After an hour of painful hot wax therapy, I was finally cleared to leave. The treatment had worked wonders—my bones fully healed, swelling gone, with no visible traces of injury. Only the lingering ache of overworked muscles reminded me of the fight that had brought me here.

  Had I received this care in a regular hospital, the cost would have been astronomical. But at the academy, it was just another service they provided.

  The sun was already low in the sky, marking the late afternoon. I still had my regular math lecture to attend, ending at four o'clock. Afterward, my plan was clear: visit the gang's branch to collect my betting winnings. They had sent a message earlier in the morning, including the meeting location—convenient, yet suspiciously so. While the arrangement seemed straightforward on the surface, dealing with these types meant staying vigilant; their true intentions were rarely what they seemed.

  Pulling up the location on my map, I found it marked in the Lower East District, a forty-five-minute trip away. The nearby subway station offered a direct route, and gave me time to observe the city I called home as I traveled.

  New Wyster was a sprawling metropolis with a population of around eleven million, while the entire Wyster State exceeded fifty million.

  It was a city where day and night seemed to coexist eternally. The Lower East, where the poor struggled to make a life and a lot of gang violence, contrasted sharply with Oak Highland to the north, where the ultra-wealthy reveled in opulence. Towering skyscrapers pierced the skyline, casting long shadows over the districts, while to the south, the city’s edges dissolved into the vast waters of Lake Gleam.

  To be honest, I had lost touch with much of what the city had to offer. After graduating from the Beyonder’s Academy, I was drafted to another solar system for my first cycle. In the second, I left New Wyster behind entirely for another academy. As a result, my understanding of the city—its gang dynamics, the balance between metas and regulars, the power structures at play—had faded over time. I was, admittedly, oblivious.

  Still, everyone has to start somewhere. I took a deep breath, easing my shoulders as I tried to relax. This time, I wasn’t going to run away from… what, exactly? My powers? My meta nature? Or maybe the insecurities I’d carried for too long? The question lingered like an unsolved puzzle.

  I shook my head, a small smirk forming as I caught myself slipping into another unproductive, overly philosophical musing. A habit I really needed to curb—too often, I let my thoughts spiral until I lost track of them entirely. Ridiculous, but at least I could laugh at myself.

  Seated on the subway, I let my gaze wander over the tired faces around me—people likely heading home after long workdays. Using meta abilities wasn’t just draining; it was exhausting in ways only a meta could truly understand. For those whose livelihoods depended on their powers, like electricians fine-tuning circuits with energy manipulation or purifiers managing toxic waste, the fatigue must have been unimaginable.

  In contrast, a group of teenagers in school uniforms made a ruckus in the corner. Their loud laughter and reckless energy filled the space as they shouted and joked, more hooligans than students. For a moment, I envied their carefree exuberance, so distant from the weight most of us carried.

  When the subway screeched to a stop at a rundown station, I stepped off to complete the rest of my journey by bus.

  The acrid stench of urine clung to the air, a constant in these neglected corners of the city. I hurried up the cracked stairs, eager to escape the underground and breathe in anything less oppressive.

  The bus arrived fifteen minutes late. While waiting, I became increasingly aware of the bad air quality. It shouldn’t be like this, I thought.

  I tapped into my meta nature to observe the Likeness of the area.

  Instantly, my vision shifted. The world transformed as the Likeness of the land revealed itself to me. Ink-black smoke spread across the landscape like a suffocating shroud. Within the darkness, shadowy forms danced and shifted, almost alive, but difficult to fully perceive. Attempting to analyze further into the scene would only muddle the image—it wasn’t something I could unravel in mere moments.

  Deciphering the Likeness of an area required time and focus, far more so than observing the Likeness of a single person.

  Humans were small, their fortunes fleeting, their lives mere blinks in the vast expanse of time.

  But Earth - land so vast, nearly eternal, its fortune intertwined with every soul that lived upon it.

