The next morning, Noah woke up with a long yawn, arms stretched wide as he worked through the usual morning discomfort. He grumbled softly, rolling to his side. His eyes fluttered open, gradually gaining clarity. After another wide yawn, he turned to the clock resting on the nearby shelf.
It read 7:02 AM—right on time. At this point, he could confidently say his body had its own alarm; he always woke just before or shortly after 7 AM. Tearing his gaze from the clock, he muttered under his breath, "System."
Before his very eyes, the space in front of him shimmered and flickered to life, revealing a dazzling panel of blue, laced with text written in deep blood red. A sigh escaped his lips. "It wasn't a dream after all."
He smiled inwardly, relief settling in his chest. For a moment last night, he'd genuinely believed everything that had happened was just a vivid dream—a stress-induced hallucination born from the pressure of the looming crisis. Thankfully, that wasn't the case.
His eyes scanned the system interface, immediately noticing the results of the practice he'd managed to squeeze in the night before. The progress was now listed:
— Telekinesis — Lv.1 (New!)
→ Status: Awakened | 4% XP to Lv.2
The progress was small, sure, but the fact that he had made any at all in just a few minutes was impressive in its own right. Then again, Noah had expected as much. It was still only level one. Early levels were always easier to gain—like climbing the first rungs of a ladder.
He estimated it would take a day, maybe a few at most, before he broke through the first threshold.
"Let's hope so," he muttered to himself, a mix of anticipation and hope flickering in his tone. He also looked forward to the new ability he'd receive in less than nineteen hours. With any luck, it would be something useful—maybe even game-changing.
Shelving those thoughts for now, he got up and began preparing for the day ahead.
As he approached the door, a forgotten thought popped into his head—one he hadn't tested last night. Could he use telekinesis without gestures?
Driven by curiosity, he extended his mind toward the door, this time without moving his hands. He concentrated, visualized, and waited. The door creaked slightly… but didn't move.
"What's the difference?" he wondered.
He tried again, this time raising his right arm. The effect was instantaneous—the door flew open under his control.
Noah's brows furrowed slightly, his ever-curious mind now analyzing the situation. Maybe the difference between using a hand and not lay in intent and focus, he thought.
With gestures, he could lock onto his target more clearly. The act of pointing helped him channel his power with direction and force. Without it, his mental focus scattered—muddled and vague.
"Enough practice should solve this," he concluded. It wasn't that no-gesture control was impossible. Gestures just made it easier. Like training wheels—they weren't necessary, but they sure helped at the start.
The deduction took only a few seconds. Then, without further delay, Noah made his way into the bathroom.
Toothbrush in hand, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Staring back at him was a boy—handsome, undoubtedly. His jawline was sharp, his eyes held a quiet confidence, and his lean, muscular physique spoke of discipline and training. His jet-black hair was stylishly cut but currently tousled from sleep, adding to his effortlessly cool look.
To put it simply, Noah looked good. Devilishly good, some might say. But Noah never gave himself much credit. At best, he'd call himself slightly above average—not that he believed it when others said otherwise.
As his hand moved toward his mouth, a new idea struck him. Letting go of the brush, he allowed it to float gently in front of him. With direct mental manipulation, he began brushing his teeth—no hands involved. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he focused.
The same principle applied in the shower. He stood still, water cascading over him, while soap and shampoo floated and scrubbed under his direction. It felt lazy. But also efficient.
He used the same method to get dressed. One by one, his clothes floated up and wrapped themselves around him clumsily but with growing sharpness.
Nearby, his monstrous pet Toothless—now wide awake—stared in stunned silence. Its wide reptilian eyes tracked each article of clothing as it danced through the air with no visible support. Its retractable teeth flicked in and out, and its head tilted repeatedly as it tried, and failed, to make sense of what it was witnessing.
Eventually, Toothless gave up on understanding and instead began chasing a levitating sock with pure, unfiltered determination. It leapt, clawed, and snapped its jaws in midair.
