Chapter 7
The lively square fell silent.
Faces once brimming with hope slowly soured, and the thick air of disbelief weighed heavy over Serenya.
Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined their genius young master would awaken... an E-rank skill.
The most useless of all.
Han's heart twisted painfully.
He bowed deeply, fists clenched tight.
"I'm sorry, everyone," he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside.
"I've failed you."
He waited — for the hateful words, the ridicule, the disappointment that he thought he deserved.
Sincerely, if they decided to abandon Serenya and seek a better future elsewhere, he wouldn't blame them.
But what they said next shattered all his expectations.
"...Does it really matter?" a man suddenly called out.
Han blinked, looking up.
"The young master has always done everything he could for Serenya," another said, voice thick with emotion. "Skill or not, I believe he'll still bring change to this city!"
A chorus of nods rippled through the crowd.
One by one, voices rose up — strong, certain, unwavering.
"We believe in you, young master!"
"You're our pride!"
"We'll follow you — skill or no skill!"
Han's chest tightened painfully.
These people... even when he couldn't believe in himself, they still did.
He straightened, smiling genuinely for the first time in days.
"Thank you... Everyone.
I promise — I won't fail you."
---
Later that evening, Han sat across from an old man on a rickety wooden porch, sipping bitter green tea.
The old veteran, once a great martial master himself, stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"I heard you awakened an E-rank skill... 'Book Formation,' wasn't it?" he asked.
Han nodded wordlessly, extending his hand.
A soft white glow gathered in his palm — and when it faded, a comic book appeared.
PFFFFTTT—!
The old man nearly choked, spitting tea everywhere.
Eyes wide, he stared at the cover: Metal Burst Man!
It wasn't just any comic — it was the very one he had written years ago, the comic that had led to his friendship with Han's father, Troy, the greatest man he'd ever known.
"This... THIS was Troy's favorite book!" the old man gasped, laughing hysterically.
"You were obsessed over it as well, weren't you?!"
Han just smiled sheepishly.
But then, he raised his other hand — another white glow — and this time, when the light faded...
A pristine white sword materialized.
The old man froze.
Carefully, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the blade — and immediately, he knew.
It was real.
It was powerful.
It was a Power Weapon, forged from the cores of beasts fallen through the dimensional portals.
"Wh-where did you get this?!" he demanded.
Han grinned nervously.
"I didn't 'find' it... I think I created it."
The old man's jaw dropped.
Han explained: after the battle, he had found the white sword he first created back home — but he knew he hadn't taken it from the fallen monster at the hospital.
Which meant only one thing: his ability wasn't just forming books — he could recreate things he had seen or touched.
As crazy as it sounded... it was the only explanation.
"You mean..."
The old man's eyes twinkled with dangerous excitement.
"...You can create Power Weapons?"
Han nodded hesitantly.
For a moment, the old man was still.
Then he sprang to his feet like a man half his age.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! Come on, boy — we've got work to do!"
Before Han could protest, the old man dragged him out to the backyard.
"Start creating!" he grinned.
Han hesitated.
Creating drained his stamina — badly — but the old man's enthusiasm was infectious.
Reluctantly, he focused.
One by one, the white glow flared.
First sword.
Second sword.
Third sword.
Fourth sword...
By the fifth, Han was swaying, drenched in sweat.
His vision blurred.
Still, he grit his teeth and tried again.
This time...
Puff.
Instead of a weapon, a comic book appeared.
The old man, who had been arranging the gleaming white swords proudly, reached out —
—and froze.
"What the heck—?!" he grumbled. "I said weapons, not comic books!"
He turned to scold Han — but his words caught in his throat.
Han was barely standing, trembling, face ghostly pale, rivers of sweat pouring from him.
"Ah... Sorry, boy," the old man said sheepishly, realizing his greed had blinded him to Han's suffering.
He patted Han's shoulder awkwardly.
"You did good. Real good."
Han smiled faintly.
He knew the old man cared.
Even if he got carried away sometimes.
---
Later that night after downing a few questionable energy drinks (one of which tasted suspiciously like expired yogurt), Han finally started feeling human again.
