Chapter 793: Overclocked Abilities[2]
Izan’s breath hitched at the message as he sat up straighter, pulling in a deep lungful of air as his body felt suddenly heavier, as if the room itself understood the gravity of what could’ve been.
He let out a long exhale, shaking his head with a half-smile that wasn’t quite amused.
"You really could’ve killed me."
The holographic panel hung in the darkness of the room, its pale blue light washing over his face as he mumbled to himself.
He leaned back into the coffee-bean couch, his mind running across the translucent bars of his physical stats.
Body Strength: 90
Stamina: 90
Strength: 90
Shot Power: 90
All sitting neatly at ninety, like a ceiling waiting to be broken.
Izan exhaled, long and heavy.
His chest rose and fell slowly as if even his lungs knew what was about to happen.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Take thirty. Ten each. Push them all to a hundred."
The words had barely left his lips when the numbers shifted, the glowing digits pulsing before snapping into place: 100, 100, 100, 100.
For a brief second, pride surged through him.
His frame had always been wiry but strong; now the stats reflected what he had felt in his bones for years.
But the victory was short-lived.
His eyes flicked to the corner of the screen.
Remaining: 37 stat points. 11 superpoints.
And then the reminder hit like a hammer: he still had to pay for the Overclock limit.
"Of course," Izan sighed, his head tilting back against the couch, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily.
"How much this time?" he asked with another sigh, knowing already it was going to be higher than the speed’s overclock limit, but the system’s voice came through, calmly.
[Overclock reinforcement of 3 Stats: 15 superpoints required. Five each.]
Izan’s lips twisted into a dry chuckle.
"Wow. Is the system being considerate? But these things are always just enough to bleed me dry."
Still, he had no choice.
With another sigh, he waved a hand over the conversion panel.
"Fine. Convert the thirty-seven stat points."
The system answered with a soft ping.
[Conversion complete: +7.4 superpoints added.]
His total rose to 18.4, stacked beside the remaining eleven.
He barely had a second to glance at the number before the system stripped fifteen away.
[Overclock procedure initiating.]
The words glowed in red this time, not blue, and his gut sank.
That wasn’t a good sign.
The first wave of pain was dull, like a tight squeeze over his muscles.
He gritted his teeth, head dipping forward, his knuckles white against his knees.
It was bearable.
He’d lived through worse just a few moments ago and, in broken ribs, tight hamstrings, that lingering groin strain from the FA Cup final.
But then it hit his chest.
It felt like a fist the size of the moon clamped around his heart and twisted.
Izan’s eyes bulged as he clutched at himself, collapsing sideways onto the carpet.
His breathing turned into wheezes, short and sharp, his throat refusing to open.
His body went rigid as if invisible chains bound him.
[Bodily functions sealed. Do not resist.]
His vision blurred, blotches of black encroaching from the corners of his eyes.
He couldn’t even scream.
Every nerve lit up at once, each heartbeat hammering like a drum about to tear itself apart.
For one terrifying moment, he was certain he’d black out.
Twice, his body begged to shut down. Twice, he nearly gave in.
But through the haze, the system’s voice threaded through his agony, steady and commanding.
[Hang on. The procedure is nearly complete.]
Hang on?
He wanted to laugh, but his chest was on fire.
Every cell in him begged for release, for oxygen, for anything other than the suffocating burn of his heart tearing itself open.
Seconds felt like minutes as minutes stretched into eternity.
And then—release.
Air punched back into his lungs like a tidal wave as he rolled onto his back, coughing, clawing at the carpet, dragging in breaths as though he’d been drowning.
Sweat drenched him from hairline to socks, his clothes clinging as though he’d just been pulled out of the sea.
His heart still raced, but the pain was fading, leaving behind only the echo of fire.
Above him, the holographic panel shifted.
[Body Strength: 101 → Overclock reinforced.]
[Stamina: 101 → Overclock reinforced.]
[Strength: 101 → Overclock reinforced.]
[Shot Power: 101 → Overclock reinforced.]
The words pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat as Izan dragged himself halfway upright, his hair sticking damp to his forehead.
He wanted to celebrate.
