[Y'all are very stingy with Power Stone you know, if you can't drop any at least leave a comment behind.
Also you can drop any superpower you think is good I'll consider it]
Down here—
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The doors slammed shut behind Noah with a sharp clang. After making sure to lock the doors, he started down the stairs, each step echoing through the dim silence. A moment later, the lights flickered on, revealing what the basement had become.
It was no longer a storage space—it had been transformed, it was now his lab. Clean, orderly, and practical. Stainless steel counters lined the walls, each surface occupied by something useful.
To his right sat the autoclave, its metal casing polished to a mirror shine. Nearby, incubators and biosafety cabinets stood in neat rows, their soft hum filling the air.
Against the far wall, refrigerators and freezers stored everything from enzymes to DNA samples, each vial carefully labeled. Noah let his gaze sweep over it all, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
This was his life's work in the making. After a brief moment of appreciation, he was about to continue studying the lizard serum—until he remembered why he'd come down here in the first place.
He wanted to see if he could level up Telekinesis to Level 2 before the day was over. The serum could wait.
System, he called internally. The interface appeared in his mind.
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[Name: Noah Silver]
[Age: 17]
[Gender: Male]
[Height: 185 cm / 6'1"]
──────────────
[Abilities]
— Telekinesis — Lv.1
→ Status: Awakened | 17% XP to Lv.2
— Genius Intellect — Lv.6
→ Status: Master | 78% XP to Lv.7
──────────────
[System Functions]
— Ability Synthesis-Fusion
— Ability Upgrade
— Auto-Train (1/1)
— Mission
──────────────
[System Data]
— Daily Ability Refresh: 16h 04m
— Ability Points: 0
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The XP bar for Telekinesis had grown since earlier. He'd already tested it for basic tasks and gained a clearer picture of his strengths and weaknesses.
The first limitation was weight. Right now, he could lift about ten kilograms with ease, and—if he strained—double that. The second was range: within five meters, his telekinesis worked at full strength, but beyond that, its power diminished sharply.
Still, for a Level 1 ability, he couldn't complain. More importantly, he'd noticed something peculiar—the XP bar's growth wasn't just progress toward leveling up. Each increase seemed to slightly loosen his limits.
For example, he could now lift twenty kilograms with effort, whereas before, fifteen had been his ceiling.
Satisfied with that observation, he turned his attention to the Auto-Train feature. Last night, he'd assigned Telekinesis to its single available slot. This morning, he'd woken to find his XP at fifteen percent. Not as much as he'd hoped—just two percent per hour—but still valuable over time.
It wasn't as effective as active training, but the key advantage was that the chosen ability improved without his direct effort. Over days and weeks, that would add up.
"Even at a snail's pace, it keeps growing," he murmured. Then he noticed the small upgrade note he had ignored before.
— Auto-Train (1/1)
[Upgrade Requirements: 500 Ability Points]
The possibility of increasing slots and boosting hourly gains made his smile widen. The only downside? He had zero Ability Points to spend.
Closing the interface, Noah flicked his hand. Several objects flew from the counters toward him—test tubes, syringes, and other small tools—halting in midair a few meters away. Slowly, he began controlling them one at a time.
The movements were clumsy at first, unrefined. Then they smoothed out. Soon, four objects moved in sync, while others hovered passively nearby. Adding more caused his control to falter, so he focused on refining his technique.
The active objects moved faster, weaving through the air with increasingly complex maneuvers. His precision sharpened by the minute. Objects that had been difficult to control minutes ago now moved with ease.
He began adding more into the rotation. The sphere of levitating items grew, spinning around him in intricate patterns.
An hour passed in what felt like moments. By the end, dozens of objects glided through the air in perfect unison, orbiting him like a miniature solar system. Some darted at blinding speeds, while others drifted lazily, their movements never matching.
The pace was in constant flux—some accelerating in sudden bursts, others slowing to a crawl—yet all remained under his control, dancing to the silent rhythm of his will.
After the first hour, Noah began to feel his concentration slip. Each passing minute demanded more and more effort to keep the orbiting objects aloft. Still, he persisted. Come on, just a little longer…
Then without warning, a sharp ache speared through his skull, followed by a crushing wave of nausea. His vision swam, the room spinning around him.
The objects hovering in the air crashed to the ground; the more fragile ones shattered on impact.
Noah staggered but managed to drop to one knee, grounding himself before he could collapse entirely. Should've stopped earlier, he muttered inwardly, shaking his head against the discomfort.
It was a sensation he had no desire to experience again—the mental equivalent of a muscle seizing up, the pain magnified tenfold. Even though it lasted only a split second, it had been sharp, real, and wholly unwelcome.
