The rumble of the Skyline's engine slowly faded as Ryan parked in the building's underground garage.
He switched off the headlights and pulled the handbrake.
For a few seconds, he stayed there, head resting against the seat, staring at his own reflection in the rearview mirror. His expression was calm and indifferent—a sharp contrast to the face he had shown earlier in front of the girls with "complicated pasts" or the friends of his predecessor…
Faking emotions was easy for someone who had done it all his life.
But now, alone, there was no need for masks; he could allow himself to act the way he wanted.
He grabbed his backpack from the back seat and stepped out of the car, feeling the slightly cooler garage air touch his face.
The white ceiling lights flickered from time to time, and the distant sound of footsteps echoed somewhere. As he pressed the elevator button, Ryan leaned his shoulder against the wall, his gaze unfocused…
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. He stepped inside, resting against the metal wall as the panel indicated the slowly rising floors: 2… 3… 4…
On the 5th floor, the elevator stopped with a slight jolt. Ryan stepped into the silent hallway. He walked to the end, where a modern-looking door awaited. He turned the key, and the soft click of the lock echoed faintly.
As soon as he entered, silence greeted him.
He closed the door and walked calmly toward his bedroom.
Once inside, he tossed his backpack onto the bed and let out a long sigh.
The room was spacious and tidy, blending sobriety and modernity. The walls were a soft gray, contrasting with the dark wooden floor. A neatly made double bed, white sheets, and a thick gray quilt. Above the headboard hung a black-and-white autographed photograph of the band Kansas—something that had belonged to his father and which he inherited for also being a big fan of that rock band. A discreet shelf beside it held a few books, an old camera, and a pocket watch that seemed to have history behind it. Broad windows with sheer curtains allowed the sunset light to seep in, painting the room in a soft gold.
Ryan removed his overcoat, throwing it over the chair by the desk, and went to the bathroom.
The sound of running water soon filled the room.
Steam rose, fogging the mirror. He let the water fall over the back of his neck for several long minutes.
After the shower, he put on black sweatpants, a black hoodie over a simple T-shirt of the same color. The soft fabric brought immediate comfort. He dried his hair quickly with a towel, leaving it slightly messy, and left the bedroom.
The living room welcomed him with a warm, modern atmosphere. The space was wide and open, with large glass windows overlooking downtown Mystic Falls, the city lights beginning to shine, flickering in shades of orange and white. A light-beige couch dominated the space, accompanied by a dark wooden coffee table and a plush gray rug that added a touch of elegance. On the wall, a large, slim TV, and just below it, a shelf filled with books, records, and a small collection of old vinyls.
The soft glow of the light fixtures reflected off polished surfaces, and the distant sound of the city drifted in through the glass balcony.
Ryan dropped onto the couch, his body relaxing completely. He stretched, arms extended above his head, releasing a brief sigh of relief.
"Hah…" he exhaled, resting his head on the back of the couch. "It's been a while since I've felt… at home…"
Silence replied, broken only by the faint chirping of crickets and the wind outside.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then glanced sideways at the shimmering reflection of the city in the balcony glass. His mind was full of thoughts about the future—about what he would do in this world. There were so many desires, so many plans that a feeling of anticipation filled him completely. He felt excited just imagining what was to come.
Today was only the beginning of a life far more thrilling than the one he had left behind—that much he had no doubt about.
Still, the future wasn't the only thing on his mind. Even if it was the main reason for his anticipation, something else intrigued him: the strange fact that his "random past" in this new world seemed tailor-made for him. Everything fit together too perfectly, as if someone had crafted the ideal life according to his tastes and preferences. It became even more evident as the day went on.
He had never considered himself a lucky person. In fact, he despised the very concept. Luck, in his view, was just an excuse used by the weak to justify chance. So why did it suddenly seem to be smiling at him?
What was even more curious was that, in this new world, he not only lived close to the original cast of the series he once watched as a mere spectator, but he was also the center of attention for three incredibly attractive girls. During his teenage years, he had almost spent a night with all three at once—something that, back then, felt like nothing more than a bold dream of a hormone-fueled adolescent.
Now, however, a single look or smile was enough for them to fall under his charm. Honestly, he had no doubt he could sleep with Elena that very night—or if not her, Caroline would be a very solid second option.
