I claimed my Gold Gacha pull with a bitter taste in my mouth, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling. The shame of what I’d done to Diane still clung to me like bad cologne, but the system didn’t care about my moral crisis. Never had, never would.

"Let’s just get this over with," I muttered, activating the pull.

The interface lit up my vision with golden particles swirling around a central card. This animation was even more elaborate than the silver pulls—prismatic light effects, a musical crescendo, and vibrations I could feel in my bones. The card spun three times before revealing itself with a satisfying crack sound.

[BLITZ]

Rare · Active Skill

The space between one heartbeat and the next, crossed.

I sat up straight, suddenly alert as information flooded into my mind. This wasn’t some trash-tier moisture gimmick. This was the real deal.

Blitz—a burst dash technique that would let me cross up to ten feet in an instant. Not teleportation, but pure physical speed compressed into a fraction of a second. Enough to surprise opponents, dodge attacks, and close distances no normal human should be able to cover.

"Holy shit," I breathed, scrolling through the detailed description. "Now we’re talking!"

The skill settled into my body with a rush of kinetic potential, like a coiled spring had been installed in my muscles. I could feel the activation method clicking into place—the proper stance, the breathing technique, the full-body contraction that would launch me forward.

"Now that’s a fucking ability!" I laughed, jumping to my feet despite my exhaustion. "Almost good enough to make me forget I had to grab my adoptive mother’s ass."

Almost.

Her ass had been soft. Firm too. The Fitzgerald women were built different—curves that belonged on magazine covers, not just walking around regular houses making regular people feel inadequate. Sloane with her athletic build and perfect thighs. Diane with her...

I slapped my own face. "Stop it. Bad Lukas."

〘 Would you like to equip [BLITZ] now? 〙

"Hell yes."

A notification appeared immediately:

〘 [DAMPEN] has been added to your inventory. 〙

I frowned. "Wait, I don’t lose the ability?"

〘 Abilities are never deleted once acquired. They remain in your inventory and can be equipped or unequipped as needed. 〙

"That’s... actually pretty useful." Maybe there’d be some niche scenario where making things slightly moist would save my life. Probably not, but you never know.

I noticed a small lock icon next to Blitz in my ability list. "What’s with the lock?"

〘 Swapping abilities locks them for twelve hours before they can be swapped out again. This prevents ability cycling during combat and encourages strategic loadout planning. 〙

"Makes sense, I guess." I fell back onto the bed. Blitz combined with Spectral Reach meant I could dash in close, then attack from three different angles at once. I could dodge attacks no baseline human should be able to avoid. I could actually be combat effective.

A thought occurred to me. "Wait a second. If I keep pulling better abilities, wouldn’t it make sense to change my fake Aspect? Phantom Touch is based on Spectral Reach, but what if I get something cooler? Something with more punch?"

〘 Changing your registered Aspect after initial documentation would raise significant suspicion and require additional falsified evidence. Current deception architecture is stable but fragile. 〙

I chewed my lip, thinking it through. "So I’d be limiting my growth potential by sticking with an Aspect that only mimics what I could already do when I registered it."

〘 Correct. However, maintaining consistency in your public power signature increases survivability in the short term. 〙

"Hmm. Long-term growth versus short-term safety." I tapped my fingers against my chest. "What if I registered my Aspect as something vague enough to encompass multiple abilities? Something that could reasonably expand as I pull more skills?"

〘 +2 Intelligence for deductive reasoning. This system was going to force you to learn that lesson through failure. 〙

My status updated, Intelligence rising from 17 to 19. I grinned despite myself. "So I was right."

〘 You were. However, Sloane and Diane Fitzgerald have already observed your current manifestation. Changing your explanation now introduces credibility risks. 〙

My smile faded. "Shit. Didn’t think about that."

〘 If their Temptation Gauges reach sufficient levels, discrepancies in your explanations will become irrelevant. Attachment metrics above 60% create cognitive bias that favors accepting your statements regardless of logical inconsistencies. 〙

I stared at the ceiling, processing what the system was telling me. Get them attached enough, and they’d believe whatever I said. That was... kind of fucked up, honestly.

"So I’m stuck with Phantom Touch unless I can get Sloane and Diane wrapped around my finger enough to believe any bullshit explanation I give them?"

〘 Correct. Though "wrapped around your finger" is an imprecise metaphor for the psychological dependency the Gauge represents. 〙

"Fantastic." I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow. "This whole setup is so sleazy."

〘 Your moral objections have been noted and categorized as irrelevant. Would you like to test [BLITZ] now? 〙

I lifted my head. "In my bedroom? I’d crash into a wall."

〘 The training room downstairs would provide adequate space. Current house scan indicates all residents are in their respective rooms. 〙

The chance to try out my new ability was too tempting to pass up. I stood and changed into workout clothes—no way I was testing this in jeans.

Moving quietly through the hallway, I paused at Sloane’s door. Light spilled from underneath, and I could hear her talking on the phone, voice too low to make out words. Probably telling a friend about catching manifestation and making out with the formerly useless Unmarked kid.

Diane’s door was closed, no light visible. Either sleeping or plotting my execution for tomorrow. Fifty-fifty odds either way.

I crept downstairs and into the training room, closing the door softly behind me. The space was perfect—open floor, padded walls, nothing to crash into except the punching bag hanging in the corner.

Standing in the center of the room, I took a deep breath and activated Oracle Feed.

Subject is alone. Room dimensions adequate for testing. No observable threats. Optimal stance: low center of gravity, weight on balls of feet.

I sank into the stance the skill knowledge suggested—knees bent, weight forward, one foot slightly behind the other. The breathing technique came naturally, a sharp inhale followed by an explosive exhale as I tensed every muscle in my body.

Nothing happened.

"What the—"

〘 Physical techniques require physical execution. Knowledge alone is insufficient. 〙

Right. This wasn’t a magic power. It was a martial technique—something I needed to train my body to perform correctly.

I tried again, focusing on the sensation of coiled energy. This time I felt something—a tingling in my legs, a pressure building in my core. On the exhale, I pushed forward with everything I had. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

My body jerked awkwardly, carrying me maybe two feet before I stumbled.

"That was pathetic."

〘 First attempt achieved approximately 20% of potential velocity. Refinement required. 〙

I reset my stance and tried again. And again. And again. Each attempt got me a little farther, a little faster, but nowhere near the promised ten-foot instant dash.

After twenty minutes of increasingly sweaty practice, I finally felt something click. My stance was lower, my breath control sharper, and when I unleashed the technique—

The world blurred. One moment I was in the center of the room, the next I was slamming into the padded wall face-first, ten feet away.

I peeled myself off the wall, grinning despite the impact.

"Holy shit, it worked!"