Anurag's POV
The cab rolled smoothly down the city's main road, headlights slicing through the early dusk, while a low buzz of engines and the occasional honk painted the familiar chaos of urban life. Inside, the silence between the three passengers was far more deafening than the world outside. Anurag sat in the middle seat, slouched just slightly, his eyes following the blur of buildings and people through the window. Krarth sat to his left, endlessly scrolling through his phone with the kind of intensity that suggested he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Selene, perched on the edge of the seat with her arms crossed, finally broke the stillness that had lingered like a fog.
"Hey... can I ask something?" she said, her voice slicing gently but firmly through the silence.
Anurag turned to her, brow raised. "Yeah?"
Selene's expression was neutral, but her eyes held that probing spark. "Why haven't you guys spoken to Alex in days? I mean... even after that whole video mess, you've just been acting like he doesn't exist. It's not like you had a fight or anything. It's just... weird."
Krarth shifted in his seat, awkwardness radiating off him like heat. "It's not what you think. We just thought—maybe it was better to give him space, let things cool off."
"Space?" Selene echoed, tilting her head slightly, unimpressed. "You took the video, tho it was changed, still u took it and told him you'd show it to me —and then you ghosted him. That's not space, that's abandonment. You've known him for years. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Anurag let out a long breath, his face tightening. "There's no real reason. We just... we didn't know what to say. It felt like we had already hurt him enough. We figured we'd give it a bit of time."
Krarth nodded, clearly uncomfortable. "Yeah. But you're right, Selene. We'll talk. We owe him that much."
Selene didn't look fully satisfied, but she didn't argue further. She shook her head slowly, a look of quiet disappointment settling across her face. "You better talk to him. Before it's too late."
The cab slowed as it neared a metro entrance bustling with commuters.
"This is me," Selene said, reaching for her bag. She opened the door and stepped out, pausing just before closing it to give them one last look. "Don't be idiots. Fix it."
As the cab merged back into traffic, Anurag stared out the window while Krarth leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's right. We messed up."
"Yeah," Anurag murmured. "We should've stayed with him that day. After the hall incident. Even if we couldn't fix anything, we should've just... been there."
"When we came out and saw him sitting alone on that bench, we should've gone to him. Talked. Said something. Not just a few empty words before walking away."
"We let him carry that shit alone," Anurag said, his voice low. "That's not what friends do."
Silence lingered again, this time heavier with guilt. Time passed as city lights flickered across their windows. Eventually, Krarth's stop arrived. He exited with a quiet nod, leaving Anurag alone in the cab, lost in thought as he headed home.
Back to Alex's POV
Alex stood in his room, packing with quiet efficiency. His movements were precise, mechanical—each fold, each zip, executed without a second thought. The room itself was pristine. Not a sock out of place. Not a smudge on the glass. On the wall, a silent news feed displayed global headlines: economic dips, political drama, some nonsense about a celebrity divorce. None of it mattered.
He paused only once—when the system interface blinked softly in his peripheral vision. His eyes flicked toward the transparent screen.
Strength: 50
Agility: 50
Endurance: 50
Intelligence: 50
Charm: 20
Every stat—except Charm—had plateaued at 50. The old title, Peak Human, had been replaced by something far more surreal: Peak Superhuman.
The daily character-building exercises had done their job, and now it was stuck at 50 and was not increasing, a bottleneck, it seemed
Alex narrowed his eyes.
"Captain America," he muttered under his breath, "was classified as a mid-tier superhuman in every fictional universe I've ever seen. A goddamn war symbol with a strong jawline. And I've already left him in the dust."
He wasn't bragging. It was just a fact. The system didn't flatter—it quantified. And right now, it was telling him that he had moved past the peak of human limitation. Muscles optimized at the genetic level, reflexes that could shame Olympic champions, stamina that felt bottomless.
He walked into the bathroom, stripped off his shirt, and stared into the mirror. The body staring back at him was a marvel—abs cut like sacred geometry, shoulders broad, and every inch of him honed like a blade.
"Any girl seeing this," he chuckled, "would throw the charm stat in the trash."
He washed up, dressed, and zipped his bag shut. Realistically, the bag was unnecessary. He didn't need anything—not when Noah or Emma could deliver it within minutes, or when he could just acquire it instantly. But the appearance had to be maintained.
He hugged his mother and father goodbye,
He was going to dominate.
He stepped outside and hailed a cab—a show, nothing more. The driver asked where to, and he gave the location of the airport. The ride lasted only a kilometer.
"Sir, we're still—" the driver started when Alex asked to be let out.
"Change of plans," Alex said coolly, sliding out of the backseat.
He turned into a side alley, his figure disappearing into the urban shadows. A few steps in, a different world greeted him—a black Phantom Rolls-Royce, idling with silent power. Noah stood beside the rear door, straight as a statue.
Alex walked up, his presence radiating quiet authority.
Noah opened the door. "Sir."
Alex slid into the leather interior, adjusting his cuffs.
"Let's go."
The engine purred to life as they pulled into the night, toward the port.