Status

Stephen’s mind swirled with the concept of leveling up, his imagination conjuring images of growing stronger, faster, more powerful—like a character in one of the RPGs he’d played to pass the long, static days. What did it mean to gain experience in this cosmic contest? Would he fight monsters, complete quests, or something entirely unknown? Before he could form the question, the System’s window pulsed, its blue glow intensifying as it anticipated his thoughts once more. New text scrolled across the translucent surface, crisp and deliberate.

“Leveling up is simple,” it began. “As you gain experience, you will eventually level up. You will have base stats: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, Charisma, and Luck. These are generated based on who you are as a person, reflecting your current self as starting stats. Each level grants points to allocate to your stats. Your System-granted boon is unique, but you can learn additional skills and feats using skill points, also earned upon leveling. Would you like to see your stats?”

Stephen’s eyes widened, a grin tugging at his lips. Hell yeah, he thought, the words bursting in his mind with eager certainty. The System chimed softly, registering his unspoken “yes,” and the window shifted, presenting a neatly organized list of his stats, each accompanied by a numerical value and a brief description.

Strength: 14 (well above average)

Your years as a mechanic, wrenching bolts and hauling parts, built a sturdy foundation, undiminished by your injury.

Dexterity: 10 (average)

Nine years of immobility have left your coordination unremarkable, though your hands remain steady from precise work.

Constitution: 8 (below average)

Chronic pain and a sensitive stomach have weakened your resilience, though Regeneration is already shifting this balance.

Intelligence: 14 (well above average)

Solving mechanical puzzles as a mechanic honed your sharp mind, adept at unraveling complex problems.

Wisdom: 14 (well above average)

Nine years of introspection, grappling with life’s cruelties and mysteries, have granted you insight beyond your years.

Charisma: 6 (well below average)

Your blunt demeanor and knack for rubbing people the wrong way have always outshone your charm.

Luck: 10 (average)

Your life has balanced misfortune—like your fall—with fleeting streaks of fortune, like small wins that never amounted to much.

Stephen read the stats, each number painting a portrait of his life with uncanny accuracy. His strength and intelligence reflected the mechanic he’d been, turning wrenches and diagnosing engines with a craftsman’s precision. His wisdom, forged in the crucible of nine years questioning existence, felt like a quiet badge of honor. The low charisma stung but wasn’t surprising—he’d always been more likely to spark an argument than a friendship. Luck, perfectly average, mirrored the strange dance of his life: the devastating fall offset by bizarre moments like that time he won twenty scratch-offs in a row, only to break even and walk away empty-handed.

As he studied the screen, a subtle strength pulsed through his legs, the sensation of muscles knitting and nerves sparking growing more pronounced. Regeneration was at work, a quiet miracle weaving life back into limbs long dormant. He flexed his toes again, marveling at their responsiveness, and felt a faint ache in his thighs, not of pain but of muscles awakening from a long slumber. He knew his only skill was Regeneration—there was no need to ask the System for a list of abilities when the evidence was coursing through him.

The weight of the night pressed in, his eyelids growing heavy. It was still the middle of the night, and despite the revelations, exhaustion tugged at him. He wanted to sleep, to let his mind and body process the impossible truths. With a tired wave of his hand, he gestured at the glowing window, muttering, “Go away.” The System obeyed, the screen dissolving into the darkness with a faint shimmer, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

Stephen settled back into his pillow, the titanium rod and screws still scattered on his sheets, a tangible reminder of the night’s strangeness. His body hummed with quiet energy, but sleep called louder. As he drifted off, the System’s words—levels, stats, dungeons, and the looming Battle Royale of the Realms—wove into his thoughts, promising a tomorrow unlike any he’d ever known.