The next morning, London still looked broken—but in that quiet, unnerving way that made it hard to tell what had actually changed and what felt changed.
The cracks in the sky hadn't spread, but they were still there, glowing faintly like celestial veins. The streets were emptier. The city seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Inside the hotel's gym—thankfully still operational despite the flickering lights—Susan was already stretching, her screen floating calmly beside her like an obedient assistant.
Harry stared at her, still half-asleep, with a protein bar hanging out of his mouth.
"Remind me why we're up before sunrise?" he mumbled.
"Because we're not dying tomorrow," she replied without missing a beat. "Now warm up. I'm not healing a pulled hamstring."
Marcus entered right behind him, tossing Harry a bottle of water. "We've got less than forty hours. Time to see what we're working with."
The trio had agreed to test their stats, see what training did to them, and maybe—hopefully—unlock more skills before the tutorial began.
Susan had discovered her spells through instinct the night before, and Marcus had already practiced with his daggers in the stairwell, managing to activate Quick Strike and Shadow Step.
Harry, on the other hand, still had... nothing.
No stats. No skills. No clue.
He ran on the treadmill anyway, pacing himself beside Susan, watching the numbers blink across the screen.
"Does it feel easier to you?" Susan asked between steps.
"Yeah," Harry said. "Which is either a result of game logic... or I've finally evolved past the need for carbs."
After fifteen minutes, they stopped to check their status screens. Susan's stamina had increased by one point.
"See?" she said, a little breathless but grinning. "Effort equals progress."
Harry checked his screen. Still blank. Still ??.
He sighed. "Effort equals... disappointment."
"Try the weights," Marcus said. "Maybe different types of activity trigger different growth paths."
Harry tried.
He lifted. He ran. He even attempted a crunch—just one—and regretted everything about it.
Still nothing.
Eventually, he sat down on the edge of the mat, towel over his head, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
Marcus crouched nearby, tossing one of his daggers in his hand. "You're not weak, Harry. Just... different. You're like a locked chest. We just haven't found the key yet."
"Great," Harry muttered. "I'm the human equivalent of 'some assembly required.'"
Susan sat down beside him and handed over a bottle of chilled water. "Hey. Even if you're still stuck at Level 1, you're in our party. That means you still get shared EXP, stat boosts, and healing spells. You're not dead weight."
"Yeah," Harry muttered. "I'm support class: Emotional Damage Tank."
Marcus smirked. "Well, at least you're self-aware."
Susan nudged him gently. "We'll figure it out. Maybe it'll unlock in combat. Or maybe it just needs the right push."
Harry exhaled slowly, trying to let go of the irritation clawing at his insides.
"Alright. Fine. Let's keep going. Worst case, I pass out dramatically and you two drag me back."
Marcus stood up, flipping his daggers effortlessly. "Deal. But if you vomit on my shoes, I'm leaving you."
Marcus stepped into the center of the gym mat and rolled his shoulders. "Alright. Let's spar."
Susan raised an eyebrow. "With who?"
"With both of you," Marcus replied, already shifting into a loose, agile stance. "Don't worry—I'll go easy on you."
Harry squinted. "That's either confidence or foreshadowing."
Marcus smirked. "Both."
Susan glanced at Harry. "I'll cast buffs, you go in first."
"Fantastic," Harry muttered. "I'm the opening sacrifice."
Susan tapped on her screen and whispered, "Blessing of Light." A faint golden glow wrapped around Harry, giving him a slight speed boost.
He squared up to Marcus, who casually spun his dagger between two fingers.
"Alright, rogue-man," Harry said, stepping forward. "Let's see what you've got."
He lunged. Marcus sidestepped with ease, lightly tapping Harry's back with the flat of his blade as he passed.
"Point to me."
Harry turned around. "That was a warning strike."
"Sure it was."
Susan cast "Holy Light" toward Marcus, and a bolt of soft, radiant energy arced across the mat. He rolled under it and popped up with a grin.
"Better."
They went another round. Then another. Susan timed heals and spells, Harry tried to mix distraction with unpredictable movement, and Marcus stayed fast, slippery, and annoyingly calm.
After fifteen minutes, they called a break.
"You two aren't bad," Marcus said, tossing a water bottle toward Susan. "But you're thinking too much like people. Not like players."
Susan arched a brow. "Players?"
"We're in a system now. Game logic. You have to move instinctively. Test your range. Push limits. Learn the quirks."
Harry wiped sweat off his brow. "Easy for you to say. You've got two knives, a skill set, and something to prove. I've got—wait, hold on."
His screen flickered.
A new message appeared in faint blue text:
[ Passive Condition Met ]
Skill: PLUNDER (Locked)
Status: Activation Conditions Required
"What is this?" he muttered, tapping the notification.
Susan leaned over. "You got a skill?"
"Kinda?" Harry stared at it. "It says Plunder. But it's still locked. And no description."
Marcus peered at the screen. "That's new. Maybe it activates in a real fight. Or when you land a hit?"
Harry stared at the empty skill box, something turning over in his mind. "Or maybe... it needs me to take something?"
He reached out toward Marcus's dagger half-playfully—and the screen pulsed again, brighter this time.
Plunder – Activation Attempt Failed: Target Weapon Not in Combat Use
Susan tilted her head. "So it has to be used mid-fight?"
"Looks like it," Harry said. "I think it lets me steal something during a clash."
Marcus grinned. "Now that's interesting."
Harry rolled his neck. "Okay then. One more round. Let's trigger it."
"Alright," he said, eyes locked on Marcus. "Let's trigger this thing."
Marcus nodded once, then blurred into motion.
They clashed—Harry ducking low, feinting left, then pivoting. He wasn't as fast, but he was unpredictable. Susan supported from the sidelines, timing Holy Light bursts that Marcus weaved through like smoke.
Twice, Harry felt the flicker on his screen—the skill straining against its locked state—but each time, it fizzled before anything happened.
After ten minutes, they stopped.
Breathing hard, Harry stared at the unchanging message hovering in front of him:
Skill: PLUNDER
Status: Activation Conditions Not Met
He exhaled, frustrated, but not defeated.
Susan walked up and offered him a towel. "It's close. You can feel it."
"Yeah," Harry muttered. "It's like the system's dangling a carrot in front of my face and then yanking it away at the last second."
Marcus sheathed his daggers. "Whatever it is, it's not just a combat skill. It's tied to how you think. How you fight. We'll keep testing it."
Harry nodded slowly, eyes still on the faint glow of his status screen. "We've got time. Barely."
He looked up at his two party members—his friends—and felt a flicker of resolve settle in his chest.
"Alright," he said. "Let's figure out how to break this game."