The soft hum of the ceiling light above flickered briefly, casting a faint glow over the white dining table nestled in the corner of Kaidren's minimalist apartment. He sat slouched in a cushioned seat, elbows resting loosely on the edge of the table, his eyes half-lidded with mild fatigue and fullness. In front of him, a large brown porcelain bowl sat nearly empty—its reddish streaks still clinging to the sides like traces of war. Three packets' worth of chili cheese noodles had met their end here. With a glass of cold milk beside the porcelain bowl still untouched.
A small, satisfied burp escaped Kaidren's lips.
Though his face remained unchanged—blank, neutral, and unreadable—it was his hand gently rubbing his stomach that gave away the quiet victory. That, and the slight lean of his posture, as though his body was saying, I did it even if his expression refused to. He plopped the red reusable chopsticks down onto the rim of the bowl with a dull clack, and tilted his head back with a light exhale.
Kinda can't believe I finished all that, Kaidren mused internally.
To his left, the television continued to murmur. A late-night drama—something about unspoken love and a family curse—flickered across the screen, its emotional crescendos drowned beneath Kaidren's steady disinterest. His gaze drifted instead toward the windows behind him. The sky outside had darkened into a rich indigo hue, the final moments of twilight slowly being swallowed by the coming night.
Buildings in the distance shimmered under artificial lights, neon signs blinking lazily from convenience stores and alley-side shops.
It had to be around six in the evening by now. Maybe later. Time in this world moved the same way it did back on Earth, but Kaidren still hadn't fully adjusted.
He lowered his eyes and gazed at his clasped right hand. Or perhaps, not just his hand, but what lay within it—potential. Power. A reality that still felt slightly out of place.
Should I test them out? he thought.
The notion flickered like a match in the dark—tempting, simple, and practical. Testing his abilities inside the apartment wasn't an option. The confined space would never allow him to fully gauge the limits of what he was capable of, especially now that he had unlocked abilities far beyond what should be available to a Tier 1 esper. He'd have to hold back indoors, and holding back meant never knowing how truly powerful he had become.
And yet, buried beneath his rational calculations and internal assessments, a spark of excitement fluttered quietly in his chest. An emotion he didn't often entertain. Anticipation.
It's for practical reasons, Kaidren reminded himself. Just need to make sure I understand my new limits. That's all.
But deep down, he was curious. Deep down, the thought of witnessing supernatural strength—of pushing his speed, his reflexes, his control—enticed him. The kind of wonder he used to feel when watching anime or playing games was now rooted in something real. Tangible. His.
After several silent minutes of thought, Kaidren came to a conclusion.
Better to do it tonight. Fewer eyes.
He'd have to be careful, though. Heroes patrolled the streets. Villains lurked in shadows. If any confrontation occurred, Kaidren would have no choice but to avoid conflict unless absolutely necessary. Peace wasn't achieved through reckless shows of power. That much, he still believed in.
With that, Kaidren slowly rose from his chair. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as though every motion had been calculated in advance. He reached for the glass of milk, its chilled surface slick against his fingers, and took a long, slow sip—savoring the cooling sensation as it slid down his throat.
A faint hum of contentment stirred inside him.
He carried both the porcelain bowl and empty glass in his hands as he crossed the room toward the kitchen sink, the red chopsticks balanced neatly within the bowl. As he reached the counter, he made a small, mental note that he'll clean this later.
His attention shifted to the bathroom door just beside the dining area. Time to prepare.
The television continued playing its weepy drama behind him, unfazed by his quiet departure. He approached the door and stepped inside the clean, modern bathroom. Soft gray tiles lined the floor, and a rectangular mirror sat above a compact sink. To the corner stood a white washing machine, its lid slightly ajar.
Kaiden's gaze landed on the machine—and the memory came rushing back.
Right… I tossed my pajama pants and underwear there when I got transported mid-shit.
A small pause.
He didn't dwell on the thought.
Instead, he reached for the hem of his light gray shirt—the one with the cartoonish pizza slice skateboarding across the chest—and peeled it off. The fabric was soft and worn, familiar. Next came his green shorts, plain and unremarkable, followed by his blue underwear. He moved with casual indifference, his face unchanging as always.
With all three items in hand, Kaidren turned toward the laundry basket sitting near the edge of the room. Inside, he saw his aqua pajama shirt, and two blue towels. Upon seeing the towels, he paused again, his gaze lingering on them with a faint flicker of consideration.
I forgot about those, he thought neutrally.
He looked down at the clothes in his hands, then made a decision—he'd use them to dry himself instead. Might as well, given the situation. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the blue underwear neatly into the basket beside the towels, then placed the other garments on top.
Now fully undressed, Kaidren stood bare in the gentle light of the bathroom. His body was slim—no defined muscles, no exaggerated physique. Just an average frame, neither frail nor bulky. Unassuming.
Yet within that frame pulsed power that would make most Tier 3 espers tremble.
He stepped forward and opened the glass door of the shower. Steam from the previous usage had long since dissipated, leaving the enclosure crisp and dry. With silent steps, he entered, closing the door behind him.
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The sound of droplets faded as Kaidren stepped out of the bathroom, leaving behind a thin trail of steam that curled into the cooler air of the apartment. His skin still glistened faintly from the shower, a few lingering droplets trailing down the back of his neck and arms.