As for Bonnie… she would be a bit harder. She was a pure-natured girl, someone who, as far as he knew, had never slept with any man. During that night of "truth or dare," he had been her only experience and, in a way, that only made the idea of winning her over even more tempting.
But he was thinking too much about this.
And if there was one thing that always worked when thoughts began to pile up, it was training. At least, it worked when he was still in the army, in his past life.
He stood up slowly, stretching his shoulders, and walked to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before heading toward the elevator.
The entire building was enveloped in near-absolute silence. The corridor lights remained on, but the absence of voices or footsteps made the place feel almost intentionally isolated.
After all, the building was his.
Or rather, it belonged to his family.
Ryan had inherited the building from his parents.
Originally, they intended to rent it out, but never did. Maybe because it was too large for the size of the town, or maybe because, deep down, they wanted him to have a place of his own, away from everything.
Now, only the top floor—the penthouse—was occupied.
The rest was empty.
When the elevator stopped on the fourth floor, the doors opened with a low hiss. Ryan stepped out and turned on the lights.
The space was large and open, without partitions—an entire floor designed to be transformed into something, a gym, a hall, or whatever else. But he kept it as it was: clean concrete, white walls, wide windows with the curtains drawn back.
His footsteps echoed until they faded.
He set the bottle on the floor, pushed his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows, and stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath.
He raised his right hand, slowly spreading his fingers, and in the next instant, a dark, dense crimson aura began to form around it. The air around him vibrated almost imperceptibly, as if the atmosphere itself rejected the presence of that energy.
[Cursed Energy] flowed naturally, running like living blood beneath his skin.
Ryan watched the phenomenon closely.
From what he knew, proper emotional control was the key to channeling [Cursed Energy]. Another important point was that most people who became sorcerers and learned to wield this energy believed it needed to flow from a specific point in the body. Instinctively, many assumed cursed energy began from negative feelings stored in the stomach and then spread throughout the body.
However, this fragmented view slowed the energy flow. To truly understand the cycle of [Cursed Energy], one had to exist in the world with mind, body, and soul acting as one—a complete unit.
Fortunately, he didn't need to worry about the mechanics. Almost all of the control he possessed over [Cursed Energy] was inherited from the King of Curses himself. Technically, only Satoru Gojo surpassed the King in this aspect, since the "Divided Into Two" possessed the [Six Eyes], which granted perfect energy control. It was stated in the manga that without the [Six Eyes], even Satoru Gojo would not match the King of Curses in cursed-energy manipulation.
And he could feel it firsthand—the flow of his [Cursed Energy] responded to his will with absolute obedience.
He rotated his wrist, channeling the energy and reinforcing his body.
With a sharp movement, he struck the air.
The blow sliced through it with a dry, deep crack. The pressure created by his punch slammed into the empty concrete ahead, lifting a cloud of dust that spread across the floor, dancing under the artificial light.
Ryan remained steady, feet firmly planted.
Through [Cursed Energy Reinforcement], a person can significantly enhance their physical abilities. Defensively, users can coat their skin with cursed energy, toughening the body and increasing the ability to block curse-related attacks.
The same technique can be used offensively, imbuing physical strikes with cursed energy to make them superhuman. For example, in the Jujutsu manga, Aoi Todo managed to crush a curse, several trees, and even breach Yuji's defense with a single cursed-infused punch. Despite being physically weaker, Yuta compensated by reinforcing his body with cursed energy, allowing him to throw a car back at Yuji.
Conventional weapons can also be imbued with cursed energy to increase their power. However, infusing large amounts at once can damage or even destroy the equipment. For this reason, sorcerers typically imbue only small amounts at a time. By applying moderate amounts over time, an ordinary weapon can be turned into a powerful cursed tool.
He directed the energy toward his legs, shaping the reinforcement with precision.
Then he moved.
The first step was a blur. The sharp thud of his foot hitting the concrete echoed through the room like a muffled gunshot. In less than a second, Ryan crossed half the hall. The air cracked behind him, leaving a trail of wind and dust.
He returned to his starting point and repeated the movement, this time reinforcing his torso and arms as well to balance the force.
In a fraction of a second, he vanished from the center of the hall and reappeared near the windows.
His reflection in the glass appeared for an instant: red-gray eyes gleaming in the dim light, the air around him trembling under the pressure of a dark-crimson aura.
