The walk to Seiji's office was made with a clear purpose, but the mansion's silent corridors seemed to whisper secrets. And then, to my genuine surprise, the very source of one of those secrets appeared before me. Dunn was just leaving my father's room, closing the door with a caution that bordered on reverence.
His face—already pale after my "encounter" with his arm—was now the color of sickly ceramic, a ghostly pallor that spoke of a terror far deeper than physical pain. Well, technically, I didn't just break the wrist, I dislocated the entire arm, but who cares about technical details? The point was: whatever he and my father had discussed had drained every last drop of color from his face.
Dunn noticed my presence as soon as he turned. His eyes, normally downcast and respectful, met mine for a fraction of a second—and then darted away so quickly it was almost a spasm. His entire body shuddered involuntarily and visibly when I took a step forward. It wasn't a startle; it was a visceral reaction, a clear sign of deep-seated fear, to the point where his own nervous system betrayed him.
Seeing that palpable fear, I directed my gaze forward, toward the office door, and ignored him completely. I had no desire, no curiosity, to prolong any thought about that lackey. He was a broken tool, and broken tools are either fixed or discarded. At the moment, he wasn't my priority.
I opened the office door and entered without knocking.
The air inside the room still carried the residual energy of the previous argument—a heavy mix of anger, power, and a nearly electric tension. My eyes, now trained to notice details, scanned the environment quickly. And then, I saw them: cracks. Thin, but distinct, snaking across the wall behind the massive desk, like spiderwebs etched into the plaster. The wood of the desk itself also showed stress marks, chips missing where a powerful hand must have struck.
According to the memory fragments I was assimilating, my father, Seiji Kumohari, possessed a formidable Quirk: Vibration. He could generate vibrational energy with a touch, energy capable of tearing metal, disintegrating concrete, and even distorting the air. Those cracks were the physical signature of his fury, a raw power he clearly struggled to contain when his emotions overflowed.
A thought arose, quick and calculating: I could do the same with my Psychokinesis.
The idea didn't come with admiration or awe, but with a purely practical analysis. Vibration was pure force, channeled through touch. Psychokinesis was... more subtle, more comprehensive, and infinitely more dangerous.
What? I feel like someone's judging me for this, I thought, almost amused by my own coldness.
But amusement gave way to reality. To be honest, Psychokinesis is a terrifying power. Unlike Telekinesis, which is often portrayed as the simple movement of objects, Psychokinesis has its roots in the mind—in emotions, thoughts, the subconscious. Uncontrolled emotions wouldn't just be an inconvenience; they could cause disasters. An outburst of rage could demolish a building. A wave of panic could generate a mental hurricane. And at theoretically higher levels, it could tear the very fabric of reality, because the mind is the architect of everything we perceive. The mind is the only limit of this power... and, consequently, its greatest weakness.
That's why I couldn't, and wouldn't, leave it activated all the time. Thoughts and emotions flow unpredictably. A daydream, a sudden nightmare, a moment of weakness... any of them could be the trigger for an irreversible catastrophe.
And I don't want to cause a disaster... Yet.
The office was immersed in a heavy silence, broken only by the discreet ticking of an expensive wall clock. My father, Seiji, was sunk in the shadows behind his desk, his imposing figure seeming to carry the weight of the entire mansion. When I sat in the leather chair in front of him, the gloom around him seemed to dissipate a little, as if my presence forced the light to reveal him. His face was somber, marked by deep worries, but his eyes fixed on me with a spark of attention.
"Jun? What are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse, tired.
"I came here to talk about my Quirk," I replied, keeping my voice calm and measured.
Immediately, a subtle shift occurred in his expression. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and an almost inaudible sigh escaped his lips. He ran a hand through his graying hair before offering a faint, but genuine, smile.
"That's great," he said, a thread of relief in his voice. "Am I to assume your... resurrection... is due to it? Or was it a side effect of your Quirk awakening?"
The question hung in the air, laden with hope and a desperate need for logic to explain the inexplicable. The mind of a strategist spun rapidly within me. Lying is an art that involves wise manipulation and creative, but realistic, thinking. The lie needs to be a plausible extension of the truth.
I paused, letting an air of reflection settle before answering.
"I think it's more because of it," I said, watching his expression closely. It became complex, a mix of fascination and disbelief. I continued, weaving my narrative with technical details that sounded convincing: "My Quirk awakened late, but even in my death, it... functioned. It was like a vital short-circuit. It reactivated my heart and brain simultaneously, and at the same time, separately, as if it were reconnecting a system. Afterward, my dead cells were... energized, forced back to life. I believe it was all a chaotic byproduct of my power trying to manifest itself."
I fell silent, waiting for his reaction. My father closed his eyes. His features tightened slightly in deep concentration. I could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, analyzing every word, every possibility. The story was good, full of jargon that sounded both medical and supernatural enough to justify a miracle.
Then, his eyes opened.
And the world crumbled.
"Blatant lie."
The voice was no longer just Seiji's. It was deep, reverberating with a power that was not human, and there was a second voice mixed in, a spectral, ancient resonance that made the air freeze instantly. Every molecule of my being screamed in alarm. My instincts, sharpened by a lifetime of high-stakes gambling, fired.
Psychokinesis! I commanded mentally, trying to raise a shield, to push that intrusive presence away from my father.
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[Access to ability denied!]
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The message burned in my mind not as words, but as a physical blockade, an impenetrable wall of energy that rose between my will and my power. What?! My access was denied? But how?! Panic, a rare and despicable emotion, tried to sprout but was immediately crushed by an icy rage.
The entity using Seiji as a puppet smiled. It wasn't the weary smile of a father. It was a smile full of arrogance, absolute confidence, and pure mockery.
