Hope is a strange thing.
One moment, I was cursing the universe for handing me a trash-tier mercenary essence and a box of mostly useless junk. The next, I was pacing back and forth in a small, too-quiet apartment, heart pounding—not from fear this time, but *anticipation*.
Because for the first time since I woke up in this strange, familiar-yet-wrong world…
I had a plan.
---
The integration started slow.
> **\[Absorb Essence – Batroc the Leaper: 0% → 4%...]**
There was no lightning bolt of power, no sudden montage of skills like in the movies. Just a strange tingling, almost itchy under my skin. Like my muscles were being rewritten—not forcefully, but gradually. As if they were remembering something they'd never been taught.
The system didn't drop Batroc's skills into my brain Matrix-style. But something was happening. My posture changed. I started walking with a bounce I hadn't intended. I stopped tripping over myself just standing up. My balance—awful from a lifetime of desk jobs and zero cardio—felt *better*.
By the next morning, everything felt just a little… sharper. I noticed when my weight was off, when my stance was wrong. There was no mystical kung-fu master voice in my head—but instincts, real ones, were starting to settle in.
I quit the convenience store job that afternoon.
The manager barely looked up. I'd only been there two weeks and probably looked like death warmed over most days. I didn't blame him. But walking out of that store felt like shedding a skin that never fit me right. Like I'd finally stopped pretending to be someone I wasn't.
---
That evening, I took a closer look at the Copper Spin items, trying to find *anything* useful. Most were exactly what they looked like.
* The wooden sword? Literally just wood.
* The playing cards? Plastic junk, no charge, no tricks.
* The goggles? Cracked. Maybe useful for cosplay, if I squinted hard.
But the Minecraft replica gold axe?
It was *heavy*.
Heavier than it had any right to be.
I pulled the crusty old kitchen scale from under the sink and placed it on the counter. Carefully, I set the axe on top.
**6.2 pounds.**
I blinked.
Checked again.
Still 6.2.
It wasn't painted. It wasn't gold-plated. It was **solid f**\*ing gold\*\*.
I almost dropped it in shock.
That wasn't a prop. That was a fortune in blocky form. If I melted it down, even at scrap rates, that was ten, maybe twelve thousand dollars. Maybe more.
The system had casually handed me a six-pound gold bar shaped like a toy.
I didn't sell it. Not yet. It went straight back into my system storage—my emergency parachute. But the message was clear:
*Even trash-tier spins could hide treasure. So what would higher tiers give me?*
---
The next day, I joined a gym.
Not some high-end chain with smoothies and LED lighting. A real one. Dusty floors. Chalk in the air. Worn-out punching bags and older men with broken noses who didn't care about aesthetics—only the grind.
They had a basic kickboxing program. I signed up.
Told the coach I was new. He gave me a once-over and just said, "Then we start at zero."
What I didn't tell him was that somewhere inside me, Batroc the Leaper's instincts were slowly syncing with my nervous system.
We drilled the basics—footwork, shadowboxing, guard positions. I wasn't good, but I wasn't clueless either. My balance, my reaction speed, even my breathing felt *ready*. And every time I corrected something, it *stuck*.
By day two, the coach raised an eyebrow and said, "You pick things up fast. You got background?"
I wiped sweat from my brow and just said, "Something like that."
And with every jab, every kick, every sore muscle—I felt Batroc's essence creeping deeper into my system.
> **\[Absorb Essence – Batroc the Leaper: 19%...]**
I still had a long way to go. But I wasn't starting from zero anymore.
---
Three weeks later, the number had climbed steadily.
> **\[Absorb Essence – Batroc the Leaper: 82%]**
The more I trained, the more the instincts settled. My movements were faster. My reactions, cleaner. My stamina still needed work, but I could *fight*. Not like a superhero—not yet—but like someone dangerous in the right alley.
Physically my body was getting slightly more fit . It wasn't a major change like I didn't even have complete set of abs but I had some basic muscle definition .
Seems like I with 82% of batroc the leaper template completed . It wasn't a complete change for me . I did crave to fight more but this instinct was easily suppressed and system seemed like it did not make me physically strong as batroc the leaper .
It was like my initial physique was 1 with addition of batroc the leaper made it 1.5
The fact that I had picked up instinct to seek fighting was pretty damn dangerous.
What if got an insane evil character and after assimilation I could not suppress the instinct
What Would happen next ? Would I go bezerk? Would I be controlled by the evil character
---
I started putting together pieces of the life I'd taken over.
1. **Andrew—this world's version of me—was a drug addict.**
Didn't take a genius to figure that out. Red eyes. Track marks. Constant twitching. Hidden stash spots I kept stumbling on.
2. **He was chasing revenge.**
The research paper clippings. The photos. The timeline. He'd been digging deep into his grandparents' deaths—an elderly couple murdered during a 'botched' robbery. But something never sat right with him… or with me.
3. **He found a conspiracy.**
The house he should've inherited? Gone. Swallowed by a legal loophole buried under city zoning changes—suspiciously authored by a newly elected mayor, for one *very specific* block in New York.
Turns out, three other homes on that same block had similar "robberies."
Three other dead couples.
All within months of each other.
That piece *did* take a little genius. But once I saw it, it was hard to unsee.
Still… what could I do? I wasn't strong enough yet. I wasn't rich. I wasn't anyone.
I couldn't even sell my *gold axe* safely without raising questions or getting myself robbed.
And the worst part?
> **\[Next Trash-Tier Spin Available In: 7 Weeks]**
Seven long, grind-heavy weeks.
But even so… I wasn't hopeless anymore.
I was training. I was thinking. I was *changing*.
And I was climbing, one trash-tier step at a time.