He paused for a moment and drew the [Cursed Energy] back inside. Slowly, his eyes returned to their original color.
A faint smile curved his lips as he noticed that peculiarity…
Setting that aside, Ryan resumed training. He adjusted the energy flow within his body, redirecting reinforcement in microcircuits—a technique used only by high-level sorcerers to prevent energy waste.
The result was immediate: his body began to move with an almost unnatural fluidity.
This time, he dashed in zigzag patterns, disappearing and reappearing in different parts of the hall like a specter.
He experimented with various combinations: instant-strike reinforcement, lateral bursts, reverse movements, even short propulsion jumps. Every action was precise—reflecting a soldier accustomed to training in silence.
The following hours dragged on with steady, intense rhythm.
He alternated between body reinforcement and fine control, testing the circulation speed of the energy through his muscles, the impact of his blows, and the recovery time. Strikes, dodges, movements, flow variations…
Two hours later, Ryan finally stopped.
It was almost 7:30 p.m., and unfortunately, he needed to end his training.
"Time to socialize a bit," he murmured to himself, lightly bored.
He deactivated the flow completely and walked to the elevator. He ascended back to the penthouse calmly.
Entering the apartment, he headed straight to the bedroom, removed his hoodie, and tossed it onto the chair. He picked up his phone from the desk; the screen lit up with a sequence of notifications.
Messages from Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline.
Elena was asking if he was going to Mystic Grill as promised and whether that ride they'd agreed on earlier was still happening.
Bonnie had sent a simple "you coming today?" followed by a curious emoji.
Caroline had left a short, energetic voice message mentioning an "unmissable night."
Ryan read them all with an amused smile.
He typed casual replies:
To Elena: "Sure. I'll be there in fifteen."
To Bonnie: "Probably. Don't disappear before I arrive."
To Caroline: "I'll stop by, but don't drag me to dance."
He locked the phone and set it on the table.
Then he moved to the mirror, fixing his still-slightly damp hair, and opened the wardrobe. He chose a black, high-collar shirt, tight enough to highlight his physique without looking forced. Over it, he put on a modern, long-cut black overcoat, the lightweight matte fabric flowing smoothly with every step.
His slim-fit dark pants stood out only for their precise stitching. On his feet, polished black leather boots reflected the light just right, completing the outfit. No excessive accessories: only a matte-black watch on his left wrist and a silver ring on his right index finger—subtle, yet enough to draw attention in a refined way.
Fully dressed, he grabbed his wallet and phone before leaving the apartment and heading down to the garage.
__________________________
(A/N: Everyone, I wanted to clarify a few doubts that have been appearing in the comments.
First: no, my story was not written using Artificial Intelligence. I've been writing for many years — it's honestly my hobby and my passion. I know that nowadays a lot of people use AI for everything, so the question naturally comes up, but that's not the case here.
And about the argument, "oh, but he's posting six stories at once, how is that possible?". Man… most of these stories I've been writing for months already. Many of them were on my Patreon, completed or nearly completed, and I only decided to bring them here to Webnovel now. So there's nothing miraculous about it — just planning and accumulated writing time.
Another thing I've seen readers mention: "oh, it's full of details", "oh, the text is too verbose". What I can say is… I'm sorry for having developed this style. When I started, back then, writing a Percy Jackson fanfic on Spirit Fanfics, everyone criticized my lack of detail, the absence of emotion, weak dialogue, and said my writing sounded robotic.
I spent YEARS trying to improve that — it wasn't easy. I tested styles, changed a lot, experimented with different techniques. I still study, I still make mistakes, and I'm still trying to evolve. So yes, sometimes I exaggerate on the details; sometimes I describe too much. It's part of my growth process as a writer.
Sorry for the small rant, but I wanted to be honest with you all.
In the end, constructive criticism is always welcome, and toxic criticism is something I simply ignore. And truly, thank you for all your support. Every comment, every view, every person who follows my work — all of it means a lot to me.
Did you enjoy the chapter? Then you should know that over on my Patreon you can read up to 10 chapters ahead for just 5USD! And yes—for that price, you also get full access to all of my content. That's right: cheaper than a snack… and with way more drama, action, and guaranteed emotional damage.
The link is right below. See you there!
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Thank you so much for your support — you make all of this worthwhile.)