  A person’s Likeness was deeply personal, intricate, and intimate, layered with the weight of emotions, memories, and unspoken desires. But the Likeness of land was something else entirely. It carried the collective imprint of its history, its tragedies, and the lives that thrived or perished within its borders. All of these elements combined to form something monumental, an existence so vast and intricate that it was impossible to fully comprehend. Even if I tried, I could only catch glimpses of its truth, like looking at a shadow through frosted glass.

  Taking a window seat on the bus, I let my gaze observe the changing scenery outside. Digital newspapers and HyperSpace were always awash with reports of meta-nature crimes in the Lower East—or really, throughout the entire East District.

  Yet, contrary to the sensational headlines, my time here so far had been surprisingly mundane. I chuckled, perhaps, I was hoping for a villain fight or two. Really Stupid.

  Then another thought struck me, almost amusing in its irony. The common conception was that those who wielded their abilities for crime styled themselves as "Villains," while their opposition proudly claimed the title of "supers or heroes." By that logic, I wasn’t heading to a mere criminal gang’s hideout—I was visiting a villain base. I had to admit, it sounded a lot cooler that way.

  After another fifteen minutes, the bus pulled to a stop in a part of the district that looked visibly depleted.

  The sky was painted in shades of orange, the last remnants of sunlight slipping away, and a chill crept into the air. Winter was slowly settling in—maybe I’d get to see snow in a month or two. I’d always loved snow for reasons I could never quite articulate. It gave me a deep, inexplicable sense of peace.

  Stepping off the bus, I surveyed my surroundings. The street was eerily quiet, with only a handful of people visible—elderly figures shuffling slowly along the cracked sidewalks. The roads were nearly deserted, dotted with broken-down bikes and the occasional burned-out car.

  I glanced at the house numbers, checking them against the address I’d been given.

  The one in front of me matched. The building was weathered, its paint peeling and door worn from years of neglect. It was exactly the kind of place you’d expect for a meeting like this.

  “I’m definitely at the right place,” I murmured to myself as I raised my fist and knocked on the door. Silence.

  I waited a moment, then knocked again, louder this time.

  Still no response.

  I raised my hand to knock again, but before I could, the door swung open with a force that made me step back. A hulking man filled the doorway, his glare was enough to cut glass.

  “Why are you beating the door?” he growled, “Do you like it so much you want to dismantle it and take it home? Or”—he leaned closer, his sneer widening—“are you just looking for a beating?”

  What? How did he even reach that conclusion? Is this guy on something?

  I swallowed hard, taking in his appearance. If this was what a "villain" looked like, he was certainly committed to the aesthetic. He wore a worn-out tank top, his exposed arms and neck covered in a chaotic mess of tattoos, some of them crude enough to be homemade. I had to stifle a snort—of course he had face tattoos. How else would people know he was a villain at first glance of his face?

  No judgment though, I muttered internally, trying to keep my expression neutral.

  "I'm here to collect my cashout from the game?" I managed, keeping my tone steady despite my nerves.

  The man shot a glance over his shoulder and barked, “Baffler! There’s someone here looking for his money.”

  From somewhere inside, a voice snapped back almost immediately. “What? Who’s got the guts to demand money from us in our own place?”

  Before I could process what was happening, another man stormed into view, his stance tense and aggressive. Both of them squared up as if I’d insulted their entire lineage.

  What the hell? My disbelief deepened as the first guy’s fists began to crackle with electricity, bright arcs snapping between his knuckles like a warning. The second man was preparing something too—though I couldn’t quite make out what it was, it definitely wasn’t friendly.

  I stared at them, utterly dumbfounded. What kind of lunatic organization was this?

  If no one stepped in, I might actually get beaten up by these thugs over a simple misunderstanding. The irony almost made me laugh, but the gravity of the situation kept that impulse in check.

