Daniel Kim had settled into my favorite chair with the air of someone who had been paying its mortgage. He lounged back, casually crossing one leg over the other, methodically destroying a pizza straight from the cardboard box resting on his lap. In his other hand, he held a sweating can of cola. And this was my handler? The man my future now depended on? So far, he inspired anything but respect.
I recognized him instantly. The same features as in the photos online: a typical Korean American, with sharp yet pleasant facial features. Our eyes met, and for a moment, silence hung in the room, both of us doing the exact same thing, scanning each other, trying to figure out who we were dealing with.
What could I tell about him at first glance? Danny looked like he had just stepped off the cover of a surfing magazine. A deep golden tan, well-defined muscles clearly visible beneath the thin fabric of a white tank top. Short shorts, a cap worn slightly sideways, scuffed sneakers. Completing the look was a scratched skateboard leaning against the wall in the hallway. A real "beach boy." I would not have been surprised in the slightest if he suddenly jumped up, threw up the horns, and yelled something stupid like "Cowabunga!"
"You're Tom Ross?" he asked, a hint of doubt in his voice, as if he'd expected someone else.
"Yes, that's me," I replied in the most even tone I could manage.
I walked further into the room and sat down on the couch next to Mom. She was sitting stiffly, clutching a cup of tea in her hands, long since gone cold.
"Is there any reason for the doubt?" I added, looking him straight in the eye.
"Not really," Danny narrowed his eyes, "you look exactly like your file photo. Your luggage just threw me off."
He gave a meaningful nod toward the door, where I had dropped my gym bag. The edge of a tracksuit was visible through the half-open zipper.
"There wasn't a word in your file about you being a regular at the gym."
"I only started today," I cut him off.
A fleeting sense of relief stirred inside me. Thank god I had the sense to take a shower right in the locker room at the gym, otherwise this small room would have been filled with the thick smell of sweat, completely destroying what little confidence I had left.
"So you've already put together a file on me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Three days ago," he waved his free hand carelessly, almost spilling the cola. "But don't take it personally, Tom. These days they open files on every awakened the moment the system flags them. Nothing personal, just bureaucracy. As you've probably guessed, I'm your official handler, Daniel Kim. But let's skip the formalities, just call me Danny. I'm here to bring you up to speed and explain what your profession looks like now. You got the text about my visit?"
"Yes, I got it," I confirmed.
I could feel a dull irritation and tension building inside me. I expected the usual lecture to start any second, something straight out of a strict teacher's playbook: why I was not home, why I made an important person wait, why I was not showing proper respect...
"Good, that means less paperwork," Danny, contrary to my expectations, didn't even think about getting angry. He took another eager bite of pizza, smearing his fingers with grease. "There's an official order with stamps lying on the table if you feel like reading it. Though I usually let parents go through that kind of paperwork, it makes them feel better."
I glanced at Mom. She gave a barely noticeable nod, apparently she had already studied the document inside and out. I reached out, took the sheet of paper that smelled of fresh ink, and skimmed through it. I already had experience dealing with government paperwork, so I quickly filtered out the legal fluff. The gist was simple: Kim's full details, a bunch of identification numbers, and confirmation that he was assigned to me as my handler for three months. By law, he was required to supervise me and coordinate my actions.
"Want a cola?" Danny deftly pulled a fresh can from the cardboard pack and held it out to me. "I've got a strategic reserve here."
At that moment, a translucent interface window popped up before my eyes:
[Trainer Analysis: The familiar's blood glucose level is sufficient. Consumption of high sugar beverages is inadvisable and harmful for the current metabolism. Refusal is recommended.]
"I don't drink cola," I said shortly.
Danny deflated instantly. His face fell, and his enthusiasm faded as if I had just slapped him. He looked like I had not refused a soda, but his sincere friendship.
I shifted my gaze to the open box. Inside was a classic pizza with chicken and pineapple. The smell of garlic sauce and baked cheese was heavenly, especially after an exhausting workout.
