He lay on the cold, cracked concrete floor—dirty, beaten, and exhausted. His limbs ached, his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and blood crusted around the corner of his lip. His eyes barely opened as a notification hovered in front of him.
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Grade 4 Curse and have received 1 draw.][Congratulations on your first ever kill! 1 draw has been given.]
He blinked. Then, squinting at the notification, he groaned, "Wait... I can get draws from killing curses? Why the fuck didn't you tell me that?"
[The host was still weak at the time. Informing you may have encouraged reckless behavior. Seeking out curses in your former state would've likely resulted in death.]
He raised a finger to argue… but slowly lowered it, mouth shutting mid-thought.
"…Okay, good point. I can't argue with that one."
Drawing a deep breath, he sat up straighter despite the pain and muttered, "Alright, draw two times, system."
[Initiating double draw…][Congratulations! You have acquired: Cooking Expert (B-tier Passive Skill)!]
[Cooking Expert]: You're now a natural in the kitchen. Knife skills, recipes, heat control—you're one apron away from MasterChef.
[Congratulations! You have acquired: Break Dancing (A-tier Skill)!]
[Break Dancing]: Unleash the power of rhythm. Inhuman flexibility and kinetic control. You are now a spinning menace to dance floors everywhere.
He stared at the screen with the deadest eyes imaginable. "…You mean to tell me I almost died... FOR FUCKING COOKING AND DANCING?! WHAT THE FUCK, UNIVERSE?!"
Screaming in frustration, he slammed his fists into the ground again and again, sending small clouds of dust and pebbles scattering—until the pain overpowered the rage. With a heavy sigh, he finally stood and began limping home.
After what felt like an eternity, he reached his front door and stepped inside. His mother's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"Oh God—DEAR?! What happened? Are you alright? You're bleeding! Your clothes are torn—oh my God, oh my God!"
He tried waving it off. "Calm down, calm down! I just got into a little fight with some thugs. They tried to… uh, run my pockets—I mean, rob me. But it's nothing, I took care of them."
His mother wasn't having it. "That doesn't matter! How many times have I told you not to get into fights?! You should've run!"
He looked away, expression bruised more than his body. Seeing that, her tone softened, and she sighed before stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug.
He hesitated at first, stiff as a board… then slowly hugged her back.
"Go clean up," she said softly. "Dinner will be ready soon."
He nodded and made his way upstairs, collapsing face-first onto the bed. After peeling off his ruined clothes, he dragged himself into the shower. The hot water stung like hell over his cuts, but it was worth it.
As he washed off the blood and dirt, his thoughts spiraled.
'Okay, so yeah… still weak as hell. But… I did it. I took out a curse spirit. That stone idea was risky, but it worked. I knew cursed energy could be transferred into objects… didn't think it'd work with rocks, though. Alright. New move: Deadly Rock Throw—'
He grimaced.
'No. Cringe. Desperate Rock Throw? Yeah, that's fitting. I was desperate.'
He chuckled at his own absurdity, finished rinsing off, then stepped out, patched himself up, and got into some warm clothes.
Downstairs, his father sat at the dinner table sipping from a cup.
"So…" he said casually. "You got into a fight?"
"Yeah. Some thugs tried to rob me."
"Did you win?"
"Uh… yeah?"
Silence.
A single tear rolled down his father's cheek. "My boy."
He blinked. 'What the hell is happening right now.'
His mother walked in, setting plates down as the family gathered to eat. They made small talk here and there, until his mom mentioned something that made him freeze mid-bite.
"There've been people disappearing lately. Without a trace. Last few weeks—always at night."
His grip tightened on his fork.
'Curses... It's gotta be curses. They're born from negative human emotions, so there shouldn't be that many—who the hell am I kidding? There's probably hundreds of the damn things. Bills. Rent. Social media. It's a breeding ground of misery.'
After dinner, he returned to his room and collapsed into bed.
"I just need a nice rest. And hopefully, after that cooking and dancing bullshit, I get something good tomorrow... Maybe infinite cursed energy…"
He paused.
"…No, that's dumb. That'd mean I'd need infinite control over it. Nope. I work hard, but not that hard."
He yawned, rolled over, and fell asleep.
The next morning, sunlight peeked through the blinds. He yawned, stretched, and sat up blearily.
[Daily Draw is now available. Would you like to draw?]
He blinked at the floating screen. "Yeah… sure… still tired…"
[Drawing initiated…][Congratulations! You have acquired: Batman's Fighting Skill (S+ Tier Passive Skill)!]
[Batman's Fighting Skill]: Mastery of over 127 martial arts, peak human physical conditioning, tactical genius. You are now the nightmare criminals fear in the dark.]
He froze. His eyes widened.
"…YEEEEESSSSS!!!"
Without hesitation, he started break dancing in the middle of his room like a man possessed—arms flailing, spins barely coordinated—but damn, he had rhythm.
After a minute, he stopped, panting.
"Okay. First and last time I'm using that ability. But Batman's fighting skills? Hell yeah. Not the best in the multiverse, but I'm not complaining. That solves my fighting problem. Even if I'm not super strong, I can at least hold my own against a Grade 4 curse. Maybe even Grade 3 or 2…"
He caught himself.
"Okay calm down—don't get cocky."
He got dressed, went downstairs, and greeted his parents at the breakfast table. His mom looked up from her coffee.
"What was all that screaming earlier?"
He paused.
"I just realized how great it is to live in such… a wonderful world like ours."
"…Okay…" she said slowly.
She asked what his plans were for the day.
"What everyone dreams of," he said, taking a bite of toast. "Absolutely nothing. I'm staying home, lazing on the couch, and watching TV."
And that's exactly what he did.