Chapter 4: Blurred memories

"Haah!" A young man gasped. It was Kaeden, and the first thing to meet his gaze was the ceiling.

"My... room?" he muttered, blinking up at the expansive view overhead. It truly was his room—one of the perks of being in the top fifty of the class. Even without combat prowess, his knowledge alone had secured him that rank so far.

"Ugh," he groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. "What in the world happened? Why am I in my room?" He frowned in confusion.

He tried to piece together the events of the previous day. All he could remember was an extremely long and painfully dull class. Then—"Natasha..." he murmured. He reached deeper into his memories, but... "Huh? Why can't I remember anything else?"

Strangely, he felt energized. That pain he vaguely recalled feeling before the darkness consumed his memories—gone. Instead, he felt good.

"What is this feeling?" he asked aloud. He glanced around the familiar space, confirming he was indeed in his room. Then, swinging his legs over the bed, he planted his hands on the mattress and exhaled deeply before standing.

"Huh? This is... strange," he muttered. He looked down at his legs, then opened his palms before his face, slowly clenching his fists. "Why do I feel strong?" he whispered. "Could it be... awakening?!"

His eyes widened. He had heard of such things—how others described their awakening as a sudden surge of power, the physical changes, the sense of being reborn. Desperately, he closed his eyes and tried to sense some kind of energy, anything at all. But alas—nothing.

"Ugh, damn it! Would it kill you to throw me a bone for once, luck?!" he snapped. But his frustration changed nothing.

He sighed. "But seriously, what did happen? The last thing I remember is talking to Natasha... that's it. So what the hell happened after that?" He groaned, trying his best to recall, but it was like hitting a wall. No matter how hard he tried, the rest remained a blank.

"Maybe I passed out and someone brought me back here?" It sounded plausible at first, but then he paused. "No... if that were true, why wasn't I taken to the infirmary instead?"

That made more sense. If he'd really passed out, protocol dictated he be treated, not dropped in his dorm room like a used bag of clothes.

"Sigh... I'll just ask Natasha," he muttered. He turned toward the semi-transparent door in the corner of the room. Just then, his eyes landed on the device strapped to his wrist. The permanent display read: [Level: 1.0]. With a swipe to the right, the time and date appeared: [Wed || 7:45 AM].

His heart skipped a beat.

"Curses!" he roared, realizing the time. He wasn't just late—he was catastrophically late. Normally, being tardy would earn him some punishment, sure. But today wasn't a regular day.

"Damn it! Combat Drill!" he groaned, slapping his forehead. He hated this day more than he hated his parents for forcing him into this academy. On this day, all his knowledge and intellect counted for nothing. Today, he had to pick up a weapon and endure the torment awaiting him.

BAM!

He bolted into the bathroom, preparing to take the fastest bath of his life—until he saw something that made his blood run cold.

"O...kay... Now, who the fuck is that supposed to be? Me?!"

The mirror stared back—but the reflection wasn't quite his. No, it was him, but altered. Enhanced, maybe. Improved, certainly.

"Where the hell is my spec? How can I even see without it? And my face—why is it so pale? Where the hell are my blue eyes?!" he shouted, horror lacing his voice.

He touched his face, watching in disbelief as the man in the mirror mirrored his every move. This wasn't normal. This was wrong. He completely forgot about his previous panic over the drill—his entire focus shifted to the reflection.

His face looked sharper, more defined. His cheekbones were chiseled, his red eyes had a piercing, domineering presence, and his gray hair, now flowing down to his shoulders, added an ethereal allure. He looked... undeniably handsome. But how? How was this even possible?

"Wait... Am I taller?!" His eyes widened further. He had always stood at 5'5", but now he had to have gained at least four or five inches.

He yanked off his shirt and immediately stumbled back in shock.

"Packs? HOW?!"

Eight perfectly defined abs and a broad, firm chest stared back at him in the mirror. His skin—milky white, smooth, spotless. Not a single blemish. Not a scar. Not a burn. Not even the slightest mark from the injuries and experiments he'd endured for years in the academy.

Where were the sword cuts that had refused to heal? The chemical burns from experiments gone wrong? The bruises from training? The countless reminders of his hard-fought battles?

Only one thing came to mind.

The incident.

"Oh god," he whispered in horror. It was the experiment. It had to be. Whatever he had exposed himself to that day, it had affected him in ways beyond reason.

No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the facts were staring him in the face—literally. Something impossible had occurred.

But remembering the mutations he had seen in the rats that day...

It wasn't just possible.

It was real.

"What have I done?"