[Trainer Analysis: The food item contains an optimal ratio of calories, proteins, and essential nutrients. Consumption is strongly recommended to accelerate muscle fiber regeneration and replenish energy deficit after physical exertion.]
"I don't drink cola, but I won't say no to pizza," I corrected myself.
You should have seen how Danny transformed. He practically lit up, his eyes sparkling again, a wide smile spreading across his face.
"Mom, could you bring me a glass of milk, please?" I asked.
"Of course, dear," she stood up from the couch and headed toward the kitchen, but suddenly froze in the doorway. Turning back, she gave us a strict, almost suspicious look over her glasses. "Deal: don't discuss anything important without me. I'll be right back!"
As soon as she disappeared behind the door, a heavy, almost tangible silence settled in the room. We sat across from each other, and the pause stretched, becoming genuinely awkward.
"Hey, Tom..." Danny finally muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "do you watch the World Cup final?"
"No."
Now the awkwardness became unbearable. I honestly did not understand what he was trying to do. According to every protocol, he should have read me my rights and obligations, handed over a schedule of inspections, and left. A dry tone, military posture, that I would understand. But this pizza, these attempts to start a conversation about sports... it felt like he was trying way too hard to become my best friend. That made me far more uneasy than if a stern general in the Pentagon had called me in and started giving orders in a steel voice.
Soon Mom returned, carrying a glass of cold milk. Right now, it was the best drink in the world. I started eating, washing down the pizza with milk, not taking my eyes off my handler. My gaze showed maximum focus, I was letting him know I was ready to listen.
"Tom," Danny finally set the box aside and grew serious. "Before you came, I was trying to explain the situation with the army to Mrs. Ross. Unfortunately, I can't exempt you from service."
"I still don't understand why!" Mom adjusted her glasses with a sharp, nervous motion. "My son isn't a soldier. He's never held a weapon, he can't shoot, and he's certainly not a killer. Why do you need him there? What's he supposed to do on the front line?"
"Mrs. Ross, it's much more complicated than it seems at first glance," Danny took a long sip of cola, clearly choosing his words carefully, trying not to say too much. "I'm not authorized to disclose details of what happens inside the portals to civilians. But believe me, they need more than just people who can pull a trigger. Right now, all awakened individuals and their abilities are under special state supervision. Every ability is a resource."
"What use is that kind of ability in combat?" Mom threw her hands up. "Tom can just build muscle faster. And then what? I read online that half of those who enter a portal never come back! Can one person really change that?"
"So, building muscles, right?" Danny suddenly went still. His gaze, which had been wandering around the room, locked onto me, turning sharp and cold. "Is that all you can do, Tom?"
The question sounded strange. There was a catch in it, a hidden test. Did he know the true nature of my ability? Or was he bluffing, trying to provoke me into revealing something? Should I lay my cards on the table in front of someone I had just met for the first time?
I decided to stick to a half truth. If anything, I could always blame it on inexperience and not fully understanding my own power.
"It's a bit more complicated than just rapid bicep growth," I began, carefully weighing every word. "Let's put it this way: I have the ability to reach an extreme level of focus on a specific process. That allows me to accelerate it and significantly improve the final quality."
"Examples?" Danny reacted instantly. It seemed like he'd even stopped breathing.
"Yesterday I fully focused on my work. As a result, I finished it several times faster than usual without making a single mistake. Today I applied the same level of concentration to my training at the gym. That allowed me to perform exercises with perfect technique, the kind people spend years refining."
"Interesting... very interesting," Danny slowly reached for a second pizza box, but his eyes were still drilling into me. "You know, Tom, I think you still don't realize your own potential. I believe you're capable of much more than just high quality work."
"And what makes you think that?" I took a long drink of milk, feeling the pleasant coolness calm not just my throat, but my racing thoughts. "Have you encountered something like this before? Someone with the same kind of... concentration?"
