The notebook lay open beneath my pillow, pages filled with sketches, species counts, and whispered promises to myself: One hundred absorptions. One hundred chances to grow stronger.
But the path was longer than I expected.
It started with a morning air thick with anticipation.
I sat by the window, watching sparrows swoop and dart between the trees. The same sparrows whose fragile wings I had touched days ago, whose little bodies had offered me a gift I was determined to hold forever.
Ninety-nine times I had absorbed the sparrow now. Ninety-nine fragments of borrowed grace and agility.
The final absorption felt like it should have been simple.
I reached outside, palm brushing the thin wing of a resting sparrow with steady intent. The whispered word inside my mind: absorb.
But nothing happened.
No tingling surge, no light tracing my skin. Just the ordinary chill of morning air. I blinked, heart sinking. Had something gone wrong?
I tried again. Concentrated deeper. Wished harder. Reached further into the bird's cells, its muscle fibres.
Still nothing.
Weeks passed with no change. Frustration gnawed at me. Had I misunderstood the rules? Was permanence truly achievable?
But giving up was never an option.
Each day, I woke early and repeated my ritual. Blades of grass, scraps of fur, fish scales, insects—in all the creatures and plants I had absorbed, one by one. Ninety-nine times for each.
My body remembered, but it wouldn't bind. The traits were tantalizing close, but fleeting.
It was during these days that I learned the deeper truths of my quirk.
Traits weren't just borrowed; they demanded care. They whispered secrets in a language only patience and persistence could understand.
Traits demanded respect.
One afternoon, Mom found me sitting beneath the oak tree in our backyard, pages scattered around me.
"You look tired," she said gently, brushing hair from my forehead.
"I'm trying, Mom," I admitted. "I want to make them permanent. But it's hard... it's like the quirk doesn't want to let go."
She smiled, her eyes warm. "That's because your body wants to be ready. Maturity and balance take time. Not just with quirks, but with hearts and minds."
Her voice was steady, a quiet anchor.
That evening, inspired by her words, I changed my approach.
Absorption wasn't just about repetition anymore. It was about connection—about listening to what each living thing offered.
I began to meditate. I closed my eyes and summoned the image of the sparrow, its beating heart, and its feathered wings slicing through air. I imagined sitting beside it in its nest, feeling the pulse of life in harmony.
And only then, I touched the sparrow again.
Energy blossomed inside me, calm and clear. The tingling light returned—but this time it spread evenly, settling into my skin like a second skin.
I opened my eyes slowly. The sparrow fluttered and soared into the sky—but I felt something changed.
The next morning, a test.
I ran faster than ever before, moving with a grace and lightness I hadn't known I possessed. Every step felt effortless, muscles responding instantly, reflexes sharp and precise.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the memory of feathers in my bones.
I grinned, heart pounding.
I had done it.
Permanent.
That moment changed everything.
Instead of chasing dozens of species, I focused fiercely on the sparrow. One hundred times of true absorption—mindful, patient, deliberate.
Each time, I connected deeper to the essence of flight and speed.
The notebook filled with new notes:
Permanent sparrow absorption achieved.
Traits: Agility, speed, reflexes permanently enhanced.
It wasn't easy. There were days I wanted to quit, days when the quirk's silence felt like failure.
But with every trial, I felt myself grow—not just physically, but inside.
Not just stronger, but wiser.
At school, things began to shift. Some noticed the change, though I shared little.
Riku seemed less hostile, more curious. "I guess you're not just taking scraps after all," he said quietly one day.
I nodded. "It's about respect. It's about choosing what to carry forward, not stealing for the sake of power."
He stared at me as if meeting someone new.
Mom's smile was the brightest when I told her.
"You made yourself a legacy," she said, pride shining in her eyes. "One step at a time, you're becoming someone extraordinary."
I smiled because I knew the journey had only begun.
The world was vast, with countless species waiting.
Each held pieces of strength, wisdom, resilience waiting for me to embrace.
And one day, I would absorb not just traits but the spirit of the natural world—becoming a hero born from the roots and wings of life itself.
100 ps = 1 bonus chapter
200 ps = 3bonus chapter