A few minutes later, Ansh reached the base of the unfinished building. Staring up at the abandoned structure, he slowly raised his palm, a mix of expectation and nervousness tightening in his chest. Focusing inward, as if trying to move a part of his own body, he willed the strange power to respond.
At once, faint golden lines shimmered across his palm, spreading outward in delicate patterns. When he concentrated again, the glow receded, fading back into his skin as though it had never appeared.
"Hey… what's this?"
At that moment, Ansh noticed something strange on his wrist. It looked like a faint tattoo, a circular lotus pattern, with only a single petal faintly glowing as if lit from within. The odd part was that the design seemed incomplete—like it was waiting for something more to unfold.
This was definitely not normal. He had never had a tattoo before, yet the mark looked as though it had been etched deep into his skin, more like a birthmark he had carried since birth than something newly formed.
"Could it be… all these changes are connected to that glowing crystal I touched months ago?"
Ansh's thoughts raced. Ever since that day, his body had been breaking down—his energy collapsing, his appearance worsening, his spirit sinking lower and lower. But now, for the first time, something had changed.
He slowly raised his palm. Faint golden lines spread across his skin, shimmering like threads of light. The moment both hands pressed against the rough wall, they clung firmly, as though bound by an invisible force. Ansh drew in a deep breath, lifted one hand carefully, and pressed it higher.
To his shock, his body followed.
Step by step, hand by hand, he climbed upward. His feet, too, seemed to grip the wall with unnatural strength. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled himself up to the second floor of the abandoned building. When he finally dared to look down, the sight of the ground several meters below sent his heart pounding with both fear and awe.
"Could it be… do I really have powers like those superheroes?" Ansh muttered, unable to believe it, yet his heart was overflowing with shock, excitement, and a thrill he could barely contain.
Moreover, after leaving school, he realized something even stranger—he hadn't yawned once, and the sudden waves of drowsiness that had plagued him for months seemed to be fading. Everything appeared to be shifting in a better direction.
"Those glowing threads…"
Ansh thought of the strange lines that had appeared on his palms earlier. They weren't just light; they felt alive, like something that could be controlled, something that could bind or pull. If he could truly wield them, it would be far more useful than anything he had imagined.
He lifted his hand with expectation, focusing on his wrist, willing the threads to emerge. But there was no reaction—his skin remained unchanged, and nothing answered his command.
"Strange…" he muttered, a little confused. Using only his hands and feet, he climbed back up to the second floor and sat on the edge of the concrete floor, deciding he need to carefully study how to draw out that mysterious power.
"Come on… glow… threads… move!"
Ansh tried countless gestures, willing the strange golden lines in his palm to respond. He focused again and again, shaking his wrist, clenching and unclenching his fist—but nothing happened. Not a single strand of light appeared.
A troubling thought crossed his mind. Maybe this power wasn't something he could summon so easily. Maybe it wasn't even meant to be used the way he imagined. After all, in the stories, powers always seemed to awaken perfectly for the hero. But here he was—just an ordinary high school student—fumbling in the dark with something far beyond his understanding.
"Forget it… being able to climb walls already feels unreal. And my body's stronger than before. My sight and hearing too—they're nothing like normal anymore. I should be satisfied."
With a faint sigh, Ansh jumped down from the second floor, his schoolbag bouncing lightly against his back as he started the walk home. He told himself he was fine with this much, though deep down, a trace of disappointment lingered.
By the time Ansh returned home, night had already fallen. His father and mother asked him a few casual questions, but he could only stammer out an excuse, saying he had been held back at school.
After a quick dinner, he picked up his clothes and went to take a shower.
As the cold water poured down over him, his restless thoughts slowly settled. The tension he had been carrying seemed to wash away, leaving his body lighter, as if some invisible weight had finally been lifted.
Just then, the water made Ansh's cheek itch. He reached up to scratch it, but to his shock, something came away in his hand.
He froze, staring at the thin piece of skin resting in his palm—it was his own.
Panic jolted through him. He quickly leaned toward the mirror, and what he saw made his heart race even faster. The spot where the skin had peeled looked different.
The dullness there had faded. The patch of unhealthy, rough skin was gone, replaced by a smoother layer, free of the lifeless look that had plagued him for months.
A spark of excitement flickered in his chest. He raised both hands and began rubbing at other areas of his face. Sure enough, more thin layers of skin flaked away under his fingers, revealing fresher skin beneath.
By the time he was done, his reflection had changed completely. His complexion looked noticeably clearer, the heavy dark circles under his eyes had lightened, and instead of a tired, sickly boy, he now saw a face that appeared healthier and sharper than before.
"Everything is getting better!"
Ansh smiled—truly smiled—for the first time in what felt like a year. It was a smile from the bottom of his heart, a lightness he hadn't felt in so long.
After shutting off the water and drying himself with a towel, he noticed something unusual again. The lotus-shaped mark on his wrist seemed to have changed. The single glowing petal from before had become clearer and brighter, as though fully formed.
"This…" Ansh frowned in confusion. He rubbed at the mark, but it made no difference. It wasn't something on the surface of his skin—it was embedded deep, like a birthmark he had carried since birth.
Still filled with questions, he returned to his room. Lying on his bed, he kept staring at the mysterious seal on his wrist, tracing its lines again and again until his vision blurred. Soon enough, the same crushing drowsiness overtook him, and he sank into a deep sleep.