"Exactly like this, no," Danny shook his head, the brim of his cap briefly casting a shadow over his eyes. "But your file clearly states: weak level of control over consciousness and physiology. I'm almost certain, Tom, that you haven't even touched the true potential of your ability yet. You're seeing the tip of the iceberg, and beneath the water there's an entire mass."
I froze with the glass in my hand. The words about my file hit harder than the news about the draft.
"My file?" I did not even try to hide my shock. "Wait, where did it even come from? I just awakened, I didn't fill out any forms, didn't take any tests, didn't show anything to anyone. How do you have details about my ability?"
Danny stopped chewing for a moment and looked at me with a faint sympathy, the kind a high schooler gives a kid when explaining that Santa is not real.
"The state has its methods, Tom. Let's put it this way: there's a system of remote analysis for all awakened within the coverage area of government satellites and towers. How exactly it works, I can't tell you even if I wanted to. State secret, top secret classification, all that."
The kind of information that makes your skin crawl. So they had not just learned about me, they had literally scanned me like a product at checkout. But there was a reassuring detail: judging by Danny's vague wording, they did not see the specifics. Only general indicators, energy signature or something along those lines. The Trainer system and my interface were probably unnoticed. I would need to think this through in silence. Very carefully.
"And what is your superpower, Mr. Kim?" Mom spoke up. She was still sitting on the edge of the couch, straight as a rod, shifting her gaze between me and our guest.
"I told you, just Danny is fine. 'Mr. Kim' makes my teeth hurt, honestly," he smiled openly, set the cola aside, and opened his palm. "Mine is pretty straightforward. Generation and control of thermal flows. In simple terms, fire."
A tiny flame ignited in the center of his palm, right on clean skin. It did not burn, only gave off a soft orange glow. Before my eyes, the flame began to transform, taking on clear shapes. A second later, two miniature fiery figures appeared on his palm, a man and a woman. They moved with incredible grace, spinning in a slow, silent waltz. The flame licked the air, sketching out the details of a dress and a suit, then, with a snap of his fingers, it scattered into sparks and vanished without even leaving the smell of smoke.
"Now that's what I call a real power!" Mom exclaimed involuntarily, her voice laced with genuine admiration mixed with fear. "With flames like that, the army is exactly where you belong. And my son? What's he supposed to do there with his concentration? Keep accounting records in a trench under fire?"
Danny sighed. His face briefly sagged, showing the fatigue of someone repeating the same truth for the hundredth time.
"Mrs. Ross, the rules of the game have changed for everyone. All awakened are required to defend the country, whether they like it or not. The alternative, unfortunately, is only one: a federal prison for a special category of citizens. And believe me, compared to that place, the portals will seem like a resort," he turned back to me. "Tom, do you have any specific questions for me? To the point?"
I set the empty glass on the table. "Yes. How much am I going to be paid for this risk?"
"Oh," Danny visibly perked up, as if I'd finally touched on his favorite topic. He reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out a wrinkled notebook and a pen. "This is the most pleasant part of an awakened life. Let me break it down for you clearly."
He started jotting down numbers quickly, and the more he wrote, the wider my mom's eyes became. According to his notes, the structure was as follows: a monthly stipend for loyalty, twenty thousand dollars. Just for existing and staying in reserve. For each sanctioned portal run, an additional fifty thousand. In case I did not return from a portal, the family would receive a one time payment of one hundred thousand.
"I'm not sure I understand the monthly payments," Mom adjusted her glasses with a trembling hand, rereading the notebook. "Tom doesn't have to go to an office every day? This money, they just pay it like that?"
"Exactly," Danny grinned, showing even white teeth. "Isn't that great?"
"In my best working years I earned less in a whole year than he'll get in a month just sitting at home!" she looked completely bewildered.
"That's the point, Mrs. Ross. The state assesses risks. It considers it much cheaper and safer to shower awakened with money than to chase them later when they try to earn the same amounts somewhere else."
"Crime?" I asked shortly, catching the implication.
"Something like that," Kim replied evasively, avoiding my gaze. "Why rob banks if the bank sends you checks on its own?"
"And what exactly are we supposed to do in the portals?" I pressed on.