  I had no illusions about my capabilities. Combat wasn’t my main strength, and my abilities weren’t designed for it. When it came to enhancing my power, I was still figuring things out. Genetics were one possible avenue, but the risks made it feel like gambling with my life. Another option was persuading someone with a magical Hive meta nature to share their spells, even though doing so would mean losing them forever. But Saints, as they were called, were rarer than miracles.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  And then there was the immutable truth: meta nature couldn’t be changed. No amount of wishing, training, or experimenting would swap my abilities for something more combat-ready. I had to work with what I’d been given—unless I could afford a rare someone to pay me a visit…

  Still, in the end, my meta nature suited me. It wasn’t flashy or suited for battle, but its ability to perceive and understand the deeper nature of things had its own value. Sometimes, knowing was better than fighting.

  Fortunately, Before the situation could escalate further, a voice rang out from inside. “BlunderBolt! Baffler! Get back to work!” His tone snapped the two brutes out of their aggressive stances.

  A moment later, a short man—probably no taller than five-five—strode out to meet me. Dressed casually but neatly, he was obviously smarter in contrast to the first two. His calm demeanor was almost disarming.

  “You can call me Jacob,” he said, his tone polite and professional. “Come on inside. I’ll help you with your stuff.”

  The civility was a welcome change, and my mood lifted slightly as I followed him into the building. Once inside, I made a conscious effort to stay focused, careful not to let my eyes wander too much. The place was exactly what you’d expect from a group of self-styled villains: mismatched furniture, dim lighting, and a palpable air of chaos lurking beneath the surface.

  These villains were lunatics, and I'd dealt with enough of them in the past two cycles to know that following a strict code of conduct was wise. As a guest in their house, I clung to the rules I remembered.

  Jacob led me into the basement, a space surprisingly well-kept despite the humidity. Everything was meticulously organized, from the bookshelves lining the walls to the spotless floor. At the center stood a long mahogany table, its polished surface gleaming under soft overhead lighting. The men seated around it projected an air of gentlemanly decorum—relaxed postures, tiger like gaze. Yet I didn’t fully trust my senses. For all I knew, a villain somewhere in this building was using meta powers to subtly distort my perception.

  “You can have a seat, Mr. Snow,” the man at the head of the table said finishing some work. He gestured to an empty chair, introducing himself with a calm, measured tone. “You may know me as Confounder.”

  Snow was the alias I used in HyperSpace, a necessary precaution for privacy. Even so, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Confounder had a file with my entire history sitting in front of him. Dealing with people like this was always a gamble; logging on in the first place meant accepting certain risks.

  What caught me off guard, however, wasn’t his use of my alias but his name. I knew it all too well. Confounder was associated with a significant amount of criminal activity across the city—extortion, fraud, racketeering, you name it. My knowledge was only surface-level, but it was enough to grasp the kind of influence he wielded. This was not someone to take lightly.

  “It’s surprising,” he began, steepling his fingers, “that someone with a future as bright as yours—a student at the state’s most prestigious academy—would gamble so recklessly in illegal markets. Even more surprising is your apparent willingness to meet someone like me.” His words were smooth, almost polite, but there was an edge to them, like a knife hidden beneath silk.

  I settled into my seat calmly. “Everyone’s a slave to money,” I replied, keeping my composure. I couldn’t afford to reveal any weakness, knowing he’d exploit it the moment he sensed it. From here on, I’d have to take everything he said with caution, wary of any schemes he might weave.

  He didn’t press further but instead picked up his tablet and swiped through a few screens. “You started with a modest fifteen-dollar bet. By the second round, you’d turned it into tens of thousands. By the fifth, you’d multiplied it a hundredfold. And by the end of the session, you were swimming in tens of millions.” He set the tablet down and leaned forward, his tiger-like gaze locking onto mine. “Frankly, I’ve rarely seen someone win so much so quickly. Most people who try… well, let’s just say their luck doesn’t last long.”

  I met his gaze without flinching, even as the air between us grew heavy with unspoken tension. “Luck’s a funny thing,” I said simply, watching him closely. Men like Confounder thrived on intimidation, but I wasn’t here to play his game. I had my own.

