Wait.
What just happened?
Locke blinked, replaying the sequence of events he had just witnessed in his mind's eye. It had felt like a fever dream, a desperate hallucination born of the frantic desire to win.
One second, he was watching the white light gallop toward the finish line with an insurmountable lead, while the golden radiance lagged so far behind it seemed like a lost cause. Then, in a sudden, violent surge of brilliance, the gold light had exploded in size. With a sharp *whoosh*, it had teleported directly behind the white light—and kicked it.
The white light had gone flying. Backward.
"I'll buy every box I see from now on," he had promised in the heat of the moment.
WTF?
Was the system actually capable of shadow manipulation?
Locke's face darkened slightly. Buying boxes? Not a chance. He had been regretting the decision the moment he saw the white light pulling away. He enjoyed high-stakes games, sure, but he preferred the kind of "heart-pounding" games where he was guaranteed to win. He hated the coin-toss, and he despised the idea of being manipulated by a hidden algorithm—even if it worked in his favor.
Games are games. Gambling is gambling. There was a very thick, very distinct line between the two in Locke's philosophy.
"Still..."
Locke stared at the briefcase in his hands. His gaze flickered with an intensity born of extreme tension. He began to open it slowly, his breath hitching. "What is it going to be?"
Gold light? A golden legend.
Was it a divine spark? A godhead?
Just as the latches clicked open, a voice seemed to whisper directly into his ear, echoing with a resonant, ethereal power that filled the very corners of his skull.
"My energy is limitless!"
*Ding!*
[Congratulations! After opening the Mystery Box, the player has obtained a Supreme Talent!]
[Supreme Talent: Extraordinary (Gold Quality, Level 1): My energy is limitless. You no longer need to worry about any form of energy consumption, for your reserves exceed your wildest imagination!]
[Current Status Updated!]
[Name: Locke Broughton (Unique Player)]
[Achievement Points: 17,500]
[Potential Points: 38,500]
[Supreme Talent: Extraordinary (Level 1): My energy is limitless. My energy exceeds your imagination!]
[Transcendent Talent: Resilience (Level 1): Your body can withstand greater damage and is completely immune to non-vital small-caliber trauma. Faster recovery once out of combat. (Upgrade to Level 2 requires 20,000 Potential Points.)]
[Transcendent Skill: Curve Bullet (Advanced): Marksmanship that is unfathomable and inconceivable. (Blue to Red upgrade requires 20,000 Potential Points.)]
[Common Skills: Driving (Advanced), Academics (Grades 9-10), Shooting/Sniping (Advanced)...]
[Current Mission: None!]
"..."
Locke raised an eyebrow, staring at the translucent text hovering in the air. "What the hell is this?"
His energy exceeded his imagination?
He looked down at his hands. They looked unremarkable—the hands of a healthy sixteen-year-old boy. He flexed his fingers, searched for a spark, a glow, a hum of electricity. Nothing. Not even a stray static shock.
So... where was this supposed energy?
Locke stared up at the ceiling, sinking into a deep state of contemplation. He *could* feel it, now that he was looking for it. It wasn't a physical sensation like heat or pressure; it was a vast, silent ocean filling his consciousness. It was as if a bottomless reservoir had been hollowed out within his soul, waiting for something to fill it—or rather, already full of a substance he didn't know how to pour.
How was he supposed to use it?
He had no idea. No instructions, no manual, no "Press X to Fire Laser."
WTF?
Locke ran a hand through his blond hair, frustration bubbling up. Just then, his phone rang.
It was Gwen.
"Locke, are you coming down? I'm five minutes away!"
"...Coming right now."
Yesterday afternoon, after the chaos had settled and the police had finished their initial sweep, Gwen had come over to see him. They had agreed she would pick him up this morning so they could drive to school together.
After all, Locke's third Audi R8 was currently a heap of scorched scrap metal. There had been no word from the insurance company yet. He could only imagine the adjusters sitting in a boardroom, debating whether they should continue to cover a teenager who seemed to attract high-explosive accidents like a magnet.
'I hope they don't think I'm doing this for insurance fraud,' Locke thought, pulling on his jacket. He shook his head, pushing the system's Limitless energy to the back of his mind. If he had a talent he couldn't use, it was as good as having no talent at all for the time being.
Energy... presumably, that meant mana, or cosmic power, or something magical. He'd have to look for a way to tap into that later. Maybe visit a certain sanctum in Greenwich Village if he got desperate.
Locke headed downstairs. Under the slightly bewildered gaze of the Star Tower's security captain—who likely wondered how the "kidnapped" boy was already back to his routine—he climbed into Gwen's car and offered a casual greeting.
Even though he'd experienced a massive windfall yesterday, Locke didn't feel particularly wealthy after his upgrades and shopping spree. Besides, the textile mill was a one-time score. To truly build his fortune, he needed to stick to the grind of daily life.
And he had business today. He hadn't had time to deliver the item Raymond "Red" Reddington wanted because the police had been busy taking his statement and sketching the "suspect" yesterday. He planned to drop it off after school today.
At Midtown High, Locke was immediately met with a wave of "well-wishes" and prying questions.
Gwen's friend, Kim, leaned across her desk with wide, shimmering eyes. "Wow, Locke! Being kidnapped—what does it actually feel like?"
Locke's face went blank. 'What does it feel like? Wait until you take that trip to Paris you've been talking about; then you'll find out exactly what it feels like.'
Betty, the blonde who ran the school's radio station and was always hunting for a scoop, turned around from the front row. "Do you need to see a therapist? My aunt says trauma can be very subtle."
Locke smiled politely, the peerless assassin perfectly hidden behind a mask of teenage resilience. "No need. I wasn't mistreated."
Mary Jane, sitting right behind him, shrugged. "Sometimes, mistreatment isn't just physical. It's psychological. The fear of what could happen stays with you."
Locke turned his head to look at her.
Gwen, sitting beside him, offered Mary Jane a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, MJ. My dad said Locke wasn't harmed. He's much tougher than he looks."
Mary Jane gave a non-committal shrug. Locke glanced at Gwen, then back at MJ. Was it just his imagination, or was the tone between the two of them a little... sharp?
Jessica Campbell, who sat behind Gwen and possessed a mane of dark, lustrous hair, spoke up. "If you need time to recover, I'm more than happy to take your spot in the chemistry competition in Maine."
Locke raised an eyebrow. A chemistry competition? In Maine?
He had been at this school for less than two weeks. When did he sign up for this?
"Jessica, I think your wish is going to go unfulfilled. Locke is fine," Gwen said, casting a protective glance at Locke. Before she could explain the details, Mrs. Gland walked in to start the session.
Locke's next class was French, while Gwen was pulled away by the administration. Apparently, a Canadian exchange student was arriving soon, and the student council needed to prep the welcome. It wasn't until lunch in the cafeteria that Locke had a chance to ask about the competition.
Midtown High had various partnerships and competitions with prestigious schools in other states, covering everything from football and baseball to academic decathlons and chemistry meets. Each school contributed to a prize pool for the winners.
The chemistry competition was scheduled for three months from now, hosted by a school in Maine.
"Three months?" Locke rubbed his chin, doing the math. "Isn't that right around Christmas?"
It was mid-September now. Three months would put them right in the heart of the holiday season.
Gwen nodded. "That's probably why the original candidate suddenly 'transferred' schools. Since you just joined and your grades are—well, let's just say they're more than qualified—the department decided you were the best fit."
Locke: "..."
'Perfect. Another "accident" waiting to happen during the holidays,' he thought.
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666