The apartment smelled like boiled roots and dust. It always did after disappointment.

  Morning light filtered weakly through the kitchen shutters, catching on motes of flour and steam as my mother stirred her tea. Across the table, my father read the same city bulletin he read every morning, pretending not to glance at me. His silence was louder than any insult.

  No one mentioned yesterday. No one had to.

  There was no celebration. No proud laughter. No congratulations over fresh bread and too-sweet jam. Just the quiet clink of a spoon against porcelain and the quiet, efficient mourning of dreams that had never really been alive.

  “You should apply today,” my mother said softly, as if she were offering me a second chance instead of a cage. “The clerk’s guild is accepting apprentices. Filing, mostly. Data inputs. It’s respectable work.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to obey. My throat felt dry, my limbs heavy. There were no windows open, yet the air in the room felt thinner than it had last night.

  “Your father spoke with a man from the archives,” she continued, as though she hadn’t noticed. “He said you might even be able to work your way up—handling requests, maybe managing records. It’s safe. Good hours.”

  Safe. That word again.

  “Not everyone needs to chase danger,” she added after a pause. “You’ve always been… careful. That can be a strength too.”

  My father nodded, still not looking up. “Better a desk and a pension than a grave before thirty.”

  I offered another nod, folding the bread on my plate in half and pretending to chew.

  It wasn’t that they didn’t love me. They did, in the same way people love a favorite vase that’s cracked—delicately, with caution, and a quiet wish it had held together just a little longer.

  The worst part? They weren’t even wrong.

  The world wasn’t kind to those with no stats. Guilds didn’t train you. Dungeons didn’t forgive you. The strong got stronger, and the weak got assigned a desk and a list of things not to touch.

  I spent the rest of the day in my room, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling like the answers were written there in cracks. I could still feel the system’s whisper from yesterday etched in my bones.

  [Hidden Trait: Mirror Core]

  [You may copy any skill by touching the user]

  [Stat requirements: Ignored]

  It sounded fake. Too good to be true. But it hadn’t felt fake. It had felt like a door creaking open.

  I waited until the sun had dropped low, just brushing the rooftops, before moving. The floorboards creaked under my heel as I stood. I hesitated at the door, listening. My parents were in the other room—murmuring quietly, the way people do when they don’t want to be overheard by their own disappointment.

  I reached for the window instead, It was old but not loud. I eased it open, slipped out, and lowered myself into the alley below with a grace I didn’t know I had. The air outside tasted like soot and freedom.

  No destination. No plan.

  Just a burning need to prove that yesterday hadn’t been a fluke.

  .

  .

  By the time the city bells chimed the seventh hour, I was already three streets away from home, moving like a ghost through the thinning fog. My sleeves were rolled to my elbows, my hood pulled low, and a dull ache curled beneath my ribs—the kind that comes from lying too long about what you truly want.

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  I didn’t take the main road. Too many early-rising merchants and guards. Instead, I cut through the old guild stables, hopped a broken fence, and made my way to the southern perimeter of the Training Quarter, where the earth turned hard and the sky opened wide.

  The practice grounds lay ahead, carved into broad rings of flattened stone and dirt, each bordered by shimmering arcane walls. By midday, they’d be packed. But now, only a handful of early elites had arrived, their mana flaring like sunspots as they warmed up with drills, forms, and elemental bursts of arrogance.

  I stayed to the shadows, watching. Waiting.

  And then I saw him.

  Karris Flameborn, golden child of the Emberhold Guild, stood at the center of ring three, radiating smugness and fire in equal measure. His cloak was stitched with emberthread, and his gauntlets glowed faintly with overcharged runes. The boy moved like he thought the wind owed him rent.

  His opponent—a trainee I didn’t recognize—charged recklessly, sword lifted high but Karris didn’t flinch. He just turned his palm with theatrical grace, fingers dancing like a conjurer’s, and released a coiled torrent of flame that spun through the air in a spiraling arc of heat and fury.

  The other boy didn’t even last three seconds, the spell slammed into his shield and sent him skidding backward in a cloud of dust, and ended the match before anyone could blink twice.

  The watching crowd cheered. A few laughed and Karris bowed like he’d just saved the realm.

  I ignored them all and moved, not towards the crowd but Toward the edge of the ring. Careful. Slow. A leaf on the wind. I timed my steps with the movement of others, weaving through the shifting wall of uniforms and excited chatter until I was just close enough.

  One brush. That was all I needed.

  I slipped forward, tripping on purpose, shoulder clipping the edge of Karris’s heavy cloak just as he turned to receive more praise.

  “Watch it,” he snapped, glaring down at me with the disdain of someone who considered accidents beneath him.

  I murmured a quick apology, and retreated quickly.

  [Mirror Core: Contact confirmed.]

  [Skill Copying Initiated…]

  [Skill Acquired: Flamecoil Burst (Lv. 1)]

  [Cooldown: 6:00:00]

  The system’s voice slid through my skull like a ripple through still water.

  It had worked.

  I felt it immediately. The air shimmered around me. Something stirred in my fingertips, hot and unstable. It was like holding a match to my own pulse. My mana—thin as it was—rushed toward the foreign shape inside me, unsure whether to feed it or run from it.

  I stumbled out of the ring before anyone could notice my grin, then ducked behind the old blacksmith shed near the edge of the practice fields—half-buried in overgrown weeds and abandoned scrap. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was out of sight.

  I had no idea what I was doing.

  I raised my hand but Nothing happened.

  I forced myself to breathe. Inhaled the memory of Karris’s motion. Recalled the rhythm. The confidence. The stupid, arrogant tilt of his chin.

  My hand trembled as I raised it again, the copied magic coiled beneath my skin like something alive. It pulsed in my veins, sharp and hot, impatient.

  “Flamecoil Burst.” And the magic ignited.

  It didn’t hum or spark—it howled. Fire surged from my palm in a burning spiral, wild and raw, twisting through the air like a serpent that didn’t know who it belonged to. It slammed into the wooden dummy across from me—but I hadn’t aimed properly, hadn’t braced for the kickback.

  The flame ricocheted. It struck a rusted barrel behind me and detonated with a deep, bone-jarring thud. Shrapnel and ash exploded outward and My right sleeve caught fire.

  I screamed and dove into the dirt, rolling like a lunatic across the ground as flame licked up my arm. My cloak caught next. I tore it off in a frenzy, smothering the fire with both hands.

  When the smoke cleared, I was coughing hard, half-covered in soot and dirt, and missing one entire sleeve. My forearm was red and raw, but not blistered. It could’ve been worse.

  [Warning: Mana Output Exceeded Safe Thresholds]

  [Stat Compatibility: 1/10 – Spell unstable]

  [Recommendation: Use with extreme caution.]

  I collapsed backward, staring at the cloud-washed sky.

  I had done it.

  I’d actually done it.

  I had copied a real spell—a high-tier, guild-certified, fire-type battle spell—and cast it. With no stats. No elemental affinity. No class. Nothing but desperation and a half-insane idea.

  And yeah, I’d nearly barbecued myself in the process But it worked.

  The system hadn’t lied. The Mirror Core was real. And with it, I could take anything.

  I sat up slowly, nursing my arm and brushing ash from my hair. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t fast. I wasn’t even particularly smart. But now I had something that didn’t require those things. Something no one else had.

  [Mirror Core Active]

  [Next Copy Available In: 5:57:11]

  And when I burned through every lie they ever told me about what I was worth—

  I’d make sure they remembered who struck the first spark.