Marvel: Shadow Thief "Solo Levelling System in Marvel"

Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎

Well, well, well, it's been a while! We haven't seen each other since over a year! 😂

First off, I owe you all an apology for being absent these past couple of weeks. I needed a little break to recharge my batteries, but don't worry, I wasn't being lazy! I've been working hard on several reserve chapters, so there's plenty of content on the way.

Now, I'm back and more motivated than ever, ready to keep the story going. This arc is taking a bit longer than I expected, but I really just want to finish it already! I promise I'm taking it to the best possible point, and I hope it's worth the wait.

I also hope you all had a wonderful New Year, and that all your resolutions come true. Though, I know this wish is a little late...

Expect regular updates from now on, and I hope you continue enjoying the journey!

Thanks so much for your continued support. Don't forget to drop your thoughts, theories, or even just a "great chapter" in the comments. See you soon!

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The first obstacle towered before them: a massive wall stretching six meters into the sky at a forbidding forty-five-degree angle. Its surface gleamed under the morning sun, revealing sections deliberately polished to a mirror finish interspersed with rough patches that promised grip but could prove treacherous. What caught Maximus's attention, however, were the strange circular ports embedded at various heights along the wall—each about half a meter in diameter, their metal shutters currently closed.

Ward was already moving before Clint could finish his explanation. As if on cue, the ports came alive, their shutters snapping open to reveal powerful turbines. They activated in random patterns, releasing concentrated bursts of wind strong enough to buffet even the most prepared climber. Ward, however, seemed to dance between the gusts, his movements precise and calculated.

"This should be easy enough," Maximus muttered, drawing on years of urban climbing experience. That confidence lasted exactly three seconds.

His first attempt ended before it truly began. The moment his hands touched the wall, he realized this was nothing like scaling buildings back home. The polished sections were like ice, offering no purchase, while the rough patches were inconsistent, some providing grip while others crumbled under pressure. A sudden blast of wind from one of the lower ports nearly knocked him off his feet.

Maverick passed him with a grin, his muscular frame moving with military precision. "Keep your center of gravity close to the wall, kid!" he called out, navigating between wind bursts like he'd done this a thousand times before.

Davis Jackson followed, his powerful arms compensating for the treacherous surface. Neither seemed particularly bothered by the wind turbines that now activated in an increasingly complex pattern, creating a virtual storm along the wall's face.

Maximus tried again, making it halfway up before a particularly strong gust caught him off-balance. His fingers scraped desperately against the smooth surface as he fell, landing hard on the padding below. His chest heaved with exertion and frustration as he watched more cadets pass him.

On his third attempt, he forced himself to slow down, to study the pattern of the wind bursts. His arms trembled from the previous efforts, but he was determined. He made it three-quarters of the way up before—

"Excuse me," a lazy voice drawled beside him. Maximus turned his head, shocked to find Eagle somehow right next to him on the wall. He hadn't even noticed him start climbing.

What happened next defied logic. Eagle moved up the wall with an almost casual grace, as if the forty-five-degree angle meant nothing to him. While others fought against the wind bursts, Eagle seemed to flow between them, his movements so precise it appeared effortless—like someone taking a Sunday stroll up a gentle slope rather than battling a engineered obstacle designed to challenge even trained agents.

Maximus watched, incredulous, as Eagle passed not only him but several other struggling cadets, maintaining that same unhurried pace throughout. There was no strain in his movements, no sign of effort—just fluid motion that made everyone else's struggles look amateurish in comparison. Within moments, he had cleared the top and moved on to the next obstacle, leaving Maximus gaping in disbelief.

The display shook Maximus from his fatigue-induced hesitation. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to focus, to find a rhythm between the wind bursts. His muscles screamed in protest as he pushed upward, each meter gained a small victory against both the obstacle and his own limitations.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Maximus hauled himself over the top. His arms shook as he turned to look back, seeing only a handful of cadets still struggling with their attempts. Most of the group had already moved on, their figures growing distant as they approached the next challenge.

Forcing his trembling legs to move, Maximus pushed himself into a run. The wall had taught him a harsh lesson about the difference between street skills and proper training—and about not judging others by their appearance. As Eagle had just demonstrated, appearances could be deceiving.

The next obstacle waited ahead, and Maximus had no time to dwell on his bruised pride. He had to keep moving, had to prove he belonged here—even if every muscle in his body protested each step.

