June had received 25 free radicals in rewards for escaping the dungeon, which he could use to increase any of his personal radicals. Then there were two five radicals bound to Will and Str and he had no control over them, so he told the voice in his head to place those where they were meant to go.

  His Strength soared immediately, jumping from 3 to 8. But when it came to Intelligence, the voice offered something new:

  [Notice: Radical Target = [INT] (Epithet State)]

  [Epithet Personal Radicals cannot be increased through standard distribution. Unique conditions must be met for advancement…]

  Apparently, not all radicals followed the same rules. Intelligence, Wisdom, and Willpower, when converted into Epithet-class stats, couldn’t be raised by simply spending points. They needed something else. Triggers. Conditions. Growth. He wondered if others would also follow this path. And then there was the other thing, the interconnection. Even though he hadn’t directly invested any radicals into Wisdom, his Wisdom had jumped from 1 to 7 just by improving his Intelligence. Dexterity and Luck had risen too. It seemed like everything was tied together in some deeper way, like a web.

  Move one string, and others shifted with it. June had considered investing more into Intelligence. It had changed him. Helped him become a new person. Helped him survive. But if he couldn’t upgrade it directly for now, then there was no point wasting radicals on something that wouldn’t budge.

  He had all night to think about it. And after turning it over again and again in his mind, he came to a conclusion.

  Survival comes first.

  If he couldn’t raise his Intelligence or Wisdom right now, he would invest in the attributes that gave him the highest chance of living through whatever came next.

  Strength—to fight back when running wasn’t an option.

  Dexterity—to move, react, dodge, escape.

  Vitality—for healing, endurance, and maybe resistance to whatever else these monsters threw at him.

  Charisma—he still had no idea what it actually did, but maybe it mattered when dealing with people… or things pretending to be people. Maybe, it was just all about good looks.

  Luck—completely unknown, but from what he’d seen, it couldn’t be raised with radicals anyway. Maybe some other mysterious way.

  Maybe books could help, he thought absently. Maybe stories. Maybe something with answers…

  Still, everything was connected. Raising the right stat might cause others to grow on their own. That much, he understood now. So finally, he made his choice. He invested 14 points into Strength, for a temporary but solid edge in raw combat and safety. That left him with 11. He spent 5 in Dexterity, raising it above 10. That felt like a good number, something reliable. Then another 5 into Vitality, so he wouldn’t go down from a single hit.

  That left 1 point, which he put into Charisma, just to see what happened. At the end of it all, he looked over his updated stats. Everything felt a little more even. A little more prepared. Not perfect, but enough to keep going.

  Thereafter, June fell asleep right where he sat, too exhausted to even crawl toward the broken table. His body refused to move, and his heart felt far too heavy after everything that had happened to even think about surveying the place. If he thought about it too much, he might’ve cried right then and there.

  The next morning arrived peacefully.

  When June opened his eyes, the silence around him felt endless. The air didn’t shift. The light didn’t change. For a moment, it felt like he was the only person left in this grey world.

  He stretched and paused. Looked down. His sleeves stopped short at his wrists. His shirt clung too tightly to his arms and chest. His pants barely reached his ankles. A cold, jolting realization hit him: he’d grown. Not just an inch or two. He had stretched three, maybe four, years' worth overnight. He jumped in place, checking his arms, his legs, the way his bones felt under his skin. He used to be short, barely past five feet—but now… his limbs were longer, heavier. Not clumsy or short anymore.

  Puberty? He’d never really reached it before. Maybe this was it, just compressed into one impossible night.

  Quickly, he brought up the information stored in his head.

  It surfaced like pages from a hidden diary, etched quietly behind his eyes.

  :::[June]:::

  Level: 6

  Class: [Unassigned]

  Titles: [Preserved], [No Place Home]

  [PERSONAL RADICALS]

  [STR] Strength: 22

  [DEX] Dexterity: 22

  [VIT] Vitality: 15

  [INT] Intelligence: (Thinker)

  [WIS] Wisdom: 7

  [WILL] Willpower: (Brave Heart)

  [CHA] Charisma: 13

  [LCK] Luck: 9

  [Skill]

  [STASIS LOCK]

  Generate a localized temporal stasis field (3m radius). Immune to target above [Level 12]

  Duration: 18 seconds.

