Getting A System In A Modern World

After taking the Diamirite Suit for a field test, Silas stood in the open field in front of the warehouse.

He tapped the center of his chest, and the suit responded instantly. The nanomaterial shimmered as it began disassembling itself, retracting and flowing smoothly into his quantum smartwatch almost like liquid metal. In seconds, the sleek armor was gone, replaced by the unassuming appearance of his casual attire.

"Cool," Silas muttered, flexing his shoulders and stretching. He couldn't help but smile. The Diamirite Suit was, without a doubt, his crowning achievement. It was a testament to his ingenuity and the lengths he could go with his system.

Every inch of it, from its self-repairing nanomaterial to its adaptive combat capabilities, had been meticulously built, and it performed perfectly.

It wasn't just a piece of technology; it was a manifestation of his vision and a reminder of what he was capable of when he put his mind to it.

Turning away from what is now a makeshift empty landing zone, Silas started walking towards the warehouse.

Inside the warehouse, the air grew cooler, the faint hum of life-support systems growing louder as he approached a row of glass pods lined along the far wall.

Inside each one, suspended in a peaceful stasis, were his family—his father, Chris; Kim, and Alex.

Silas's expression softened as he looked at them, a mix of longing and determination crossing his face. The pods emitted a soft blue glow, their surfaces faintly fogged from the temperature regulation.

"I guess it's time for my second evolution metamorphosis," he murmured, his gaze lingering on Alex.

The boy's peaceful expression reminded Silas why he was doing all of this—why he had pushed himself so hard and why he has to continue doing so.

Life had been good lately. Too good, in fact. It was like the calm before the storm. Everything was moving smoothly, almost deceptively so.

But Silas knew the truth. He knew that this fragile peace was a carefully maintained illusion. It was nothing more than a carefully crafted lie that will soon explode in everyone's faces.

The world was like a tinderbox waiting for a spark. Reports of Phenomenals—undocumented individuals—were becoming more frequent, spreading a quiet but growing panic.

The news about ghem has filled the internet and everyone has been talking about them. And from what Luna told him, Silas knew that they are mostly scared.

The delicate balance that had kept society in check was beginning to tip. It didn't take a genius to see it. The appearance of Silas and his display of strength had changed everything.

Silas thought of this and sighed, as he brushed his fingers brushing against the cool glass of Alex's pod.

Most people believed he was a one-off anomaly, a rare outlier. Someone unique—and thankfully far removed from their everyday lives. They were content with that narrative, clinging to it like a life raft in a storm.

But the reality was far more terrifying. Their neighbors, their friends, even their own children could be just like him. It wasn't something to be scared of but the truth is that people are scared of what they do not understand or can't control.

The world wasn't just on edge; it was breaking. Every news broadcast, every whispered conversation, now serves to feed this fear and it has continued to only grew larger. The once-firm foundations of reality were crumbling under the weight of this new paradigm.

"Panic," Silas muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. "That's all they're capable of."

He knew that the world would had still been the same if the incident with Daniel hadn't happened. Of course, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth about the existence of people like him come out but maybe it was too early.

"Oh well. Not my problem. It's something they will eventually have to learn to live with. It's not my like it's disease that would lead to a pandemic or something."

He straightened his back and turned toward the center of the warehouse, where a VR Pod, various high-tech equipment and an Evolution Capsule sat waiting.

This was the only place he felt truly in control. In here, he could plan, experiment, and strategize for the storm he knew was coming.

The second evolution metamorphosis wasn't just a desire—it was a necessity. The world wasn't going to wait for him to catch up.

The emergence of more Phenomenals was inevitable, and with it, chaos. If he wasn't prepared, if he didn't evolve fast enough, the delicate balance would collapse, and he'd be powerless to stop it.

Silas clenched his fists, resolve hardening in his chest. He had worked too hard to lose everything now. His family, his freedom, his vision for the future—it all depended on him staying one step ahead of the storm.

He stepped toward the Evolution Capsule, its sleek, imposing design radiating a faint blue light.

He glanced once more at the pods, at the peaceful faces of the people he cared about most. The world outside might be descending into chaos, but in here, he still had time. Time to prepare. Time to evolve.

