Marvel: Shadow Thief "Solo Levelling System in Marvel"

Dawn passed unnoticed by Maximus until the sound of a loud "cough… cough… cough…" abruptly woke him in the morning. He opened his eyes, confused by the noise coming from the first floor. The coughing was harsh and persistent, almost as if his mother was struggling to breathe. Alarmed, he quickly got up and rushed toward the source of the sound.

When he reached the living room, he saw his mother on the floor, surrounded by the wheelchair she spent most of her days in. She was coughing so violently that her whole body shook. She had fallen while trying to get to the kitchen, as she always did. That cursed step leading to the kitchen needed to be replaced.

Maximus's body moved instinctively. He ran to her, crouched down quickly, and helped her back into her wheelchair with great effort, deeply worried about her condition. In the kitchen, Maximus went straight to the cabinet where he kept her medicine. He knew exactly where it was but always feared not finding it in time. Finally, with the bottle in hand, he returned to the living room and gave her the pills.

Maximus offered her a glass of water while she took the pills. She swallowed them carefully, letting out a small sigh of relief when she was done. For a brief moment, her gaze cleared, focusing on him as if everything was back to how it used to be.

"Thank you, son. You're so good to me, you know?" she said with a warm smile that reminded Maximus of the days before everything got complicated. "I don't want you to worry so much about me. Just promise me you'll be happy, okay?"

Maximus, taken aback by the sudden lucidity in her voice, felt a mix of relief and sadness. "I promise, Mom," he replied, his tone soft but heavy with emotion.

She studied him for a moment, as if trying to memorize every detail of his face. But then, something in her expression changed. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her gaze grew uncertain, as if something had broken inside her.

"Where were you yesterday?" she asked suddenly, her tone quieter.

Maximus hesitated. The transition from lucidity to confusion always caught him off guard. "With some friends, Mom. Celebrating the new year."

"Friends?" she repeated, her voice full of doubt. Then, her face brightened with a forced smile. "Oh, right… but… when did you get home?"

"A little while ago, Mom," Maximus replied, keeping his tone neutral.

"Oh, you must be hungry. Should I make you something to eat? Or… have you already eaten? You remind me so much of your father… Did you know he was a secret agent? But don't tell anyone, it's a secret," she added conspiratorially, leaning toward him.

Maximus pressed his lips together. That mix of real and fabricated memories was a pattern he knew all too well. "It's okay, Mom. I won't tell anyone."

She nodded, satisfied, but moments later, her brow furrowed again, and she began looking around uneasily. "Where's my purse? I think someone took it… Was it you? Why are you hiding it from me?"

"No, Mom. It's right here on the table," Maximus said, pointing to it.

"Oh… right, there it is." She let out a nervous laugh, but the slight tremor in her hands betrayed the confusion she tried to hide. Her expression softened suddenly, adopting a distant air as if her mind wandered through blurred memories. "Oh, Maxie, when did you get home? And… where were you yesterday?" Her eyes reflected a mix of confusion and uncertainty as they searched for answers in his face.

Maximus felt the familiar knot in his throat. He moved closer and gently took her hand. He had learned to handle these moments, but they never hurt any less.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered, kissing her forehead before standing up. "I'm going to take a shower and then head out to buy more of your pills. I'll be back later."

She didn't respond. Her gaze was lost, fixed on a spot on the wall, trapped in a world he couldn't follow her into.

Maximus gently left her reclined in her chair. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, taking a bite as he headed to the bathroom. The sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, the familiar creak of the planks, was oddly comforting despite everything.

Once inside the bathroom, he closed the door behind him and set the apple on the sink's edge. He paused for a moment in front of the mirror, studying his reflection as if searching for something beyond the surface.

The face staring back at him was young but marked by the hard years he had endured. His pale skin, inherited from his mother, had a faint pallor from the long nights and constant worries that never left him. His straight nose gave him a refined air, while his defined jawline contrasted with the softness of his cheeks.

But what stood out the most were his eyes: a deep amber with hints of green, bright and striking, seeming to hold secrets no one else could understand. His gaze carried an unusual weight for someone just 16 years old, as if he had seen more than he should.

His brown hair fell in messy strands across his forehead, parted in the middle in a way that seemed intentional but wasn't. The carefree hairstyle added to his natural appearance, hinting at his lack of concern for how others perceived him.

Running a hand over his face, he felt the weariness etched into his expression. Faint shadows under his eyes and accumulated fatigue took away some of his appeal, though his face remained striking, perhaps due to that mix of hardness and fragility that made him stand out.

Maximus sighed. "What a look," he muttered before undressing to step into the shower. The hot water, though not abundant, was enough to clear his mind and relax his muscles. As the water ran, he mentally planned his day: buy his mother's pills and then take care of some "unfinished business."

After his shower, he dried off quickly and returned to his room, where the backpack with the stolen jewelry sat in the same place. Maximus glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, feeling a slight pang of guilt, but knowing he didn't have many options.

He grabbed his phone and, before leaving, typed out a message. His fingers moved quickly across the screen, and after sending it, he sighed again. He looked around the room, making sure everything was in order, and finally, with the backpack slung over one shoulder, stepped out to face another day.

Maximus walked the streets with his hands in the pockets of his navy-blue hoodie and the backpack hanging from one shoulder. The damp streets, glistening from a recent rain, reflected the yellow glow of the streetlights. His face, hidden behind a mask, kept anyone from reading the mix of resignation and determination in his eyes.

He had sent a message to one of Tombstone's contacts, confirming he would deliver the goods today. He had no other choice, and while he knew what awaited him, he needed the money.

