[Ding!][The ability you have drawn is — the String-String Fruit. Grade: Perfect.]
Klein blinked.
String-String Fruit.
He knew exactly what that was. Doflamingo's ability — the one that let you generate and control near-unbreakable strings from your fingertips, manipulate people like puppets, slice through steel, and generally make everyone around you deeply uncomfortable.
He'd half-expected the system to hand him an actual physical Devil Fruit and make him figure out how to eat it. Instead the ability loaded directly — clean, no ceremony, just suddenly there.
And Perfect-grade. Which, if he understood the system's grading correctly, meant the usual weaknesses were gone. No seawater vulnerability. No Seastone suppression. Just the power, stripped of its drawbacks.
That's not subtle at all, he thought. I love it.
He flexed his fingers almost without meaning to.
The response was immediate and strange and absolutely clear — a sensation spreading from his fingertips like a new sense coming online, something that hadn't existed a moment ago now feeling as natural as his own pulse. Invisible strings, razor-fine, extending from each fingertip and responding to his focus like they'd always been there waiting.
Then the warmth hit.
It moved through him from the inside out — not painful, not overwhelming, just thorough. Like every system in his body was being quietly audited and upgraded at a cellular level. Muscles, bones, the whole structure. A faint series of minute crackling sounds ran through him and faded.
He'd felt something similar when the Cyclops ability loaded, but milder. This was considerably more pronounced.
So physical enhancement comes with each ability load, he noted.
"System," he thought. "Does every new ability load come with a physical upgrade?"
[Ding! Correct, Host.][Your baseline body is upgraded each time a new ability loads, calibrated to support the ability's characteristics. Standard service. Otherwise you would simply fall apart.]
"So the more abilities I load, the stronger my body gets as a baseline — independent of the powers themselves?"
[Ding! Host, please aim higher.][Basic physical enhancement is the minimum side effect. If you are fortunate enough to draw something at the level of a Primordial Chaos Body, a True Undying Frame, or a fundamental law-bearing constitution — the body itself becomes the weapon. Flesh capable of tangling with the laws of the universe directly. That is the ceiling. Keep drawing. Keep loading. The goal is not survival — the goal is the top of everything, across every world. Understand?]
Klein sat with that for a moment.
It was almost certainly overselling it. Systems in this genre always oversold it at the start.
But the vision was genuinely compelling — a body that grew stronger with every ability added, stacking power on power until the original fragile foundation was something unrecognizable. He could work with that.
One step at a time.
Ding-a-ling —!
The end-of-class bell cut through his thoughts.
The lecture hall came back into focus around him — the shuffle of bags being zipped, the scrape of chairs, voices picking back up. Klein closed the macroeconomics textbook he'd barely glanced at and slid it into his backpack.
His eyes drifted to the front row.
Gwen Stacy was already packed up, canvas backpack over one shoulder, ponytail swaying as she turned toward the aisle. She moved with the easy confidence of someone who was good at things and knew it without making a production of it.
Klein watched her go.
Okay, he thought, with complete honesty. She's gorgeous.
Tall, athletic, that particular kind of effortlessly put-together that made it look like she'd rolled out of bed that way. Smart enough that half the faculty apparently competed for her attention. Outgoing without being loud about it. The full package, basically.
He clicked his tongue quietly.
The system had just handed him a free draw because of her. Which, technically, meant she'd done him a favor.
Logically speaking, I should return that favor somehow.
His gaze followed the golden ponytail until it disappeared through the classroom door.
She's Peter's girl, though. He paused on that. ...Well. Not yet. Currently she and Peter are at the "haven't actually talked properly" stage. Mutual awareness, maximum awkwardness, zero action — classic Peter.
Klein picked up his bag.
The thing about Peter was that he had genuinely good instincts about almost everything except his own love life. Left to his own devices, he'd spend six months working up the courage to say hello properly.
Which means technically nobody's territory yet.
Technically.
Klein stood, shoulders a quiet smile to himself, and headed for the door. He had a lunch appointment to get to.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself. Build the foundation first. Everything else follows.
He'd need to think about this more carefully.
Much more carefully.
The cafeteria smelled like fried food and institutional cleaning product, which was somehow comforting in its consistency.
Klein loaded his tray — meat, pasta, enough to actually constitute a meal — and threaded through the crowd until he spotted Peter at a window table. In front of Peter sat a small vegetable salad and a single piece of bread that looked like it had given up on itself.
Klein set his tray down across from him and dropped into the chair.
"That's your lunch."
Peter adjusted his glasses. "I'm managing my budget. And vegetables are good for you."
"You look like a strong wind would make a decision about your future." Klein didn't argue further — he just speared half the meat patties off his plate with his fork and dumped them onto Peter's tray without asking.
"Eat."
Peter stared at his plate for a second. Something moved quietly across his face — the particular expression of someone who knows the gesture cost something and is trying to figure out how to accept it without making it awkward.
"Thanks," he said, low and genuine, and picked up his fork.
They ate in comfortable silence for a bit.
Then a figure stopped at the edge of their table.
"Hey, Peter."
The voice was easy and pleasant, carrying the particular smoothness of someone who had grown up being listened to. Polished on the surface, but underneath it — something Klein clocked immediately — a deeply ingrained assumption that the world oriented around him.
They both looked up.
The guy standing by the table was tall, well put-together, wearing a light gray shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearm and a watch that was understated in the way that only very expensive things managed to be. Hair neat. Blue eyes moving from Peter to Klein and back with a smile that was technically flawless.
Klein caught something in those eyes — brief, almost imperceptible. An instinctive calibration. Who is this, and does he matter?
"Harry!" Peter put down his fork and half-rose from his seat. "Hey — have you eaten? You want to sit—"
"Already ate, thanks." Harry waved him back down with an easy gesture, and then his attention shifted properly to Klein.
"This is my friend — Klein," Peter said, slightly stumbling over the introduction in his eagerness to get it right. "Klein Carter. And Klein, this is Harry Osborn."
"Good to meet you." Klein stood, extended a hand, kept his expression easy and open.
Ding.
[Ding!][Marvel key plot character detected: Harry Osborn.][Identity: Son of Norman Osborn. Heir to Oscorp Industries. Future Green Goblin.][New plot character encountered. Reward: Lucky Draw count +1. Would you like to draw now?]
Not yet, Klein thought, without changing his expression by a degree.
"Just Harry is fine." Harry shook his hand — brief, precise, perfectly calibrated etiquette. "Peter talks about you a lot. Says you're one of his closest friends. Good to put a face to it."
"Same," Klein said simply.
A few beats of pleasantries, and then Harry turned back to Peter with the ease of someone moving to the actual agenda.
"I just wanted to tell you in person — I talked to HR about the intern slots for the science fair next month. They'll send you the paperwork directly. Report in October."
Peter's face broke open with genuine relief and excitement. "Seriously? Harry, thank you — I won't let you down, I promise—"
"I know you won't." Harry gave Peter's shoulder a brief pat. Then his eyes swept once more across the table — Klein included in it, acknowledged, and filed away — and he stepped back. "Enjoy your lunch. I'll be in touch."
"Thanks, Harry, see you—"
"Take care," Klein added, at the right moment, with the right amount of warmth.
Harry left.
Klein watched him go, then picked up his fork and went back to his pasta.
Future Green Goblin, he thought mildly. Good to know.
He'd need to remember that one.
[End of Chapter 5]