"I'm ready," he said, stepping into the pod. The glass door hissed shut behind him, and the hum of the machine enveloped him.

As the system powered up, Silas closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

...

Silas felt the world around him darken and he found himself back in very familiar space he was in during his first evolution metamorphosis.

Before he could look around, he felt a splitting headache that made him lose consciousness again.

****

Kyoto, Japan.

The evening sun cast its golden glow over the traditional wooden inn, where the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the earthy scent of tatami mats.

Inside one of the private rooms, a young man sat cross-legged at a low table, a sword resting within arm's reach beside him. His expression was calm, unreadable, as he stared at the steaming cup of tea before him.

The woman seated across from him observed him intently, her alluring smile a mask for the calculating mind behind it. Dressed in an elegant kimono, her every movement exuded grace and confidence, yet there was a sharpness to her gaze that betrayed her true intent.

The young man lifted the tea cup, his slender fingers steady, and took a deliberate sip. The liquid was smooth and rich, its warmth spreading through him. He set the cup down gently, his eyes never leaving hers.

"What do you think of our tea?" the woman asked, her voice soft yet carrying a subtle edge. Her smile widened slightly, as if she already knew the answer.

For a moment, he remained silent, his expression impassive. Then, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Perfect," he replied, his tone calm but firm. "But I doubt tea is the reason I was summoned here. Ms., let's not waste time. Why don't we get straight to the point?"

The woman's smile faltered briefly before she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her expression shifting to one of intrigue.

"Direct and perceptive. You're just as they say you are, Mr. Nakamoto." Her voice was laced with a mix of admiration and cunning. "Very well, I'll get to the point."

She adjusted her posture, her demeanor growing more serious as she continued. "We want you to work for us. Join the Yakuza clan, Mr. Nakamoto. Your stealth abilities are unparalleled—your name is already legendary in certain circles. With your talents, we could achieve greatness together."

The young man didn't react immediately, his face remaining calm as he processed her words. She took this as her cue to sweeten the deal.

"We can give you anything you desire," she said, her voice dropping into a sultry tone. "Wealth, power, influence. Women, if that's what you want. In fact…"

She leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto his, a smirk forming on her lips. "You can even have me, if you wish."

Her words lingered in the air, the offer as bold as it was enticing. For a brief moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint sound of distant footsteps in the inn's hallway.

Nakamoto finally leaned back, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never wavered from hers. When he spoke, his voice was steady, carrying a subtle undertone of amusement.

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"Is that so?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "You seem very confident in your offer, Ms. But tell me, do you truly believe I can be bought so easily?"

The woman's smile tightened, though she maintained her composure. "I don't see why not. You're a man of action, not empty ideals. You know how the world works, Mr. Nakamoto. Everything has a price."

Nakamoto chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. "You're mistaken. Not everything is for sale. And even if it were…" His gaze hardened, the hint of a predator flashing in his eyes. "I'm not someone who takes orders."

The room seemed to grow colder, the tension palpable as his words settled over them. The woman's confident façade wavered, but she quickly regained her composure, though her smile now carried a hint of unease.

"I see," she said, her tone measured. "You're as stubborn as they say. But think carefully, Nakamoto. The Yakuza does not take rejection lightly."

He smirked, his hand tightening slightly on the hilt of his sword. "Then I suggest you tread carefully. Because I don't take threats lightly."

The woman's eyes narrowed, her pleasant demeanor now replaced by a sharp intensity. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the room heavy with unspoken tension. Then, as if on cue, a faint rustling sound came from outside the door, followed by the unmistakable weight of approaching footsteps.

Nakamoto's expression didn't change. Instead, he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed yet poised, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"Is this where the negotiations take a less civil turn?" he asked, his tone almost mocking.

The woman's smile returned, but it was colder this time. "That depends entirely on you, Mr. Nakamoto. Will you reconsider, or must I demonstrate the consequences of defiance?"

Nakamoto's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "I think we both know how this is going to end." His fingers flexed around his sword's hilt. "So let's skip the formalities."

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