The pen nib left its final mark on the paper, Ye Mo released his grip, closing the notebook.
The air in the study was somewhat oppressive. The warmth that had welled up from the bottom of his heart hadn't dissipated before the cold wind of the New York night outside the window chilled him further. He took off his silver half-rimmed glasses, tossed them casually onto the corner of the table, and rubbed his throbbing temples. Steve's letter was still lying in the drawer, like a red-hot coal, burning his heart with anxiety. But this anxiety couldn't linger overnight. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he would still be " Mr. X," struggling to survive in the cracks. Sentiment alone couldn't stop bullets, and trust alone couldn't fill an empty stomach. In this damned Marvel Universe, might makes right.
He stood up, stretched his stiff neck, and made a series of cracking sounds.
He took off the black hooded sweatshirt he'd worn all day, revealing his well-built upper body. The muscles weren't exaggerated, but each one looked like a hardened block of iron, firm and full of explosive power. Ye Mo walked to the open space in the center of the study, took a deep breath, and regulated his breathing.
breathe--
This isn't ordinary fitness; it's honing your instincts.
He started doing push-ups. The movements weren't fast, even a bit slow, but each movement was so precise it was as if it had been measured with a ruler. His arms sank down, pushed up, sank down again, and pushed up again. Sweat quickly slid down his forehead, dripping onto the floor with a soft pattering sound. His eyes were fixed on a point in the empty space in front of him, his mind replaying the scenes from the airport battle.
That's Tony's palm cannon, that's Captain America's Vibranium Shield, that's Hawkeye's arrow.
Every dodge, every block, was dissected and reassembled in his memory. He simulated those fatal moments in his mind, trying to pinpoint that fraction of a second when his reaction was slow. Why was he slow then? Was it because his muscle memory wasn't good enough? Or because his mind was distracted?
Ye Mo gritted his teeth and sped up.
One hundred, two hundred...
His lungs began to burn, and his arms ached as if filled with lead. But he didn't stop; instead, he closed his eyes. In the darkness, his senses were amplified infinitely. He could hear his heart pounding like thunder and feel the rush of blood through his veins. He no longer relied on sight but on touch and hearing to perceive everything around him.
This is an extremely tedious training method, and also the only way to combat anxiety. In this world where you could lose your head at any moment, comfort is the greatest poison. Only by pushing your body to its limits and training your reactions to become conditioned reflexes can you seize that sliver of hope when life and death are at stake.
Half an hour later, Ye Mo collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat and clung tightly to his back. He wiped the sweat from his face, opened his eyes, and stared into the void.
There, a Spiral Tower made up of countless points of light slowly rotates.
Gene Spiral Tower.
This is the foundation of his existence in this world, and also his biggest secret. The system never issues missions, nor does it force combat; all choices are in his own hands. Now, it's time to try something new.
Consciousness sank into the tower.
There were no flashy special effects, no deafening notification sounds, only a deathly silence of darkness and fragments of power floating within it. These fragments resembled disordered clouds of energy, some emitting a faint blue light, while others displayed an eerie purplish-red hue.
Ye Mo's gaze locked onto two relatively close fragments.
One was a pale blue ball with a hazy texture, similar to the penetrating properties of " Shadowcat "; the other was grayish-white, shimmering with fine sparks, originating from some Mutants ability that enhances sensory acuity.
He wanted to try forming a group.
It's not a simple layering process; it's about creating a chemical reaction between them.
Ye Mo extended the tentacles of his consciousness, carefully guiding the two fragments closer. It was like playing with a jigsaw puzzle, except that the edges of the puzzle pieces were extremely sharp, and the slightest carelessness would cut one's soul.
The moment the two fragments made contact, a sharp, intense pain shot through my nerves and spread throughout my body.
"Hiss--"
Ye Mo groaned, his brows furrowing. This was a rejection reaction. Two different energy attributes were being forcibly fused, like water and oil mixed together—not only incompatible, but also tearing each other apart.
He did not back down; instead, he increased his mental effort.
"Keep calm!"
He roared inwardly, forcibly suppressing the tearing sensation. He adjusted the flow of energy, allowing the penetrating power to envelop the core of his Sensory Enhancement, forming a protective shell. Then, he slowly injected a guiding thought, like dropping a drop of ink into murky water, watching how it spread.
Once, twice, three times...
fail.
Each attempt was accompanied by an even stronger headache and nausea. It felt like his brain had been hit hard with a hammer, and his vision blurred. Ye Mo gritted his teeth, and a trace of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
But he didn't give up.
He knew that as long as he found that point of connection, he could unlock his Ren and Du meridians. The feeling was like unlocking a lock; the key was in the keyhole, but the angle was wrong.
Fourth attempt.
This time, Ye Mo changed his strategy. Instead of forcibly fusing them, he first kept the two fragments at a distance and used his mental power to construct a temporary equilibrium field. Within this equilibrium field, the two energies did not interfere with each other, yet they were subtly connected.
Gradually, the ambiguity of the penetrating properties began to seep into his Sensory Enhancement acuity. His once clear vision became somewhat unreal, but at the same time, his perception of changes in airflow increased several times over.
It worked!
A warm current rose from my dantian and quickly flowed to my limbs and bones. The feeling was like rain after a long drought, like parched land finally drinking its fill of water.
Ye Mo suddenly opened his eyes, a barely perceptible golden glint flashing deep within his pupils.
He stood up and walked to the solid wood desk.
On the table sat a cup of coffee that had gone cold, next to a stack of documents.
Ye Mo took a deep breath and activated his newly acquired ability.
In an instant, his figure became blurred. It wasn't an illusion caused by distorted light and shadow, but a true physical blurring. His body seemed to merge into the surrounding air, his outline gradually fading until it disappeared completely.
He tried to take a step forward.
The soles of my feet landed without making a sound. My body passed through a heavy solid wood desk as if passing through a cloud of mist. The desk remained completely still, not even a speck of dust was shaken off.
Perfect concealment and penetration.
Although this ability is only an initial combination, it will be a crucial trump card to turn the tide in future life-or-death battles. Imagine that when the enemy thinks you've been knocked down, you emerge from their shadows and deliver a fatal blow. Or, when a bomb is about to explode, you can lead your teammates through the wall and disappear into the ruins.
Ye Mo deactivated his ability, and his physical form instantly returned to normal.
He looked at his hands, a confident smile playing on his lips. These hands, once only used for typing papers, could now hold the power of life and death.
He straightened his clothes, put his black hooded sweatshirt back on, and donned silver half-rimmed glasses. The look in his eyes behind the lenses returned to its usual calm and refined manner, as if the Beast that had roared in the darkness had never existed.
At this moment, he was filled with confidence about the future.
No matter how the storm comes, no matter how the various forces fight each other, he has enough power to protect what he wants to protect. No longer is he passively taking hits, no longer is he helplessly watching from the sidelines. He is " Mr. X ", a lighthouse in this chaotic sea, silent yet shining brightly.
Ye Mo sat back in his chair, picked up the pen, and gently twirled it between his fingertips.
The pen feels cool to the touch, with a realistic feel.
The sky outside the window was just beginning to lighten; a new day was about to begin. The hustle and bustle of New York was awakening, and he was ready.