In the city's criminal underworld, Tombstone was a name many feared. No one knew his real name, only that he was behind a massive network of smuggling and trafficking stolen goods—from luxury cars to high-value watches and jewelry. People simply knew him by his alias: Tombstone. For those who dared step into his world, his name was synonymous with shady deals, dirty operations, and a looming threat to anyone who didn't hold up their end of the bargain.

Maximus had had the "privilege" of meeting him on several occasions, always in the same way: doing the dirty work and delivering stolen goods in the hopes of getting some money in return. But Tombstone, though he always paid, never gave Maximus what he truly deserved. Instead, he consistently undervalued what Max brought him, arguing the items weren't "in their best condition" or weren't worth as much as Max thought.

The young man arrived at a narrow alleyway that led to an abandoned warehouse, the place where Tombstone used to conduct his exchanges. The walls of the alley were covered in graffiti, and the thick, humid air smelled of rusted metal and neglect. Two rough-looking, muscular men stood at the entrance, glaring at Maximus with disdain, as if he had no place in their world. Without a word, one of them gestured for him to enter. Maximus, wasting no time, complied, already accustomed to such unwelcoming encounters.

The warehouse was exactly what he expected: a dark space filled with crates and old furniture. At the center, dimly lit by a single lamp, Tombstone sat behind a wooden desk, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, as though he could see everything happening around him. His face, severe and marked by years of violence, was almost always hidden in shadow, but his dark, piercing eyes revealed a sliver of humanity—if it could even be called that.

"Kid, always on time. I like that," Tombstone said, cracking a smile that did little to soften his calculating gangster demeanor. "Got something good for me this time?"

Maximus didn't reply. Instead, he opened his backpack and began pulling out the stolen jewelry and watches, placing them on the desk one by one with careful movements. Tombstone started inspecting the items, turning each piece over, examining it with almost clinical precision.

"Nice haul. Although…" Tombstone paused, glancing back at Maximus. "I'm not sure this is as valuable as you think."

Maximus showed no surprise. He had expected that response. Tombstone always played the same game, underestimating the "value" of the goods to pay less and keep more for himself. Maximus was tired of this routine, but he had learned not to argue. He had done so many times before, and it always ended with him losing.

"Listen," Tombstone continued, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk. "As always, I'll give you a fair price. Well, my fair price." Tombstone's grin widened, like a shark closing in on its prey.

Maximus sighed internally but stayed calm. "Just tell me how much," he said, his tone flat and resigned.

Tombstone pulled out a wad of cash from a drawer and began counting it slowly, savoring the control he had over the situation. Finally, he tossed the money onto the desk. Maximus took it without a word, counted it quickly, and pocketed it, knowing there was nothing more to be done.

"Thanks," Maximus said without sarcasm, packing up the stolen goods and preparing to leave. Tombstone never paid what the pieces were truly worth, but there was something worse than being underpaid: having no options. Maximus needed the money, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"Hold on a second," Tombstone called out, stopping him just before he exited. Maximus turned, tense, knowing Tombstone never let anyone leave that easily. "You're a smart kid. You move well for someone your age. If you ever want to do something… bigger, you know where to find me."

Maximus didn't respond. He just turned his head slightly, looking back over his shoulder. "I'll keep it in mind," he said before walking out of the warehouse.

Out on the street, the cold air hit his face, and Maximus quickly blended into the crowd. He had left the deal with little to show for it, but he felt like he was one step closer to finding something better. Still, he knew he couldn't stay trapped in this cycle of stealing and selling, of falling victim to the same schemes time and again.

As he mentally calculated how much he would have left after buying his mother's medication, he couldn't help but feel trapped. But at that moment, all that mattered was moving forward, even if he didn't know how.

He clenched his fists in his pockets. This had to change.

Max's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound, accompanied by a vibration that pulled him from his reverie. He pulled his phone from his pocket and read the message from Scott:

"Hey, are you in or not? Last call. It's happening in less than 48 hours, and we need to plan it properly. If you don't reply, I'll assume you're out."

It was barely 9 a.m., and the message felt like another weight on his shoulders. Max continued his walk to the pharmacy, gripping the phone in his hand. Scott had mentioned this job before—a much bigger score than the small-time thefts they'd pulled off together. VistaCorp wasn't an easy target, but Scott had his reasons—or so he claimed.

Scott had worked for VistaCorp and knew too much about the CEO Geoff Zorick's frauds. Millions stolen through extortion and hidden fees that drained customers' funds. Scott had tried to fix things back then, believing the issue was a system error. But Zorick hadn't just fired him; he had publicly ruined his reputation. For Scott, this wasn't just a heist; it was personal revenge.

Max pushed open the pharmacy door and stepped into the warm interior. He walked up to the counter and asked for his mother's usual medication while still mulling over Scott's message. The pharmacist, a man in his forties with thick glasses, checked his inventory and shook his head.

"Those pills aren't made anymore," he said without looking up from the monitor.

Max frowned.

"What? I've always bought them here."

"I know, but they've released an updated version," the man replied, pulling a sample box from the shelf behind him. "These are the new ones. The problem is… well, they're more expensive."

Max stared at the box. The price hit him like a slap in the face. He pulled out his wallet and started counting his money, his fingers trembling slightly. He barely had enough to buy the pills and a couple of days' worth of food, far less than he had budgeted for the month. Swallowing his frustration, he realized he'd have to improvise soon to avoid running out of resources.

He left the pharmacy with the box in hand and an empty stomach, both literally and figuratively. As he walked back down the street, he reread Scott's message.

"It's now or never."

Max came to a halt. His fingers hovered over the phone screen as his thoughts swirled. It wasn't just about the money for the pills or food—it was the feeling of being stuck in a cycle with no way out. He needed something, anything, to change his situation.

With a sigh, he typed a response.

"I'm in. Where do we meet?"

The message sent, and with it, Max felt as though an invisible door had closed behind him. There was no turning back now.