After I finished reading the contents of the card, it slowly began to fade before my eyes—as if it were a piece of moonlight dissolving in the glow of dawn. There was a strange beauty in its disappearance, something indescribable with words, like a fleeting dream leaving behind an unerasable mark.
Before I could fully recover from the awe of the experience, a familiar sound rang sharply in my ear with an electronic tone:
Ding
> [Congratulations, user. You have obtained your first ability: "Simple Motion Speed."]
Despite the sentence's simplicity, it carried a touch of programmed pride, as if the system was celebrating a grand achievement... or maybe trying to cushion the blow of disappointment in a mechanical way.
But before I could respond—or even take a deep breath—the status window popped up on its own, this time with a slight change that hadn't been there before. I looked at it carefully. It read:
---
[Level: 1]
[Age: 20]
[Gender: Male]
[Strength: 5]
[Agility: 4]
[Intelligence: 6]
[Luck: 5]
[Wisdom: 4]
[Awareness: Unknown]
[Skills: Simple Motion Speed]
[Unique Ability: Gain a superpower every week]
---
I studied the window intently. There wasn't any visible change in the stats, but my eyes landed directly on the new section... "Skills."
Before, that section had been completely empty. The words "None" were the only thing occupying it. But now, everything had changed.
"Simple Motion Speed"...
I couldn't help the small smile that crept across my face. As basic as the ability was, just seeing something new in the window made me feel like I was finally starting to move forward.
I hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, as if speaking to a real person:
"Window... does this mean that every time I gain a new ability, it will be added to the skills list?"
The answer didn't take long. It came with its usual cold tone, but somehow, this time, it felt more logical—more grounded:
> [Yes, user.]
I nodded slowly, as if absorbing a new lesson. I felt something akin to satisfaction, even if it was a humble beginning.
I stared at the status window for a moment, then furrowed my brows and asked:
"So... does that mean I'll be able to do my job a little better now?"
I wasn't expecting an optimistic response, yet I waited, out of curiosity. The reply, as usual, came with a tone that knew neither excitement nor sarcasm:
> [Not exactly.]
It paused for a moment, then continued:
> [Let me give you an example to help you understand precisely: Imagine you poured a cup of water, and a single raindrop fell into it. Would you say that made a difference to the contents of the cup?]
I thought about the example, smiled faintly with sarcasm, and said:
"No, of course not."
The reply came instantly, as if the window had been waiting for my answer to complete its strange analogy:
> [Your current ability is like that raindrop.]
Suddenly, the hope that had started to form inside me felt like it was about to shatter and fall to the ground. I muttered, as if speaking aloud to myself:
"This... is worse than I imagined."
But the window wasn't ready to leave me in that state, so it responded with a sentence that carried a trace of synthetic consolation:
> [Don't worry, user. Perhaps in the future, you will gain stronger abilities.]
I let out a short, empty laugh and said:
"Haha... that won't happen... not even if I die."
There was no response. It was as if the window decided to go silent this time—or perhaps it simply had nothing to say in the face of my brutal realism.
There was a touch of dark humor in what I said, but it wasn't far from the truth. In this unknown world, death was no longer a foreign idea... but a real, and maybe even imminent, possibility.
I closed the window quietly, then sighed as I sat on the simple bed in the room. The air was still, with only the faint sound of footsteps from downstairs and the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. It seemed the innkeeper was busy cleaning something... or maybe preparing something for her little daughter.
I looked up at the dark-colored wooden ceiling and let myself think:
Why am I bothering with all of this? Was I expecting this window to change my life? Have I lost the ability to exist without superpowers?
I had been living, working, eating, and sleeping even before I gained this ability. My life wasn't meaningless back then—so why do I feel lesser now? Was it because I expected something extraordinary? Or because I've started believing I need to be something different just to deserve survival?
I smiled slightly—not from joy, but mockery. Then I laid down on the simple mattress, pulled the light blanket over me, and closed my eyes.
Even if the beginning was just a drop... maybe the rain will come later.
And as time passed, I gave in to sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring more than just a single drop.