"It's useless," the dual voice echoed, amused. "Now... Sit down, human."
The command came with an invisible pressure that forced me to sink into the chair, not by physical force, but by pure cosmic authority. My muscles locked, obeying against my will.
And then, I recognized it. I recognized the tone. The cadence of the arrogance. The signature of the one I had humiliated in the void after death.
"You again," I spat, my voice holding all the coldness I could muster. "Don't you get tired of losing?"
The entity—The Beginning, The Principle—laughed. The same laugh that had echoed in my victory with the cards, but now coming from my father's mouth. It was a deeply disturbing sight, seeing that divine, disdainful expression on Seiji's face, as if he were nothing more than a temporary radio for a higher frequency.
"Losing?" the dual voice replied, still laughing. "The previous game was just a warm-up. Since you love to gamble so much, little desperate one... let's play. This time, the rules are mine."
The sweet taste of control I felt moments before turned to ashes in my mouth. I swallowed dryly, the saliva going down my throat like a stone. This time, the cards were stacked against me in a fundamental way. My hands were tied—not by ropes, but by a cruel reality: this being, The Principle, had total control over Seiji. And Seiji, with his influence, his wealth, and his position, was the most important piece on my current board. Any rash move could damage him irreparably, and I wasn't willing to lose that resource... yet.
The entity inhabiting my father seemed to sense my impotence. Its smile widened, an expression of pure malicious amusement.
"Since you were so arrogant about your previous win," the dual voice echoed, each word a hammer blow, "I thought I'd... take away something you were boasting about in your thoughts!"
Seiji—not Seiji—snapped his fingers. The sound was common, mundane, but what followed was anything but.
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[The Ability 'Psychokinesis' has been deleted!]
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The message didn't appear as a notification. It tore through my very essence, as if a fundamental piece of my being had been scooped out with a hot spoon. An icy void, an absence where potential, a latent power, had once been. It was like going blind suddenly, but worse, because it was a sense I didn't even know I had until I lost it.
"Huh?!" The sound came from my throat like a wounded animal's grunt. My fists clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms. Anger, pure, hot, and impotent, exploded within me. Without thinking, my arm moved and I punched the surface of the massive desk. The wood didn't crack—my strength was no longer superhuman enough for that—but the thud was loud and hollow in the room's silence.
"You can't do that! It's against the rules!" I shouted, knowing it was useless, but unable to contain the fury of the violation.
The Principle laughed, a sound that now scraped like nails on a chalkboard.
"The system is my property, meaning I make the rules," he declared with a casual ease that was more insulting than any anger. "To your misfortune, I am quite vengeful. I could very well make your life a living hell... however, that luck of yours in acquiring Psychokinesis was the last straw. So, I'll remove that thing."
He paused, his eyes—my father's eyes—scanning my rage-contorted face with delight. "Besides, you were mentally boasting about this ability. If I lose, others lose with me. It's fair, don't you think?"
"Are you a child or what?" I snarled, my heart beating so fast it hurt. The accusation was childish, but it was the only one I could articulate against the absurd injustice of the situation.
And he laughed again. "Hahaha! We gods are childish! We don't accept losing to anyone beneath us." The statement was made not with shame, but with pride. It was the logic of a cosmic bully. He waved Seiji's hand, a casual dismissal. "Goodbye, human. And good luck! Hahaha!"
The laughter echoed, loud and shrill, and then—
—cut off abruptly.
The oppressive presence filling the room vanished in an instant. Seiji's body, which had been sitting rigidly, slumped forward like a puppet with its strings cut. His head hit the desk with a dull thud.
For a microsecond, I was paralyzed, anger still boiling in my veins. But practical instinct took over. I moved quickly, rounding the desk.
"Father?" The title came out automatically, strange in my mouth.
He didn't respond. I brought my index finger near his nostrils. A warm, regular breath touched my skin. Breathing. Stable. I moved my hand, pressing two fingers against the pulse on his right wrist. Under the skin, I felt the rhythmic, strong beat. Normal heart rate.
He was alive. Just unconscious. The Principle had used him like a suit and then discarded him, intact but probably with a monumental headache upon waking.
I stood there, looking down at the slumped form of the man who was my anchor in this world. The anger gave way to a dangerous, icy calm. The Principle thought it had defeated me. Thought it had weakened me by taking my new weapon.
It didn't understand. A desperate gambler's true weapon is never a single ability. It's the will to bet everything, always. It took my Psychokinesis, but it gave me something far more valuable: a clear enemy.
.....
Author: Well, I'm sorry to say this, but it was clear I wasn't going to let the protagonist have a reality-altering power so easily. Psychokinesis can alter reality, but it requires an immense amount of psychic energy (it was pretty obvious the protagonist would master it quickly, since he was going to use this power like a glove from the start and thus would have the psychic energy for it).
This scenario haunted me, so I made it so (in a probably stupid and very idiotic way) he lost the most overpowered ability. It should be noted that this idiot author gave it to him in the first place... without properly researching and considering the absurd potential of this power. So I apologize.
Maybe the dialogue isn't necessary for some, but for me it is. I want to show that the ROBs (Random Omnipotent Beings), or whatever you consider The Principle to be, are childish and petty in MY view. That's why I will portray all of them in my stories as petty and childish, unable to accept losing to anyone, giving a human aspect to "gods."
That's it. Forgive me for the way I constructed this chapter or the subsequent ones, but I will improve from here on out. Oh, and also, sorry for the Slice of Life I'm putting you through; I wanted to develop some aspects of the Kumohari Family before moving on to the action, heroes, villainy, and all that.
Thank you for reading