  Cooldown: 10 seconds

  [Zone Effects Negation]

  Cannot receive buffs (but also cannot be debuffed)]

  [DEEP SLEEP] — Puts the user in a frozen recovery state for 12 hours.

  [PASSIVE CHARACTERISTIC]

  Cold-Tolerant I:

  Base resistance to cryo-environmental conditions and low temperatures.

  Cleansed Heart:

  Immune to “Decay,” “Rot,” “Fungal Infection.”

  Caretaker’s Gaze:

  You always know when something is watching you.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  MEMORY RELIC

  A Parting Gift: Knife(No special effects)

  [EXPERIENCE]

  Total EXP: +[146]

  Total Radical: +[5]+ WILL

  EXP Required for Level 7: 1529

  Indeed, when strength increased, it actually increased dexterity by half, which led to both reaching an equilibrium. But increase in strength actually followed over to vitality by adding 3 more radicals to original increase of 12, and charisma for some reason had risen to 13 instead of just eleven. And so is luck.

  Maybe an increase in these attributes overall affect my chance of survival so it directly means I'd have better luck overall…

  Still, as June looked at his overall physique, he used to be five something, now he was sure he had grown quite a few inches. He couldn't tell how much, perhaps I have really reached puberty… he mused, which he never hit despite being fourteen years old before.

  Leveling up does seem to have its benefits…

  However, next his stomach gurgled in hunger, his clothes were short and barely covered anything. He also needed to assess his overall ability to create a sort of judgment for himself for if he could escape a danger or fight it or not.

  After fifteen minutes, he took a last look over the orphanage house, burying memory deep in him like a bad dream and stepped outward.

  I need to wake up, he thought. I need to see the real Sister Margaret. I need to see Kevin…

  The thought alone nearly broke him. His chest tightened, and his eyes brimmed hot.

  He turned away quickly, strolling out of the orphanage. Thinking quietly that he finally knew he had people who loved him in this world. So he couldn’t possibly leave them disappointed and stuck here forever, in the refrigerator in back alley or dying there before anyone found him.

  There was a long, broken road stretched ahead of him, unfurling endlessly into the distance. The sky was still peeling itself away from the night, its gray light slow to bloom. Even the trees lining the roadside seemed sluggish, like they were waking late, unsure of whether the sun was worth rising for.

  Greenery was everywhere—overgrown, wild, unkempt. Moss clung to walls, vines cracked through the sides of old buildings, and tall weeds pushed through shattered concrete. Roads, storefronts, street signs—everything was slowly being swallowed by nature. Yet, for all this life, there was no sound of birds. No flapping wings. No scurrying feet in the underbrush.

  It felt... abandoned.

  The wind howled through the empty spaces between buildings, dragging across broken fences and rusted balconies. It howled not like it had somewhere to go, but as if it had forgotten how to move forward… lonely, wandering in circles. It sounded mad, like it had been without a song to carry for too long, and had lost itself in the silence.

  As June walked, it curled around him. Almost like it had found a companion. And it followed him.

  He was empty-handed. No bag. No supplies. Just the knife pressed against the side of his thigh, gripped loosely in his right hand through his too-tight pocket. It wasn’t much, and he didn’t really know how to use it in a real fight. He might piss himself before stabbing someone. He didn’t have the heart to hurt anything. But still, it felt good to hold. Maybe not as a weapon but as a warning. Something he could flash, something that said don’t come closer.

  The road stretched on, scattered with abandoned cars, some charred black, others rusted through. Buses, delivery vans, police cruisers parked at odd angles or crashed against light poles, their windshields shattered. A few buildings he passed were no better. Cracked, sagging, windows gaping like open mouths. Most were covered in old graffiti, but even the spray paint had faded into blurred ghosts of color.