Just as the dizziness began to fade, a sudden knock echoed from the door behind him. His brow furrowed.
"Who is it?" he called, taking slow, measured steps toward the door.
"It's me, Mark," came the reply. The sound of the voice made his frown deepen for a moment before resignation softened his expression.
The lock clicked open, and Mark stepped inside. Noah's back was already turned, his attention shifting toward the refrigerator where the serum samples and other materials were stored.
For a moment, Mark said nothing—just let his eyes wander around the lab, a faint trace of amusement tugging at his lips.
"What are you doing down here? What do you want?" Noah's voice broke the quiet, snapping Mark's attention back to him.
"Uhh, I just came to check up on you," Mark replied, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. He could already tell Noah was getting annoyed and losing interest.
"Thanks for the goodwill," Noah said, his tone half-hearted as he examined a test tube filled with a glowing green liquid. The lizard serum. He'd hoped to make real progress with it today.
Technically, the serum was complete—but rejection remained the problem. Even with its current stability, there was still about a thirty percent chance the body would reject it. That was a risk Noah wasn't willing to take.
Knowing the kind of person Noah was—cold, brilliant, secretly kind, easily irritated, and impossibly dense—Mark decided to cut straight to the point. "Did something happen today?" Amusement and curiosity flickered across his expression.
Noah froze mid-motion, then turned toward him with a frown. "What are you even talking about?"
"Well, you were practically glowing through breakfast. I figured something must've happened."
"Glowing?" Noah repeated, giving him a flat look.
"Nothing happened, and I'm definitely not… glowing." He turned back to the serum, sliding the vial into a strange-looking machine without another glance at Mark.
Mark stepped closer, eyes narrowing on the strange machine humming in front of Noah.
"So… how's the progress with that healing serum you've been working on?" he asked, curiosity threading his tone.
Noah paused mid-sweep, the vacuum cleaner in his hand still whirring over shattered glass. He gave it a moment's thought before replying. "Well… you could say I'm basically done. Just needs a few final tweaks."
That wasn't an exaggeration. Counting his previous life's work, Noah had been perfecting this serum for decades. Back then, limited technology, scarce data, and the slower pace of scientific advancement had all been roadblocks—but those years had still given him an invaluable head start here.
In his past world, his obsession had been to push the limits of the human body—especially in regeneration. He had explored stem cells, epigenetic reprogramming, and every cutting-edge technique he could find. Progress was agonizingly slow. Eventually, he'd turned to fiction for ideas. Most concepts were wild and baseless, but a few sparked genuine breakthroughs.
One, in particular, led him toward cross-species genetics. He'd only been pursuing that avenue for a year before his life was cut short.
Now, in this world with resources far beyond anything he'd known before, he had finally perfected it—a serum capable of temporarily "hacking" the body's healing process.
Instead of simply signaling for closure and defense, it rewired the immune system to aggressively rebuild and reconstruct tissue. The principle sounded simple, but the science behind it was far from it. In essence, the serum gave the body a massive energy boost—then redirected that energy toward regeneration.
Mark blinked, processing what he'd just heard. "Wait… are you serious?"
Noah gave him a flat look. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
Mark's eyes widened. "So let me get this straight—you've made something that can regrow limbs, repair organs, heal injuries like they never happened?"
"More or less," Noah said, lowering himself into his chair, gaze fixed on the humming machine in the corner.
Mark grabbed the back of Noah's chair and spun him around, his voice rising with conviction. "More or less? Do you realize what this means? You could help amputees walk again, give people new organs, maybe even cure cancer. You could change the world—for the better."
Noah rolled his eyes with a sigh. By now, one thing was clear from Mark's reaction—and from years of observing him: his cousin wasn't the type to turn evil under pressure or persuasion. At least, Noah hoped so.
"Not interested," Noah said flatly.
Mark's excitement deflated instantly. "What do you mean, not interested? With your research you could help so many people, save so man—"
"That's not what I meant," Noah cut in before he could finish. "I mean that, right now, it's not possible."
"Why wouldn't it be possible?" Mark pressed, brow furrowing.
"You wouldn't understand," Noah replied, offering no further explanation.
"What do you mean, I won't understand?" Mark shot back, still unsatisfied.
Noah exhaled sharply, irritation creeping into his voice. "Let me remind you—I'm not obligated to save or cure the world. I'm doing research. Whether or not I reveal it is my choice."
Mark fell silent for a moment, then sighed in resignation, his shoulders sagging. "Fine. But don't forget—you could make a fortune from this."
"I have enough," Noah said, already turning back to his work.
"And Mark," he added without looking up, "don't tell anyone else."