To Noah, it was a hilarious sight. He let the creature play for a few minutes longer, indulging its confusion while continuing his preparations. Meanwhile, his XP bar continued to tick upward—slow, but steady.
Once ready, he finally made his way out of the room and headed downstairs, where familiar voices echoed from the kitchen.
"I still don't get how you make eggs taste better than mine—even though we use the same pan, same ingredients," Mark said mid-chew.
"Maybe that's because I don't try to flip them like I'm auditioning for a cooking show," Debbie replied, amused.
"Come on, it was one time, one time, and it mostly made it," Mark muttered defensively.
"Right. If by 'mostly' you mean it got spread across the stove. Now stop talking with your mouth full. Chew first."
Just then, Noah stepped into the room, drawing the attention of both Mark and Aunt Debbie. Debbie's face lit up with her usual gentle smile.
"Good morning, Aunt Debbie," Noah greeted as he walked over.
"Good morning, Noah. I trust you slept well?" she asked, her smile unwavering.
"Yeah, slept like a baby," he replied with a small grin, throwing a brief glance Mark's way before focusing on the table.
A spread of warm food lay waiting—eggs, bacon, toast, and more. His stomach growled in response.
He quickly grabbed a plate and began helping himself. As he did, his eyes flicked toward the empty seat at the end of the table.
"Aunt Debbie, where's Uncle Nolan?" he asked, though he already had a decent idea.
'He's probably out saving someone from a Kaiju or dealing with alien threats... the usual Omni-Man stuff.'
Just as he predicted, Debbie answered casually, "He went out to handle a few things. You know—the usual."
"Right," Noah muttered, taking his seat with a full plate. He dug in with enthusiasm, savoring every bite. As expected, the food was delicious.
Mark, unusually observant, quickly picked up on the way Noah seemed to glow. Mark leaned back in his chair, watching Noah eat with raised eyebrows and couldn't help but ask, "You're in a good mood today. Did something happen?"
Noah paused mid-bite. For a moment, he considered telling Mark about the system—the thought died faster than it was birthed. The system he now possessed was a secret beyond telling he'd take to his grave along with his reincarnation status.
"Just… slept well, I guess," Noah said simply, giving a noncommittal shrug.
Mark narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't push further. "Sure," he said, unconvinced, before returning to his food.
Just then, as the moment settled into a quiet, the air stirred and the doors swung open. A figure dressed in an iconic suit of red and white walked in casually, his expression neutral.
Nolan's sudden but expected arrival drew everyone's attention. He walked toward the table, smiling slightly. Mark was the first to break the silence. "Good morning, Dad."
"Morning, son," Nolan responded, giving Mark a pat on the shoulder.
"So, how was it? I'm sure you handled it," Debbie asked, unbothered. The question was more out of formality than anything else. As the most powerful hero on the planet, whether it was aliens invading, Kaiju attacks, or even a meteor crashing down to Earth, she expected him to have no trouble handling them. That was how good he was at his job.
Noah, who sat at the table, his face tightening in frustration and dread over upcoming events, finally relaxed. His expression turned neutral before he decided to ask, "So, did you bring back any samples for me this time around?" His eyes scanned the man.
Nolan, turning to Noah, paused for a second before rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry, Noah, maybe next time," he replied, much to Noah's disappointment.
Noah simply nodded, his expression softening. Watching the interaction between Nolan, Debbie, and Mark, Noah couldn't help but sigh internally.
He had to admit—the man was good. Very good at faking. Or perhaps this was all genuine. Perhaps, for the most part, it was. He had been on the planet for over two decades, after all.
There was undoubtedly no way he wouldn't have caught feelings—love for Debbie and Mark, maybe even for him too—but he highly doubted it would amount to much.
But even if he did, he wouldn't give it much thought. After all, the man could literally beat his own son to near death. A man that could do that to his own son, he wouldn't be trusting because of familial feelings anytime soon.
Finishing up his breakfast, he quickly exited the room. "I'll be downstairs if anyone needs me," he said, making his way to his makeshift lab in the basement to continue practicing his abilities.