  He smirked faintly. “Indeed it is. Which brings me to my next question—were you in cahoots with the player?”

  His eyes bore into me, but I didn’t flinch. I wasn't one to be easily cowed or intimidated. Even if my life were to end here, I wouldn't be particularly perturbed. No doubt Confounder believed he held some leverage. But he was mistaken - I was not beholden to the same fears and concerns as ordinary people. However, Confounder would surely be in for a rude awakening in the upcoming cycles, believing that they continued to exist.

  “I wasn’t aware of the player beforehand,” I said evenly. It was the truth, though not the whole truth. Still, I couldn’t help but find the situation amusing. Confounder didn’t know who the player was either. For all his influence and power, he was just as in the dark as everyone else.

  His expression gave nothing away, but after a long pause, he nodded, the tension in the room easing slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small green qbit, twirling it between his fingers. Its glow caught the dim light, making it seem almost hypnotic.

  “You seem to be a bit tight on money,” he said, his tone light, almost conversational. “How about working for me? I can guarantee you’ll earn a lot more than this little change.” He tossed the qbit onto the table with a flick of his wrist, its clink echoing in the silence.

  I glanced at the qbit, suppressing a scoff. “Change,” he called it. Most people wouldn’t earn that much in a lifetime. Still, the idea of working for him wasn’t something I had seriously considered.

  “I’m not sure you’d find me useful,” I said, feigning modesty. “I’m not exactly skilled in combat, and my meta-nature is hardly impressive.”

  Confounder chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “You underestimate yourself, Mr. Snow. Beyonder’s Academy doesn’t admit people on a whim. I know what their standards are: It’s either raw power, connections, or potential. You didn’t fight your way in to stand out, nor your parents are like those A and S rankers who could bribe their way in, which leaves the third.”

  He leaned forward, gaze sharp. “The Grid Codex doesn’t select candidates lightly. If they saw potential in you, so do I. I don’t need a brute or a showman—I need someone with a sharp mind and sharper instincts. And you, Mr. Snow, fit that bill.”

  My brows furrowed at his words. How much did he really know? His mention of the Grid Codex had been unnerving. The Codex wasn’t something people casually brought up—it was an advanced AI, like a silent architect of humanity’s future, selecting individuals who could tip the scales in the war for survival. Being chosen by it wasn’t a badge of honor for me; it was a curse.

  Confounder leaned back, watching me like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re an interesting meta,” he said smoothly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “You act like just another gambler caught in the wrong game, but I can see it—your gears are always turning.”

  “The Grid Codex is a relentless machine,” Confounder continued, his voice calm but calculating. “It doesn’t choose randomly. It sees the potential for survival, for power, for influence—and it picked you.”

  His words struck a nerve, but I kept my expression neutral. I hated the Codex. It had picked me out of nowhere and thrusted me into the Beyonder’s Academy, into a life of constant pressure and danger, forcing me to adapt, to grow, to fight. I hadn’t asked for it, and I despised being a pawn in its grand design. Memories from my first cycle resurfaced briefly—painful, chaotic flashes of the mistakes I’d made, the battles I’d lost, the people I couldn’t save. My chest tightened, and I forced myself to focus.

  The second cycle had been more bearable, thanks to some quick thinking and right decisions. But once the academy had chosen me, my fate was sealed. I was like a housecat thrown into a battle of lions, desperately trying to survive a fight I could never truly escape. At the end of the day, the world was too dangerous a place, and I had no desire to be at its forefront.

  “You seem to know a lot,” I said, “But information like that doesn’t come cheap. What’s your source?”

  Confounder chuckled, “Come now, Mr. Snow. You should know better than to ask a magician how his tricks work. Suffice it to say, I have my ways.” His fingers drummed lightly on the table. “But that’s not the point. What matters is what I’m offering you—a chance to step out of the shadows, to take control of your fate rather than letting it be dictated by some faceless AI.”