He wanted to feel proud.
Instead, he just sat there wheezing, chest heaving, lungs burning as though they’d been filled with glass.
"Fuck this," he rasped, voice hoarse and raw.
He didn’t even notice when his head slumped back against the couch cushion as his body simply gave up.
Darkness swam across his vision, and this time he didn’t fight it.
Consciousness slipped away, his last thought half-formed, half-sarcastic—what other surprises is this cursed system hiding?
Then everything went black.
...
The night had settled into a deep, heavy quiet by the time Olivia stirred awake.
The clock on the dresser blinked dimly: four hours past midnight.
She reached across the bed instinctively, hand brushing against cool sheets where Izan should have been.
But her brows only furrowed in a sleepy knot.
Izan was many things, but "slipping away in the middle of the night" wasn’t one of them.
She rolled over, her eyes drifting toward the bathroom.
The faint glow of the nightlight leaked out from under the door, casting a narrow stripe across the floor.
"...Izan?" she murmured, her voice rough with sleep, but no answer came.
Kicking off the duvet, Olivia padded barefoot across the room, her hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders.
She eased the bathroom door open and peered inside.
The sink was spotless, the counter empty, the soft hum of the fan breaking the silence.
But no Izan.
She stepped back out, glancing around as her stomach tugged with a flicker of worry.
"Izan?"
It was only then that her eyes landed on the other side of the bed.
There, sprawled across the carpet beside the coffee-bean couch, was Izan.
Relief washed through her first, loosening the knot in her chest, and then amusement quickly followed.
She pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh.
"Since when were you this restless in bed?"
Moving closer, she crouched beside him.
His chest rose and fell slowly, his face slack with exhaustion, as though he’d run a marathon in his sleep.
She nudged his shoulder lightly.
"Hey, superstar. You planning to sleep here now?"
But he gave no reaction.
He looked completely knocked out, dead to the world.
Her lips curved, mischief tugging at the corners.
She traced a slow, lazy swirl across his cheek with her fingertip, then let her hand drift into his long hair.
It slid easily between her fingers, silky and slightly damp with sweat.
She let her fingers play absentmindedly, combing little paths through the strands until a sudden idea brightened her tired expression.
She reached for her phone on the nearby table, unlocked it with a thumb swipe, and came back to squat over him.
The camera clicked softly once, twice, three times.
She tilted her head, biting her lip as she studied the pictures, scrolling with a critical eye.
Finally, she found one she loved: Izan’s features relaxed, almost angelic, his hair spilling across the carpet like a crown.
"Handsome," she whispered, unable to hold back her chuckle. "How did I get so lucky?"
Her grin turned sly, and she shook her head.
"No, he got lucky too. I mean, not everyone gets me as their mommy."
The word rolled off her tongue playfully, her tone a mix of teasing and fondness.
She tapped the screen, setting the photo as her new wallpaper before locking the phone again with satisfaction.
Glancing around, she spotted one of the extra covers folded neatly at the foot of the bed and tugged it free before carrying it over and laying it gently across Izan’s body.
But as she looked at him there on the floor, the idea of returning to the empty bed didn’t sit right.
Instead, she pushed him closer to the bean bag, easing his head so it rested at a more comfortable angle, then slipped down beside him.
The carpet was firm under her, but it didn’t matter.
She draped the blanket over both of them, tucking it around their shoulders.
Almost instantly, Izan stirred in his sleep.
His arm reached out on instinct, wrapping loosely around her waist, pulling her closer without a word.
Olivia let out a small, surprised laugh, her cheeks warming.
"You really do love me, huh?" she whispered, her voice soft and laced with affection.
Her expression softened as she studied his face up close, those lashes that always looked too long for a boy, the curve of his lips, the faint crease of exhaustion between his brows.
She let her hand rest over his, her thumb brushing the back of his knuckles, and within moments, her eyes grew heavy again.
Wrapped in the warmth of his unconscious embrace, Olivia allowed herself to drift off, her last thought a simple one: if he was down here, then so was she.
Bed or no bed, comfort or no comfort, she wasn’t leaving his side.
And together, on the floor beside the bean bag, they slept.