Time flowed differently when you couldn't move.
Days blurred. Sounds became more familiar than light. And yet, my awareness sharpened instead of dulling.
It's already midnight since I absorbed the Evolution Stone, but I could already feel the shift. Something deep within was coiling, refining, evolving.
Then it returned.
<< Sign-In Activated – Day 7 >>
Reward: Haki (Foundational Practice Scroll)
Origin: One Piece
Compatibility Confirmed: Observation Haki – Suitable for Current Mental State
Armament Haki: Locked (Body Maturity Insufficient)
Conqueror's Haki: Locked (Will Suppressed for Evolutionary Stability)
So… it begins.
In that moment, I didn't hear anything. I didn't see a glowing scroll. But I felt something new take root in my mind—like a whisper that wasn't a sound, a pressure without weight. A layer of existence I had never accessed before.
That night, while the hospital dimmed into silence and only soft monitors beeped in nearby wings, I began.
Observation Haki.
A power rooted in presence—awareness of life, intent, movement. In One Piece, those who mastered it could sense others through walls, anticipate strikes, even glimpse flashes of the future.
And unlike Ki, it didn't depend on a battle-hardened body. It required only awareness, stillness, and clarity.
Exactly what I had.
So I stilled my thoughts… and waited.
Day 2 of Practice.
The edges of sound became clearer. I could hear distant conversations not meant for infants. The clink of a dropped spoon in the cafeteria five floors down. The turning of a magazine page in the waiting lounge.
Day 3 of Practice.
The sound of my heartbeat faded into the background. I could feel my mother's footsteps before she entered the room—her presence preceded her physical arrival, like a ripple across water.
She came in that morning, carrying a mug of warm tea, wearing her usual white coat over lavender scrubs. Her dark hair was tied back, yet a single strand always escaped. She never fixed it.
Her expression was tired but gentle.
"Good morning, little moon," she whispered as she walked over.
I kept my eyes closed. Not asleep, but still.
She sat beside me and gently picked me up, pressing me to her shoulder. Her hand brushed along my back in rhythmic strokes.
"You're too quiet, Lyraen. It worries your father," she murmured. "But I know. I know you're just… different."
I let out a soft, deliberate exhale. Not a cry. Not a grunt. Just enough to let her know I was there.
She smiled against my head.
"You're like me," she said quietly. "Always thinking… watching."
Her fingers gently traced the edge of my hairline. "Just promise me you won't carry everything alone."
I didn't move. I didn't blink.
But something inside me stirred.
Day 5 of Practice..
The feeling grew.
I began to sense rather than just hear.
Life itself had texture.
The nurse two doors down had a jittery, anxious presence—fluttery like a moth.
My father's aura was sharp, focused, like a scalpel blade.
My sister, when she visited, always felt like fire wrapped in silk—brilliant, unpredictable.
And my mother… She was like water warmed by sunlight.
Day 8 of Practice.
I lay there, eyes half-lidded, body still infantile and helpless.
But my mind had become something else.
I was aware of every living being in the hospital. Their movements. Their breath. Their emotions, like distant chimes swaying in wind I couldn't feel.
You are not alone.
You will never be unaware again.
The world was loud. Alive. Beautiful.
And I… was beginning to hear it all.
The rain had stopped.
But inside the quiet halls of Nox Medical Institute, a different kind of storm was building—silent, unseen, and growing inside me.
It started gradually.
Day 9 of Practice.
A flicker.A flash.A feeling that hadn't happened yet.
Seris was visiting again, bouncing into the room with her usual energy. But just before she tripped over the edge of a rolling tray, I saw it—half a second before it happened.
Not physically. Not audibly.
Just… knew.
She caught herself and laughed, brushing it off. But I blinked once, realization dawning in my infant mind.
"Future sense?"
"No… not full. Just fragments. Possibilities."
Night fell.
Rain tapped the glass again, just like the day I arrived.
<< Sign-In System Ready >>
<< Accumulated 10-Day Sign-In Activated >>
My spirit steadied, like a breath drawn by the universe itself.
"System… Sign in," I thought.
Processing…
And so, the next chapter of my evolution began.