No-ability users weren't supposed to be capable of using abilities—yet tonight, Riven had done exactly that.
What puzzled him most was that the abilities came from cards. Typically, abilities came from humans not objects like these. Maybe there's more to abilities than anyone realizes, Riven thought. But the real question remained: Why would that mysterious old man give something so unique to someone like him?
Riven opened the door to his one-room apartment and stepped inside, closing it behind him. He walked over to the window, took a brief look outside, then drew the curtains shut.
The room he stood in was his bedroom—a modest space containing a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. The bathroom and kitchen were in smaller, adjacent areas. This was where he lived.
Riven moved to the mirror, part of his usual routine when he came home. He studied his reflection: slim, about the right height for his age. His black hair was trimmed at the sides, the longer top combed neatly to the side, brushing his jawline. His cheeks were slightly sunken, and his eyes glowed faintly with a yellow tint.
He sat on the bed and pulled the cards from his pockets, staring at them intently. Each card bore a distinct symbol—there were about 27 in total.
"What can these do?" Riven wondered aloud—and suddenly, an interface flashed in his mind:
"Wow," Riven nodded to himself. He had a system now. At least he wouldn't have to figure it all out on his own.
Then a thought hit him.
"Damn it." He gripped the cards tighter. He'd already used one in the alley... which meant the power was temporary. His heart sank. For a moment, he had hoped he was finally free from his powerless reality.
But then, another realization clicked into place—he was at Level 1. That meant he could level up by using the cards, right? A flicker of hope returned.
Riven understood immediately. He chose to enhance his favorite card for now.
A small smile crossed his face. He could regain used cards. The downside? If he wanted them to last, he couldn't waste them for personal use. He'd have to use them strategically—to level up.
But first, he had a bigger problem: he needed a job.
He tossed the cards aside and brainstormed for a few minutes. Then an idea hit him.
Riven stood up on his bed. "I'm going to become a hunter."
Hunters were people who killed beasts for a living—and they earned good money doing it. For a statless person with no high-tier weapons, becoming a hunter was considered a death wish. But Riven had something now—a strange but real ability. It had always been his dream, and now, he had a sliver of hope to achieve it.
He sat at his desk, turned on his laptop, and started searching for the official hunter's site. He clicked the first one he found and began filling out the application.
He filled out each section until he reached the line that stumped him:
He paused. What was he even supposed to write?
He typed:Card Ability → No results.
"What?" Riven frowned. He tried typing different variations to explain his power, but each returned either an error or irrelevant info.
Could it be… there's no record of it at all? Riven muttered. With a sigh, he finally entered:
He submitted the form.
Two minutes later, he got a response.
His face darkened. He leaned in, reading the reason: "Insufficient qualifications or contributions."
Riven narrowed his eyes. "Okay… I'll try another site."
From that point until midnight, Riven hopped from one website to another, sending applications—and receiving rejection after rejection.
Groaning in frustration, he slumped back in his chair.
Then, a notification blinked on-screen:"Young Hunters—Apply Now!"
"If I don't get in this time, I swear…" Riven grumbled under his breath.
He quickly filled out the new application, sent it in, and waited... and waited some more. The application status still said "Processing," and he was growing impatient.
Half an hour passed.
"I give up," Riven muttered. He leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, all hope drained from him."I guess hunters aren't for the powerless," he thought as sleep took him.
Unseen by him, a final notification appeared on his laptop:
************
There was a knock at the door.
Riven, still asleep, stirred as the knocking grew louder and more insistent. He stretched and glanced at the clock.
8:00 AM.
He groaned. "Who could it be at this time?"
Dragging himself to the door, he opened it.
A lean, bald man stood there, wearing a uniform—the kind drivers wore. He had a thick beard and a tired expression.
"Who are you?" Riven asked.
The man raised a brow. "Are you Riven Kale?"
"Yeah."
"Great. So..." The man looked him up and down. "You ready to leave?"
"Leave where?"
The man glanced at his watch. "To the Hunter's Program."
Riven blinked. "Wait a second—" He closed the door, rushed to his laptop, and saw the email notification.
"Whoa…" he whispered, eyes wide. "They actually accepted me."
"Mr. Kale, we need to leave in thirty minutes," the driver called from outside.
Riven snapped into action. He hadn't packed. He started throwing clothes and essentials into his luggage, then rushed to take a quick shower. Once done, he grabbed the cards—and the stolen gun from the thief—and pocketed both.
He stepped outside with his luggage, adjusting his clothes and brushing his hair down.
The driver stood by a taxi, arms crossed.
"Follow me," he said, turning toward the car.
Riven raised a brow. Aren't drivers supposed to help with the bags? he thought, but said nothing. He carried his things himself.
As he stepped outside and into the early morning light, a strange sensation crept over him.
Then—pain.
It hit suddenly, like a wave of heat from the sun itself. His energy drained almost instantly.
Riven collapsed to his knees, his head bowed, sweat dripping onto the pavement.
"What… what's happening to me?" he whispered.