  All of it made June feel small. Not just small, confused. Something massive had happened here. Something that didn’t just kill a city, but emptied it. Where were the people? Even if they'd died, where were their bodies? Had they run? Fled? Disappeared?

  There wasn’t a soul in sight.

  June tightened his grip on the knife and tried to steady his breathing. He had no answers. But at least he could make a list. He lived in a very small town called Perry with two main roads, so he thought of exploring surroundings a little. Also that way he could solve two of his immediate problems: food and proper clothes. I could worry about shelter later

  He only had to walk a little when he saw a sight of an abandoned gas station with a half-blasted gas sign at the entrance. June's lips curled up a little and he instantly rushed toward it. The glass front was already broken and it looked like it had been looted already.

  Just as his hand reached to touch the door handle, the voice in his head informed him.

  [VOICE IN HEAD]

  [You have entered: "Petrol Pump #A13–E (Decommissioned)"]

  [Tier I Micro-Dungeon]

  [Classification: Civilian Resource Dungeon Construct– Type: Service Station / Long Looted]

  Dungeon Status: Defunct – No Heart Detected

  Threat Level: Low

  Neutralized Core: [Attendant Echo: "Mister Fill-Up"]

  “Welcome, valued customer. All pumps are currently offline. Please remain in your vehicle and await assistance.”

  This is also designated as a dungeon? Albeit a dead one?

  June was surprised to learn that. What else could be considered a dungeon then? Was there a rule? A pattern? He didn’t know. But he let out a small sigh of relief all the same. If it was dead, and already looted, that meant he wouldn’t get stuck in another nightmare, no twisting halls or hungry furniture, no screaming shadows or strange echoes. If someone had already cleared it, then it was just a store now. Empty. Harmless.

  He figured it might have given him some XP, a few radicals, maybe even a skill just from stepping inside. But he didn’t care much about those right now.

  Inside, most of the store was trashed. Shelves knocked over. Broken coffee machine, main counter glass cracked and scattered like dried leaves. Most of the food was rotten, or had long since leaked into moldy puddles on the floor. But here and there, snacks still sat sealed in their packaging, chocolates, plastic-wrapped cakes, off-brand chips with faded labels. Unfortunately, there was no water. Still, he gathered everything useful he could find and brought it outside, then sat cross-legged on the warm concrete, tearing open a wrapper. The rising morning sun climbed higher, casting soft gold light across his face.

  He stared ahead at the gas pumps, chewing slowly. His long, overgrown hair reached his shoulders now, and even though he was covered in dust and grime, something about him didn’t look half-bad. Maybe that was the Charisma stat—thirteen points doing subtle work.

  Across the lot, cars sat abandoned, most in rough shape. But one stood out, sleek, red, and surprisingly clean. He tossed the wrapper aside and stood, brushing crumbs off his pants. His eyes stayed fixed on that car. It looked... well-kept. Or at least, intact. No cracks in the windows. No smashed lights. A little dirt, but no real damage. He didn’t know a thing about cars. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever sat in one. Maybe a bus, but those didn’t count. Still, this one looked nice.

  He really wanted to sit inside it. Maybe even learn to drive.

  In the old world—the real world—that would’ve never been an option. But here? In this strange dream place where his mind worked better and his body finally listened to him? Maybe it was possible. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn. Who knew if he’d ever get this chance again? So, acting on impulse, he jogged forward, excitement flickering in his chest. In just a few quick steps, he reached the car, eyes gleaming. He leaned in close, squinting at the paint, as if checking for scratches—but really, he just liked how shiny it was.

  Then, his hand immediately went on the main door handle.

  And a chill snapped through him, electric.

  The fine hairs on his arms stood up.

  [Hostile Entity: Car (Sentient)] – Dormant]

  [Type: Civilian Transport Shell]

  [Threat Level: Moderate]

  “Somebody left in a hurry. Or didn’t leave at all.”

  June froze.

  The car engine hissed and angrily roared to life.