  I caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes as he leaned forward slightly. “Or, you could keep running, always one step ahead of your next problem. But how long can you keep that up?”

  He was trying to bait me, to manipulate me into seeing him as an ally rather than the threat he truly was.

  I scoffed at his talk of escape. Aren't you just another cog in the machine? I thought, amused by his presumption. He really thought highly of himself, treating me like some fool who'd fall for empty promises. I picked up the qbit he’d tossed earlier, rolling it between my fingers as I considered my response. Seventy-three million credits—my winnings. But money wasn’t everything. I had my own long game, my own truths to uncover.

  I stood up, my movements slow and deliberate. “You’ve got your eyes everywhere,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’ll give you that. But it’s funny—you don’t seem as untouchable as you think you are.”

  Confounder raised an eyebrow, intrigued but unperturbed.

  “I see trouble for you in the days ahead,” I continued, voice calm but edged with something more than mere observation. “Big trouble.”

  His faint smile faltered for the briefest moment, but he recovered quickly, “Is that so?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned and headed toward the door. I was done with the conversation. My heart was calm as I moved, but every instinct on high alert. The two guards flanking the exit stiffened as I approached. One moved to block me, but a subtle gesture from Confounder made him hesitate. They stepped aside, exchanging glances before letting me pass.

  That confirmed it—he knew about my meta-nature, or at least suspected something.

  But for now, he was playing it safe, watching and waiting.

  The thought unsettled me, but I pushed it aside.

  My priority was getting out safe and alive.

  The chill of the evening hit me as I stepped outside. The streets were quieter now, the usual bustle of the city replaced by a hushed stillness. As I walked toward the bus stop, my thoughts swirled.

  Working with Confounder was a dangerous gamble, but perhaps it was a necessary one. He had resources, connections, and influence—all things I could use to prepare for the next cycles. If I could get close enough, learn enough, it might tip the odds in my favor.

  The qbit in my pocket felt heavier than it should have. Seventy-three million credits. It was more money than most people would see in a lifetime, but it wasn’t enough to change my life—like he said, nothing but change. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: I could buy a house, something small and discreet, maybe even save some of it for the future. But I dismissed the idea quickly. There were bigger moves to make, and this was just the first step.

  As the bus pulled up, I climbed aboard, sinking into a seat by the window. The city lights blurred past as I stared into the distance, my mind already plotting my next move.

  Confounder thought he held all the cards, but he didn’t know the game I was playing.

  I chuckled, and he might never know.

  The sun was setting, darkness settling over the city. I couldn't go home early, and I didn't want Aunt Grace to worry, so I sent her a quick message saying I'd be staying at a friend's place.

  Meanwhile, I transferred a small portion of the funds from the qbit to my personal account. I’d need to open a private bank account soon—dumping millions into my usual one would raise too many red flags, not just from the bank but from the government. Explaining a sudden windfall was a hassle I wasn’t willing to deal with.

  By the time I reached the hotel, the city was cloaked in deep blue night. My room wasn’t extravagant but clean and comfortable—a far cry from the cramped room back home.

  After settling in, I ordered room service. I also remembered Alex's mention of tomorrow's welcome party. My old style didn't feel right anymore—it was time for a complete wardrobe refresh. The next four hours disappeared into a blur of HyperSpace fashion sites and endless order forms, a surprisingly exhausting task.

  By the time I’d finalized my shopping orders, exhaustion had set in. But as I sat back, gazing at the confirmation screens, I felt a surprising sense of satisfaction. Not just from updating my wardrobe, but from the knowledge that I was finally indulging in something—however small—for myself.

  When the food arrived, the rich aroma filled the room, and I savored every bite.

  For the first time in days, I allowed myself to relax, to simply enjoy the moment. The tension of the past weeks seemed to ease, replaced by a quiet determination.

  Tomorrow, I’d face whatever came my way. But tonight? Tonight, I’d revel in the small victories.