Morning light leaked into the unfamiliar bedroom, crawling across the ceiling until it reached Kang Dohyun's eyes. He blinked awake, groggy, his muscles heavy and sore in a way that didn't feel normal.
Not soreness.
More like… restructuring.
He sat up, breathing slowly as the ache pulsed once, then settled. His ribs felt tighter. His shoulders sat slightly higher. His balance shifted forward as he stood, like his center of gravity had moved without asking his permission.
He stretched his arm—and froze.
His elbow didn't extend the same way.
It moved smoother. Straighter. Cleaner.
He clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling a faint ripple run through the tendons, like they were adjusting to him in real-time.
"…This body is different again," he muttered. "It didn't feel like this last night."
Acquisition wasn't sleeping.
It was working even while he slept, reorganizing whatever it could from the stress he put his body through last night.
He walked to the bathroom mirror. His reflection didn't look stronger. He wasn't suddenly ripped or transformed. But something was off in the subtleties—the spacing of his shoulders, the way he held his neck, the slight definition emerging around his forearms.
Not big changes.
But changes that shouldn't happen overnight.
He brushed his teeth, washed his face, then stood—still staring at himself.
This world placed him here.
This house wasn't real. The identity wasn't real. Even the school ID sitting on the desk felt too… convenient.
He didn't know if Lookism's world itself created the shell for him, or something beyond it. But whatever placed him here, it didn't place him here weak.
He stepped back into the room and began testing his control.
A jab.
A sharp, sudden punch at nothing.
The air cracked.
He hadn't meant to put that much force into it—but his body corrected the motion mid-strike, rotating his hips instinctively at the perfect moment. His wrist had automatically aligned, absorbing impact and preventing injury.
He tried throwing a sloppy punch intentionally.
Acquisition refused to let it stay sloppy.
His shoulder twitched, corrected, tightened. His stance adjusted, feet shifting a half-inch before he even realized.
"…This is insane."
He wasn't just learning.
His body was learning on its own.
He changed clothes and left the house. The street was quiet, almost unnaturally normal—businessmen passing by, kids in uniforms, ramen shops opening early. Typical Seoul morning.
But under that normalcy, he could feel it.
Danger.
This world was filled with monsters. People who fought with strength that broke physics, kids who grew up under the fists of legends.
He wasn't one of them.
Not yet.
But he would be.
He walked until he reached an empty side alley. No cameras. No pedestrians. Just a perfect hidden corner of the city.
He tested his reflexes.
He snapped his hand out toward a falling leaf. His fingertips grazed it but missed.
A shock went up his arm.
Then something inside him shifted violently.
The next leaf fell.
This time, he snatched it between his fingers so fast it left a faint sting on his skin from the sudden friction.
Dohyun stared at his hand.
"…Acquisition even adapts to failure on this level?"
He threw the leaf up and tried again.
This time, he caught it before it even completed the first drop.
Not just reflexes. Prediction.
His brain was beginning to calculate trajectories without conscious thinking.
He swallowed.
This wasn't normal learning speed.
This was evolution.
He tested more. Kicks. Steps. Slips. Pivoting on narrow footing. Each mistake triggered a jolt—then the next attempt corrected itself at a speed no human should be capable of.
Eventually, he stopped, sweating lightly despite barely exerting himself.
His movements felt too smooth.
Too efficient.
It felt like he was wearing a body that was already preparing for violence.
And he'd only just begun.
As he stepped out of the alley, a sudden loud crash echoed from the next street. A group of delinquents shoved a vending machine to the ground, laughing as drinks spilled everywhere.
One of them glanced his way.
Their eyes met.
Something inside Dohyun tightened.
A subtle click deep in his nerves.
Acquisition responded instantly, aligning his posture, lowering his breathing, grounding his stance. His body prepared for impact even though he didn't intend to fight.
The delinquent looked away a second later, uninterested.
But Dohyun remained still until the tension faded.
Even a moment of potential danger triggered adaptation.
He wasn't safe anywhere in this world.
And the talent knew it.
He returned home by noon, closed the door quietly, and locked it. He took a long breath before whispering:
"I need to see how far this goes."
Then he trained again.
And again.
Until the sun began to sink.
And with every attempt—every punch, kick, stumble, misstep—his body shook, corrected, improved.
He wasn't strong yet.
But something monstrous was beginning to wake inside him.
Something that wouldn't stop growing.