown taller—by at least two inches. His frame, once lean and wiry, now carried a sculpted fitness, his muscles defined just enough to suggest raw potential. Even the faint outline of six neatly arranged abs pressed against his shirt.
But the changes didn't stop there.
His hair, once a simple brown, now shimmered a deep crimson under the light, like strands of flame frozen in motion. And his eyes…
Jet black. Deep, endless, and sharp, like obsidian.
Leonel stumbled back, stunned. "What… the hell…"
He raised a trembling hand to his hair, tugging at it as if to prove it wasn't just a trick of the light.
"System," he whispered hoarsely. "What—"
"Leo!"
His father's voice bellowed from below, impatient and commanding.
"Get down here to the dining table. Now!"
Leonel froze, heart hammering. His reflection stared back at him, alien yet familiar.
The questions burned on his tongue, but supper—and his father—wouldn't wait.
---
Leonel rushed downstairs, still rattled by his reflection. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread lingered in the air, grounding him for only a moment before the shock of what he saw at the dining table nearly stopped him cold.
His father sat at the head of the table, broad shoulders squared, the picture of authority. But his hair—
It wasn't the same.
The dark brown Leonel had grown up seeing was gone. In its place flowed a mane of vivid red, rich and fiery, like it had been dipped in molten flame.
Leonel's breath caught. His mind raced back to his own reflection: his hair was even deeper than his father's, a crimson so dark it almost burned, with faint blue strands threaded sparsely through it like hidden sparks.
He slid into his seat mechanically, eyes darting to the girl beside him—his little sister, Samantha. She looked up at him with her usual mischievous grin, already stealing bread rolls from the basket. But her hair…
It gleamed. Not the ordinary blonde he'd always teased her about, but radiant gold, catching the light like molten sunlight.
And then it hit him.
His mother, who was pouring stew into bowls, had blonde hair just hours ago. Now it shimmered with that same golden brilliance as Samantha's.
Leonel's fork clattered against his plate, his mind spinning.
It's not just me… it's all of us.