I extended Spectral Reach, wrapped the construct around the tennis ball, and lifted. So far so good. I moved it laterally to my right, bringing it around behind my back.

And immediately lost my grip.

The ball dropped and bounced across the mat. Sloane smirked.

"Your control breaks down when the object leaves your direct line of sight. That’s a common beginner problem. Your brain wants visual confirmation of what your Aspect is doing."

I retrieved the ball and tried again. Same result. The moment the construct moved behind me where I couldn’t see it, my focus wavered and the connection snapped.

"This is harder than it looks."

"Welcome to actual Aspect training. Now do it five hundred more times until your brain learns."

She wasn’t exaggerating. For the next forty minutes I picked up that damn tennis ball, moved it in circles around my body, and dropped it repeatedly. My success rate improved slowly, agonizingly, from complete failure to managing half a rotation before losing control.

Sloane circled me like a shark, calling out corrections.

"You’re tensing your shoulders. The Aspect’s not coming from there."

"Stop holding your breath. You need oxygen to maintain focus."

"Your stance is shit. Plant your feet or you’re going to tip over."

By the fiftieth attempt, I managed one complete rotation without dropping the ball. By the hundredth, I could do three in a row. My forehead was drenched in sweat despite Boundless Stamina keeping my energy levels topped up.

The System chimed in helpfully.

〘 Dexterity attribute detecting improvement through repetitive practice. Current efficiency: 68%. Projected mastery timeline: 12-15 hours of focused training. 〙

"Can you make it go faster?" I asked under my breath.

〘 Attribute point allocation to Dexterity would accelerate neural pathway development. However, current SP reserves insufficient for meaningful investment. Recommendation: continue manual skill development while pursuing additional quests for currency generation. 〙

"So I’m stuck doing this the hard way."

〘 Correct. Though you could theoretically trade sexual favors for SP if you wish to accelerate the timeline. 〙

I nearly dropped the ball again. "What?"

〘 Apologies. That was humor. Your discomfort amuses me. 〙

"I hate you so much."

Sloane stopped in front of me. "You say something?"

"Talking to myself. Helps me focus."

She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Weird, but whatever works. Take five. Drink some water."

I collapsed onto the mat and grabbed my water bottle, chugging half of it in one go. Sloane sat down next to me, close enough that our legs touched from hip to ankle. The contact sent electricity straight through my nervous system.

"You’re picking it up faster than I expected," she said.

"Is that a compliment?"

"It’s an observation. Most people with new manifestations spend weeks just learning to activate their Aspect consistently. You’re already working on fine control." She bumped her shoulder against mine. "Maybe you’re not completely hopeless."

"High praise."

"Don’t let it go to your head."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of us breathing hard, both of us very aware of how close we were sitting. Her Gauge ticked up to 57% in my peripheral vision.

Physical proximity increases attachment metrics. Great. So every time we trained together, every casual touch, every moment like this where we existed in each other’s space without tension—all of it fed the System’s progression engine.

Sloane leaned her head against my shoulder.

"I’m glad you manifested," she said quietly. "Not just because it means you can actually apply to Halloran now. I’m glad because you seem happier. Less like you’re carrying something heavy all the time."

Guilt twisted in my gut. She thought I was happier because I’d finally gained powers. The truth was more complicated and significantly more fucked up.

"Yeah. It feels good to finally have something."

"You always had something." She lifted her head and looked at me. "You just didn’t see it."

Before I could process that statement or figure out what the hell she meant, she stood and offered me her hand.

"Come on. Water break’s over. Let’s see if you can do that rotation thing blindfolded."

"You’re kidding."

"Do I look like I’m kidding?"

She did not look like she was kidding. She looked like a beautiful pink-haired sadist who was about to make my life significantly more difficult.

I took her hand and let her pull me up. Her grip lingered for half a second longer than necessary.

The next hour and a half was brutal. Sloane wrapped a towel around my eyes and made me attempt the tennis ball rotation using only my sense of where the Spectral Reach construct was in space. I failed spectacularly and repeatedly.

But slowly, incrementally, my success rate improved. My brain started building new pathways, learning to trust the feedback from the construct itself rather than relying on visual confirmation.

By the time Sloane finally called an end to the session, I could complete two full rotations blindfolded before losing control. Not impressive by any objective standard, but better than the zero I’d started with.

I pulled the towel off my eyes and found Sloane watching me with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"Not bad, Belmont."

"That’s the second compliment today. Should I be worried?"

"Don’t push it." But she was smiling. "Go shower. We’re heading to the IHL office at noon to get you registered officially. Wear something nice."

"Nice like job interview nice or nice like first date nice?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Nice like government office nice, dumbass."

"So business casual."

"Yes. Business casual. Jesus." She grabbed her towel and headed for the door, then paused and looked back at me. "And change your mouthwash. Seriously. The antiseptic mint is awful."

She left before I could respond, her ass bouncing behind her.

I stood alone in the training room, sweating and exhausted and weirdly happy despite everything. My fake Aspect registration was scheduled for noon. I had hours of additional practice ahead of me to maintain the illusion. My Spectral Reach constructs were getting stronger but still nowhere near combat-viable.

And somehow, despite all of that, I was grinning like an idiot.

The System provided its commentary.

〘 Sloane Fitzgerald’s Temptation Gauge has increased to 58%. Emotional investment rising steadily. Current trajectory suggests Devoted threshold achievable within two weeks at current interaction frequency. 〙

"What about Diane?" I asked, because apparently I hated myself.

〘 Diane Fitzgerald’s gauge currently stable at 19%. However, analysis of her behavioral patterns suggests active investigation of your activities. Recommendation: minimize suspicious behavior and maintain consistent narrative regarding manifestation timeline. 〙

"She knows something’s wrong."

〘 Diane Fitzgerald suspects inconsistencies in your stated power set but lacks sufficient evidence to challenge your registration. Her Read the Room Aspect provides intuitive data interpretation but not concrete proof of deception. 〙

"So I just need to keep lying convincingly."

〘 Correct. Though technically you possess genuine abilities that align with your stated classification. The deception involves scope rather than fundamental existence. This distinction may prove tactically relevant in future scenarios. 〙

I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the stairs. "You’re really good at making terrible situations sound reasonable."

〘 Thank you. I am programmed for optimal user experience management. 〙

"That’s not a compliment."

〘 I know. 〙

I showered quickly, letting the hot water work out the residual tension in my muscles that Boundless Stamina hadn’t already addressed. My reflection in the bathroom mirror showed someone I was still getting used to—sharp features, amber eyes that tracked movement too precisely, a body that was finally starting to fill out after two weeks of intensive training.

The scar through my left eyebrow caught the light. I touched it without thinking, wondering if the original Lukas even remembered how he got it.

I didn’t have that memory. Just the scar itself, evidence of a childhood I’d never lived.

The guilt was getting easier to ignore but it never fully went away.