"Sorry, Tom, I can't go into that. I'm not allowed to disclose it in front of a civilian," he cast a quick glance at Mom. "Wait for training, they'll explain everything, show safety procedures and tactics."
"And how often..." I hesitated, choosing my words, "how often do people die there? Really?"
"I won't lie to you or paint rainbow ponies. Failures happen. In the past, half a platoon or more could die. But that was a long time ago," he gave a meaningful look at Mom, who snorted. "Over time we adapted, improved, now the losses are below ten percent."
"But they still exist!" Mom finished stubbornly.
"It's not that bad if you have a good head on your shoulders," Danny was looking only at me. "Just look at me: I've been running through portals for eight years already. And as you can see, I'm still alive, doing great, and riding my skateboard every weekend."
I did a quick calculation in my head. If he was twenty two now, that meant he had been in this war since fourteen? A chill ran down my spine. Sitting in front of me was not just a cheerful guy with a skateboard, but a real veteran who had spent almost a decade in combat. His carefree attitude suddenly felt like a very well made mask.
"Yeah, the job is risky, I won't hide that," Danny grew more serious, his voice gaining firmness. "But that's exactly why it's valued so highly. Besides, those are just the base numbers. You can earn much more."
I nodded with interest. Honestly, the only thing warming me up to this whole service idea so far was the financial side. Patriotism had not kicked in, and the atmosphere of secrecy and half answers was more irritating than intriguing. It all reminded me too much of my attempts to find a job online after college: managers in cheap suits talking about grand goals and financial empires, while in reality you ended up pushing cheap junk onto gullible old ladies.
"For every rank promotion, all the numbers on my list go up by ten thousand," Danny continued, scribbling in the notebook again. "What I wrote down now is the cadet pay. Then you become a junior sergeant, then a senior one. Every stripe means a bigger check."
"What rank are you right now, Danny?"
"Captain," he winked at me cheerfully.
I quickly estimated his income. It came out to nearly a hundred thousand a month, just enjoying life between missions. Impressive. Very impressive.
"And what does it take to get promoted? Besides not dying?"
"Oh, a lot of factors. Experience, years of service, special achievements, education..." he suddenly froze, a spark of realization flashing across his face. "Wait, I read in your file that you've already got a higher education! That's a huge advantage. Of course, it would be better if it were military, but accounting works too. With a degree, you're eligible for a promotion right after finishing the training course."
At first I smiled involuntarily, but the excitement faded quickly. A sergeant at thirty two? While I would be learning the basics, awakened peers who started at fourteen would already be sitting in headquarters with colonel ranks.
"By the way, Tom, you actually got lucky with your awakening timing!" Kim added.
"In what way?" I asked skeptically, because I strongly disagreed.
"Well, for example, I don't have a higher education. And there's simply no time to get one now, you understand, saving the world, closing portals," he smirked. "But the trick is that the enlistment office values any documents, any certificates and achievements, even if they seem insignificant. There was this guy in my training, fifteen years old. Before awakening, he was some kind of advanced scout. He had a whole stack of badges for wilderness survival and for being able to start a fire from wet branches. And you know what? He was given the rank of junior sergeant for those achievements even before he finished training!"
I felt something click inside me.
"So... for any official achievements related to discipline, survival, or sports, you can get a rank externally? Right from the start?"
"Exactly!" Danny slapped his knee with excitement. "If I'd known that back in middle school, I would've signed up for something like taekwondo and pushed myself to the limit just to get a black belt. Maybe I'd be a major by now... There's no time for that anymore. But you're already an adult, Tom. You must've accumulated some achievements. Dig through your storage and bring every little award to the enlistment office. Maybe they won't give you a rank, but your life in the army will be better, I promise."
In reality, I barely attended extracurriculars as a kid and had no certificates, but...
A strategy began to take shape in my mind. I had three months before the official draft. And I had an ability for perfect concentration that allowed me to master skills dozens of times faster than a normal person.
Looks like it was time to start collecting achievements.