There was nothing there.
No numbers. No bars. Not even a loading icon. Just a blank space where his Vitality stat should have been.
Leo frowned, rubbing at his eyes as if that would somehow force the system to correct itself. Maybe it was a glitch, he thought. Some kind of delayed activation? But the longer he stared at the screen, the more certain he became that this wasn't a bug. It was exactly how the system intended it to be.
He racked his brain, searching through every article, forum thread, and video tutorial he had consumed about awakenings. Never—not once—had he heard of someone awakening with a missing stat. It just didn't happen. Every system had three core parameters: Strength, Magic, and Vitality.
So why was his incomplete?
He let out a frustrated sigh, slumping into the wobbly chair by his desk. He shouldn't have let himself feel hopeful. Not after everything that happened. And yet, a part of him—stupid, stubborn—had still believed that maybe, just maybe, something good would come from the mess.
Out of reflex, he turned his attention to the skill description. Maybe that would explain something.
\==============
**\[Duplicate]**
Create a copy of anything you touch, consuming 70% of your vitality.
*Note: Duplicate will continue to consume 70% of your remaining vitality per second while active.*
**Instructions:**
– Place your hand on the object to duplicate.
– Say "Copy" to activate.
– Say "Disperse" to deactivate.
# **System Advice:** *Not worth using.*
Leo blinked. Once. Twice. Then stared at the screen again, as if his vision might be playing tricks on him.
"Not worth using?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. That was… blunt. Most skill descriptions were mechanical and neutral, not discouraging. This one read like a warning label.
The function itself was clear—create a duplicate at the cost of vitality. A *lot* of vitality. Seventy percent per second wasn't just steep—it was lethal. Even S-Rank hunters with monstrous endurance would collapse in under a minute.
It was no wonder the thugs had tossed it aside like garbage. A suicide skill. Even the system seemed to suggest you'd be better off never touching it.
Leo leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Not only had he been given a completely impractical skill, but it had somehow short-circuited his awakening. No Vitality, no visible health stat. Which led to a terrifying question:
*Did that mean he had no health at all?*
"If I have zero vitality," he whispered, "then one attack could kill me instantly."
The thought made his stomach tighten, and he instinctively looked down at his chest, half expecting to see cracks forming on his skin like fragile glass. But he felt fine. No dizziness, no fatigue. Just… fine.
"No, that doesn't make sense," he said aloud, shaking his head. "If I had no health, the system would've flagged me as dead the moment I awakened."
There was one other explanation. A more absurd one.
"Incalculable Vitality," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "That's the only thing that fits."
The idea was crazy. But so was everything else happening to him.
Still, the only way to be sure was to test it.
His pulse quickened. Using the skill meant flirting with death. If his theory was wrong—if the system simply failed to register his health and he *did* have a normal limit—then activating \[Duplicate] would tear through his life force in seconds.
He hesitated, swallowing hard. "Okay. If I feel even a tick of weakness, I shut it down immediately."
Bracing himself, Leo placed his hand on his chest. His skin was clammy. Mouth dry. He whispered, "Copy."
A ripple of light burst from his palm—and then something incredible happened.
A glowing orb emerged and condensed beside him. It shifted, stretched, and within seconds had taken shape—*his* shape.
Another Leo stood before him, blinking in unison.
Leo stumbled back, shocked not only that it worked, but that he felt… fine. No sudden wave of dizziness. No drop in stamina.
His eyes darted to the corner of his vision, checking for a Vitality alert. Still blank.
"Alright," he whispered, watching the clone carefully. "If anything changes, I disperse it."
He counted the seconds.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty.
Forty.
Sixty.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of fatigue.
He finally relaxed his shoulders, the tight knot in his spine beginning to loosen. "What happened to draining seventy percent per second?"
He reopened the skill description, reading it again—word for word. There were no missing lines, no misunderstood clauses. The drain was real. It just wasn't happening.
He checked his Vitality stat once more. Still blank. Still undefined.
That's when the dangerous thought entered his mind.
"What if I tried it again?"
He reached out, touched his own shoulder this time, and said, "Copy."
Another clone appeared. Then another. And another. Each time he felt nothing. No strain. No slowing heart rate. If anything, he felt more *alive*.
"Copy."
"Copy."
"Copy."
He lost count. The room started to fill—clones standing awkwardly against walls, squatting on the table, leaning against furniture.
By the hundredth use, Leo was panting, not from fatigue but from sheer disbelief. His hands trembled. Not from pain, but from adrenaline.
He glanced at the clock on his phone. Ten minutes had passed since the first clone appeared.
Not a single one had vanished.
Not a single sign of weakness had shown.
His hands lowered slowly, eyes wide as he took in the sea of himself that now filled the cramped apartment.
The conclusion was insane. Unreal. Impossible.
But it was the only one left.
"…My Vitality is infinite," he whispered.
The words sat on his tongue like a secret too heavy to speak. But there it was.
He could summon as many clones as he wanted. They didn't vanish. They didn't drain him.
And if vitality governed his life force, if it determined how long someone could survive attacks, injuries, or even the use of skills—
Then he wasn't just powerful.
He was untouchable.
Immortal.