On my 365th day delivering food, my phone got infected with a virus.
Every time I completed an order, a notification popped up automatically: Congratulations, you've unlocked a new ability.
Deliver braised chicken rice, unlock dynamic vision. Deliver milk tea, unlock danger prediction. Deliver a 68-yuan grilled fish, and I get a combat-grade supernatural ability.
I was secretly thrilled: the higher the order total, the stronger the ability, and the first order every day guaranteed a level-up.
Then someone claiming to be from the “Abnormal Events Response Bureau” stopped me in my tracks.
Three sentences were all it took to leave me speechless:
First, people with supernatural abilities had always existed in this world. My brain had simply been modified so that whenever I saw one, I'd automatically assume I was watching “a movie” or “a gas explosion.”
Second, the thing on my phone was a fragment of an ancient divine artifact. It had escaped from a secret national laboratory, and there were seven fragments in total. I was one-seventh of the whole.
Third, they weren't the only ones watching me. The great clans wanted to recruit me, extremist groups wanted to dissect me for research, and a traitor inside the Abnormal Events Bureau had already deleted my surveillance footage. They weren't protecting me. They were planning to bundle me up and ship me off when the time was right.
Everyone was treating me like a chess piece.
Fine.
I'd keep delivering food. You make your plans, I'll stack my skills. You test me, I'll take notes.
When the day came to flip the table...
My skill bar should be completely full by then.
