The face I saw was one that haunted me. It was Mark's.
He stepped forward, emerging from the shadows of the warehouse entrance.
Milan tensed immediately. His body shifted, subtly positioning himself between me and the Mark. His sharp eyes scanned Mark, his fingers curling slightly at his sides. He wasn't taking any chances.
But Mark… Mark wasn't panicking.
He wasn't aggressive, either.
Instead, he was smiling.
Not a cocky smirk or a forced grin—just a simple, almost relaxed expression. Like he had found something mildly amusing.
"Mark," I said, testing the name.
Mark's brow furrowed, as if confused. Then, just as quickly, his expression returned to normal. He let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly.
"Oh yeah," he said, voice light, almost playful. "That's the name I had, wasn't it?"
His tone was off. Detached. Like the words didn't hold weight.
Then, just as easily, he brushed them aside.
"…Not that it means anything to me."
Something cold settled in my chest.
I activated Scan.
—SYSTEM INTERFACE—
Name:[ BLANK ]
Job:Athlete (A-Rank)
Skills:
Muscle Fortification (Lv. 6) – Increases muscle durability and resistance, reducing strain and fatigue while improving overall strength retention.
Speed Enhancement (Lv. 7) – Boosts movement acceleration and agility, allowing for faster movement, dodges, and reactions.
Enhanced Reflexes (Lv. 7) – Improves reaction time and sensory awareness, enabling quicker responses to sudden movements or threats.
Oxygen Efficiency (Lv. 7) – Enhances lung capacity and circulatory function, reducing exhaustion and improving endurance during high-intensity activity.
Structural Adaptability (Lv. 8) – Strengthens the body's ability to endure and recover from stress, impacts, and environmental changes, optimizing long-term performance.
My breath caught.
His name was [BLANK]?
Not missing. Not hidden. [BLANK].
And his job—Athlete? That wasn't what he had before. He switched his job again.
But the most unsettling part? His skills.
They were all physical.
Every single one.
I kept my face neutral, but my mind raced.
This was twice now. Twice that Milan's logic had failed. Twice that I had seen proof that the system wasn't as strict as it was supposed to be.
First, there was me.
I had Muscle Optimization and Muscle Reinforcement when, by Milan's reasoning, those shouldn't exist.
Now, Mark.
His entire skill set was physical. The very thing Milan insisted the system wouldn't allow.
I exhaled slowly, pushing the thoughts down for now.
Milan, still wary, didn't take his eyes off Mark. His tone was low, edged. "What are you doing here?"
Mark's gaze flicked to him briefly before settling back on me. He smiled again, unbothered. "I came to talk."
Milan didn't like that answer. I could tell by the slight shift in his stance, the way his jaw tightened.
Mark continued, ignoring the tension in the room. "You weren't exactly easy to find, you know. Took me a while." He let out a small sigh. "Especially since I'm technically a fugitive now, thanks to you. Last time I'm ever going to a court room, I'll tell you that much."
I saw it.
The way his expression flickered, just for a second.
The word fugitive irritated him.
It wasn't the kind of anger that led to an immediate fight. It was quieter. More measured.
Still, that brief slip told me something important.
He wasn't completely detached. Not yet.
I glanced at Milan. He had chosen an abandonned warehouse as his personal gym for a reason—secluded, forgotten by the city. That meant Mark was safe here. No one was going to stumble in and recognize him.
But that didn't mean he liked Milan being here.
Mark sighed again, looking Milan up and down before giving me a small shrug. "Shame he's here," he said, almost absentmindedly. "Interrupts a good conversation."
That was a threat.
Not direct, not aggressive—but a warning.
I knew if Mark decided to get violent, we wouldn't win.
His body. His skills.
They weren't normal.
Especially since my Observation skill was showing me that his body had definitely changed. His skills....They likely changed it.
Milan might have been a fighter, but Mark wasn't just strong—he was something else.
For a moment, I thought he was going to push further. That things might spiral right then and there.
But then Mark sighed, rolling out his shoulders.
"Not today," he muttered. "I'm not in the mood."
He turned away, stepping back toward the entrance.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "I'll be patient. We'll talk another time."
I stayed silent.
Mark gave me one last look.
"I'll find you."
Then he was gone.
The tension in the warehouse didn't fade immediately.
Milan and I didn't move.
Didn't speak.
For at least an hour, we waited. In case Mark was still lurking, still watching.
Only when the air felt normal again did we finally leave.
I walked home alone.
The city streets stretched before me, neon lights flickering off wet pavement. My footsteps echoed faintly in the quiet.
I should have been focused on Mark. On what he wanted.
But my mind kept looping back to something else.
His skills.
The name that wasn't there.
And Milan's flawed logic.
If Endurance Boost was just perception, then why, when I had it at Level 10, could I run for hours while carrying a TV, without slowing down?
If Heavy Lifting only optimized movement, then why could I lift things that should have snapped my body in half?
And what about when I was Mr. Fox?
I saved hundreds of people across an entire district. For hours.
No breaks. No fatigue.
People thought it was amazing, sure.
But… maybe it wasn't just impressive.
Maybe it was impossible.
Was that why people reacted the way they did? Why I was treated like something beyond human? A hero against all odds?
I thought every high-ranking firefighter could do the same. Especially if they had skills like me.
But what if I was wrong?
What if my skills—what if Mark's skills—were different from everyone else's?
After all, we don't follow the same rules.
I can own multiple jobs.
And Mark?
He can switch between them freely.
The system isn't supposed to let that happen.
So why does it?
I reached my apartment.
The familiar scent of cooking filled the air as I stepped inside.
Sienna was in the kitchen, humming softly as she worked. The warm glow of the stove cast a soft light over her, making the space feel safe.
Normal.
I hesitated.
Then, casually, I spoke.
"Sienna."
She looked up. "Hmm?"
I stepped forward, leaning against the counter. "Your Endurance Boost skill. Does it make you tougher? Or does it just change how you feel about being tired?"
She blinked at me. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Just curious."
She thought for a second, then answered. "Well, you also have the skill, but to answer your question. It just makes me not feel tired."
My stomach twisted.
She continued, focused on her cooking. "We construction workers are kind of infamous for it. You know how all of us just sit down for an hour or two after work, not moving?"
I nodded.
"That's why," she said simply. "Our bodies are tired. They just don't feel it until they stop moving."
The knife in her hand tapped against the cutting board.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.
Then why didn't that happen to me?
When I was carrying that TV, when I was running for hours—my body should have shut down, even if I didn't feel tired.
But it didn't.
That wasn't just perception.
That was real.
I glanced down at my hands.
What am I?