"Alright, let's try this properly!" he said, slapping his cheeks for extra motivation. He summoned his power, and the familiar white glow shimmered in his palm.
Poof!
A comic book materialized.
Han stared at it in disbelief.
"...I asked for a sword, damn it!"
Gritting his teeth, he tried again, this time pouring all his willpower into imagining something cool—a battle axe, a spear, heck, he'd accept a butter knife at this point. The white glow returned...
Poof!
A... pen appeared.
Han's forehead twitched violently. Thick black lines of frustration practically etched themselves onto his face.
"HOW THE HELL DOES THIS SKILL WORK?!" he roared internally, looking like a deranged philosopher who just realized the meaning of life was actually a typo.
Not giving up, Han jumped into research mode.
He grabbed his phone and typed: "How to understand weird-ass superpowers" into the search bar.
The top results?
"10 Signs You Might Be Cursed"
"How to Accept That You're Just Average"
"Is your house haunted? Take this quiz!"
None of it was remotely helpful.
Undeterred, Han tried scientific experimentation:
He waved his glowing hand around randomly while saying different item names like "Sword! Pizza! Money!" — only to end up summoning more pens.
He tried reverse psychology — yelling "DON'T give me anything!" — hoping to trick the skill into working. Result? Another comic book.
He even meditated cross-legged with candles and incense stolen from the old man's room, chanting "O mighty skill, reveal thy secrets!"...
Unfortunately, he only succeeded in setting off the fire alarm.
Days later, Han lay face-down on the living room floor, defeated, staring blankly into the void. His soul had left his body after three days of experiments ago.
The next day wasn't any better.
No matter what he tried — thinking hard, thinking not hard, yelling at the ceiling — the skill remained a stubborn, ridiculous mystery.
Han sat slumped beside Rin, who was busily hammering away at his game controller with the focus of a world-class athlete.
"Big bro," Rin said, glancing over with a smirk, "wanna get your ass kicked again?"
Han didn't even have the strength to retort. His brain was completely fried from three straight days of failure.
"Rin," Han mumbled weakly, "what do you do when you're trying to understand something... but it just... doesn't make sense?"
Without looking up from his game, Rin replied, "Are you talking about a game?"
Han hesitated.
He hadn't told Rin anything about his super complicated, glitchy-ass skill... but right now, explaining sounded harder than quantum physics, so he just nodded vaguely.
"Don't you know, big bro? Every game has a system. It tells you how things work, what stats you have, what you can do. Without a system, games would be impossible!" Rin said, his eyes still glued to the flashing screen. "Systems make everything easier."
Han blinked.
"...System..."
System...!
A crazy thought sparked in his mind.
What if I just... made my own system?
His skill could create things he had touched or seen before... so if he "created" a system, could he integrate it into himself?
It was insane.
It was reckless.
It was exactly the kind of thing a protagonist in a comic book wouldn't dare try.
"YOLO," Han muttered to himself, marching back into his room like a man possessed.
Inside, he snatched up a clean notebook and furiously began scribbling:
Stats. Shop. Inventory. Exchange. Quest Tracker. Energy Bar. Achievement System. Hidden Functions.
The page looked like a cheat menu from a gaming nerd's wildest dream.
After nearly an hour of brainstorming, Han wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared proudly at the notebook.
"Done," he declared.
Now came the hard part: actually creating the system.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, placed the notebook on his lap, and closed his eyes, focusing everything on the idea of the system.
His hand began to glow again, the soft white light illuminating the room.
Minutes ticked by.
Then hours.
Han's body began trembling from exhaustion, rivers of sweat drenching his clothes. His face turned pale like a vampire in daylight.
"Just... a bit... more..." Han gasped.
In a last desperate move, he pressed his glowing hand onto his forehead, praying not to pass out before it was done.
The pain hit him like a sledgehammer.
"AAAAARRRGHHH—!"
His scream rattled the windows.
He felt like his brain was melting, twisting, burning, reshaping into something... different.
And just as he thought he would black out completely —
A voice echoed distantly in his mind.
> "Congratulations, Host. System creation successful."
And Han's consciousness faded into darkness.
[TO BE CONTINUED]