He reached for his plain green shorts and slipped one foot in, then the other. The fabric clung faintly to his damp skin as he pulled them up with a slow, methodical motion. Not bothering to dry himself further, Kaidren simply reached for his light gray t-shirt—the one with the cartoonish image of a pizza slice on a skateboard—and used it to briskly wipe his wet hair, face, his arms, then his chest and back.
To some, it might've seemed unclean—using a shirt as a makeshift towel—but to Kaidren, it was practical, efficient, and uncomplicated.
It's just fabric. Same difference, he thought, brushing it across the nape of his neck.
He didn't see the point in fussing over what was hygienic or not. The world he came from had too many unspoken rules. Here, he moved how he wanted. If it dried him, it worked.
After giving his head one final rub, he tossed the damp shirt over his shoulder and stepped out of the bathroom. His feet padded silently against the floor as he made his way past the open kitchen, its clean counters still faintly reflecting the soft yellow light overhead.
The television remained on, casting flickering images onto the living room walls. The previous drama had ended, replaced now by a loud, upbeat cooking show. A plump man in an apron shouted about pork belly and secret sauces as he flipped meat in a sizzling pan.
Kaidren didn't even glance. His mind, as always, remained focused.
He reached the compact wooden closet beside his bed and tossed the wet shirt to the floor with a careless flick of the wrist. Then he pulled open the double doors, revealing neatly arranged clothes in various shades of neutrals and dark tones. The organization was practical, not stylish.
Sliding his fingers across a row of folded shirts and hanging jackets, Kaidren dropped into a quiet squat and opened one of the lower drawers. As expected, a row of identical blue underwear greeted him, stacked in crisp, untouched folds. He grabbed one, stood up, and without hesitation, undressed his damp green shorts.
His body moved without shame, only precision.
He pulled on the blue underwear first, then scanned the closet again. It might be cold outside, he reasoned. That narrowed his choices.
Kaidren picked out a pair of soft, dark-colored pants and slid them on, the inside lining smooth against his skin. Over his torso, he chose a plain white t-shirt—simple, blank, light. Then, as the final piece, he reached for a black hoodie. The design stitched into its front caught his eye: a bold, open-mouthed white skull, grinning in eternal silence.
It suited him. Loud in appearance, quiet in presence.
At one of the lower drawers, Kaidren retrieved a pair of black socks, pulling them on with a practiced motion as he remained balanced on one foot, then the other. As he tugged the fabric snug over his ankles, he thought to himself:
Do I even have shoes in this world?
The thought gave him pause—not out of worry, but idle curiosity. So far, the system seemed one step ahead, supplying him with the things he'd need to live. Food. Clothes. A furnished apartment. Even the blue phone and.... the silver laptop.
Maybe it had accounted for footwear, too.
Kaidren stood fully dressed now. The warmth of the outfit settled comfortably around him, and he rolled his shoulders once, feeling the softness of the inner fabric glide across his skin.
He turned and picked up the wet clothes he had used as towels—his gray pizza shirt, the green shorts—and carried them back into the bathroom. With a relaxed motion, he flung them into the laundry basket beside the two blue towels, pajama shirt, and his blue underwear from earlier. No sorting, no folding. Just tossed and done.
When he emerged again, the sound of the TV was still humming. The chef on the screen was now dramatically slathering sauce over grilled skewers, proclaiming it to be his "life's work." Kaidren walked past the couch and approached the small glass coffee table. Beside his blue phone and the silver laptop lay the remote control.
He picked it up, took one final glance at the television—just a flash of colors and empty noise—then clicked the power button. The screen faded to black instantly, and silence reclaimed the room.
He placed the remote back down with surgical neatness, setting it exactly where it had been.
Then, he turned toward the tall window. The glass pane reflected the room behind him while revealing the world outside—a sprawling canvas of urban light and shadow. City Z at night was an orchestra of movement and color. Neon signs shimmered along rooftops. Distant vehicles flowed like arteries of electric blood. Hover-drones floated silently past tall buildings, their blinking lights like fireflies in glass jars.
Kaidren stared for a moment.
He considered the blue phone.
Should I bring it?
It was tempting. The phone contained data—his abilities, the Zbook, his system. A link to his strength.
But after a moment of reflection, he shook his head faintly.
I'm just testing my powers. That's it. Carrying his phone outisde is a risk. His expression remained neutral. Wouldn't want someone lifting it off me while I'm distracted.
With his decision made, he turned and began walking toward the short corridor that connected the main living space to the entrance. His steps echoed slightly now, the wood flooring creaking softly beneath his socks.
At the end of the corridor stood a white door and a narrow shoe rack against the side of the wall. Its shelves were filled with rows of ordinary shoes lined up in orderly fashion. Sneakers. Leather boots. Loafers. Sandals. Even some formal pairs.
Kaidren stood before them, scanning quietly.
Huh. Guess the system really did prep everything.
There was a brief moment—just a flicker—where he almost smiled at the thought. Almost.
He chose a sleek pair of black rubber shoes with a minimal design and angular white stripes along the side. Cool, modern, and well-matched with his hoodie and pants. Sitting down on the low bench beside the rack, Kaidren pulled the shoes on and tied the laces with quick, tight knots.
Now fully dressed, the apartment behind him fell into perfect stillness.
He rose, shoulders squared, and stepped toward the door. His hand brushed the metal handle.
Outside waited the night—quiet, expansive, unknown. The city's pulse would be his testing ground. Somewhere beneath those dark clouds and neon lights, Kaidren would uncover what his powers could truly do.