The digital clock on Max's nightstand glowed faintly in the dim room, ticking over to 12:01 AM. The system's soft ping echoed in his mind like a distant whisper, confirming the addition of his second Administrator Point. Two AP. Two thousand stat points at his disposal, if he chose to convert them. Max sat on the edge of his bed, the weight of the decision pressing down on him heavier than the silence of the empty apartment. Outside, the rain had eased into a drizzle, pattering against the glass like hesitant fingers tapping for entry.
He pulled up the interface again, the blue glow illuminating his face in the darkness.
**[Name: Max Morgan]**
**[Stats:]**
**Strength: 10**
**Vitality: 10**
**Mana: 10**
**Endurance: 10**
**Agility: 10**
**[Skills:]**
**[Administrator Rights (Unique)]**
**[Current AP: 2]**
Two points. Such a small number, yet it held the potential to shatter the fragile balance of his life. In his past existence as Alex, power had come from years of grueling training, covert ops, and alliances forged in fire—alliances that had crumbled to ash when it mattered most. He'd trusted his squad, shared vulnerabilities over late-night briefings, only to be sold out for some shadowy agenda. Left bleeding in the desert sand, gasping promises of vengeance that faded with his final breaths. Reincarnation had granted him this new shell, this Max Morgan, but the scars remained etched into his soul.
"Why me?" he murmured to the empty room, his voice barely audible. Was this a gift or a curse? Power like this could make him a target—guilds, governments, even opportunistic "friends" sniffing out weakness to exploit. Elena's guildmates seemed loyal enough in her holo-messages, but he'd seen that facade before. Laughter masking knives. No, he couldn't risk it. Hiding was survival. Pretending to be the unawakened loner, the kid who faded into the background at school, was his armor. Let them underestimate him. Let them overlook the storm brewing beneath.
With a deep breath, Max focused on the skill. *Convert 2 AP to Stat Points.* The interface responded instantly.
**[AP Converted: 2000 Stat Points Acquired]**
**[Current AP: 0]**
**[Current Stat Points: 2000]**
The numbers stared back at him, a temptation wrapped in possibility. Balance. That was key. No lopsided growth that might draw eyes—pump too much into Strength, and he'd accidentally bend a door handle; Agility too high, and he'd dodge raindrops without thinking. Even distribution. Keep it hidden, controlled.
He allocated carefully: 400 to each stat. The changes hit like a wave, subtle at first, then building into a surge that coursed through his body. Muscles tightened and relaxed, denser, stronger. His heartbeat steadied, vitality flooding his veins like cool water quenching a fire. Mana prickled at his fingertips, an unfamiliar energy humming just beneath the skin. Endurance settled in his core, a quiet resilience that made the world's weight feel lighter. Agility sharpened his senses—the drizzle outside now a symphony of individual drops, each one crystal clear.
Max stood, testing it. He crossed the room in a blink, his steps silent and precise, then back again. No effort. No strain. He flexed his hand, feeling the raw power coiled there, enough to crush stone if he willed it. But he wouldn't. Not yet.
**[Stats Updated:]**
**Strength: 410**
**Vitality: 410**
**Mana: 410**
**Endurance: 410**
**Agility: 410**
**[Remaining Stat Points: 0]**
A hollow laugh escaped him, tinged with bitterness. Overpowered in a single night. While others scraped by on dungeon cores, absorbing a point here and there after risking their lives in monoliths, he could eclipse them with a thought. But what good was power if it isolated him further? In his old life, strength had bred envy, betrayal. Here, it would be the same. Elena would want to celebrate, drag him into her world of guilds and raids. "Come on, Max! With stats like that, you'd be a natural!" She'd say it with that infectious enthusiasm, her eyes lighting up. But he couldn't let her in. Not fully. Trust was a chain that bound you to others' whims.
He sank back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The apartment felt smaller now, or perhaps he felt larger within it. Seventeen years in this body, but forty-seven in spirit—old enough to know the cost of vulnerability. Loneliness was a familiar companion, a shield against the pain of loss. Better alone than broken again. Tomorrow, school awaited: the same drab hallways, the same superficial chatter. He'd slouch through it, avoid eye contact, play the part of the unremarkable teen. Maybe bump into Jake or Mia in the halls—classmates who occasionally tried to pull him into their circles with awkward invites to study groups or arcade runs. "You're always by yourself, man. Join us!" Jake had said last week, clapping him on the back a bit too hard.
Max had shrugged it off, mumbling about homework. But now, with this power... what if he accidentally revealed it? A too-quick reflex in gym class, or shattering a pencil in frustration. The thought almost amused him—a comedic farce where the "trash" kid unwittingly bench-presses a desk. No, he'd be careful. Exaggerate clumsiness if needed. Trip over his own feet. Let them laugh. Laughter was better than suspicion.
As dawn crept in, painting the sky in muted grays, Max finally closed his eyes. Sleep came fitfully, dreams blending past and present: Alex dying in the dust, Max rising unseen. When his alarm buzzed at 7 AM, he rose, the power humming quietly within. Another day of shadows. But deep down, a spark ignited—not hope, but resolve. This life would be different. He'd build his strength in secret, watch the world from afar. And if betrayal came knocking again? This time, he'd be ready to crush it before it struck.
School loomed, a slice of normalcy in a world of wonders. Max grabbed his backpack, glancing at Elena's photo one last time. *Stay safe, sis.* Then he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him like a vow sealed in steel.