The next challenge sprawled before Maximus like a twisted playground from hell. A complex network of platforms stretched across a thirty-meter span, varying in height from two to four meters off the ground. Some platforms remained stationary, bolted firmly in place, while others swayed and shifted unpredictably. Between them hung an intricate web of horizontal bars and thick ropes, creating a three-dimensional maze that demanded constant movement.

In the distance, Ward was already tackling the final section, his movements sharp and decisive. He cleared the last set of moving platforms with military precision, never hesitating, never second-guessing. Behind him, Maverick and Jackson worked through the middle section, matching each other's pace in what looked like an unspoken competition. Their trained movements made the obstacle course look deceptively simple.

Eagle stood motionless at the starting point, hands in his pockets, studying the course with half-closed eyes. Maximus couldn't tell if he was analyzing the pattern of the moving platforms or simply too tired to start—though after his inexplicable performance at the wall, Maximus doubted it was fatigue.

Taking a deep breath, Maximus launched himself onto the first platform. His parkour experience gave him initial confidence—this was closer to his element, after all. That confidence wavered as soon as he grabbed the first horizontal bar. His arms, still burning from the wall climb, protested the sudden strain. The bar itself was thicker than what he was used to, requiring a different grip strength than the thin ledges and pipes he typically navigated in the city.

He swung to the next platform, landing just as it began to shift beneath his feet. The movement caught him off-guard, forcing him to windmill his arms wildly to maintain balance. Two cadets passed him during this moment of instability, their movements flowing smoothly from one obstacle to the next.

"Come on, come on," Maximus muttered through gritted teeth, forcing himself to move forward. His breath came in sharp gasps as he worked through the sequence—jump, grab, swing, land, repeat. Each movement drained more energy from his already taxed muscles.

Halfway through the course, fatigue began to set in heavily. His timing grew sloppy, his landings less precise. A particularly difficult sequence of three moving platforms loomed ahead, requiring perfectly timed jumps to cross. As he gathered himself for the first leap, a familiar lazy voice came from behind.

"Pardon me again."

Eagle glided past him with that same casual grace he'd shown on the wall. Where Maximus fought for each movement, Eagle seemed to float through the obstacle course, his body moving in perfect harmony with the shifting platforms. He didn't fight against their movement—he used it, letting the platforms' momentum carry him forward. Even his rope swings looked effortless, as if gravity had decided to make an exception just for him.

Maximus watched in disbelief as Eagle cleared the three platforms he'd been dreading with what looked like a casual stroll, quickly catching up to the middle of the pack. The display would have been impressive if it wasn't so infuriating.

Exhaustion clawed at every muscle as Maximus forced himself to continue. His arms shook with each grab, his legs felt increasingly unstable on every landing. The last section of the course became a blur of determination and desperation. He no longer cared about technique or grace—it became purely about survival, about forcing his body to keep moving despite its protests.

Finally, mercifully, Maximus cleared the last platform. He stumbled on the landing, catching himself on trembling legs. His lungs burned with each breath, and sweat dripped into his eyes. Looking ahead, he could see the next obstacle waiting, but his body screamed for rest. The gap between him and the leading group had widened considerably—Ward was now barely visible in the distance.

There was no time to recover. Wiping the sweat from his face with a shaking hand, Maximus pushed himself to move forward. Two obstacles in, and he'd already learned another humbling lesson: street skills might give you a foundation, but they were no substitute for proper training and technique. The question was, could his body hold out long enough for him to prove he deserved to be here?

The final challenge came into view as Maximus approached a gathering of cadets around what appeared to be a supply table. Among them stood a figure who didn't quite fit the cadet profile—someone whose presence commanded attention without effort. Before he could get a better look, Clint's voice boomed across the training ground.

"LISTEN UP! Each of you needs to wear one of these weighted vests for the next obstacle. Remove it during the course, and you'll get an automatic zero. NO EXCEPTIONS!"

Maximus reached the table, his breath still ragged from the previous challenges. The vests looked innocent enough—until he lifted one. Forty to fifty kilograms of carefully distributed weight, designed to simulate real mission conditions. He slipped it on, and his already tired muscles protested immediately.

The weight wasn't entirely unfamiliar. He'd carried heavy bags during his escapes before, sprinting through back alleys and woods with stolen goods while evading police. But this was different. His arms still trembled from the wall climb, his legs felt like jelly from the platform course, and now this vest seemed to be actively trying to pull him into the ground.

Ahead stretched a kilometer-long course that looked like it had been designed by someone with a grudge against humanity. Low barriers dotted the path, interspersed with artificial hills and what appeared to be deliberately muddy sections. Beyond it all, Maximus could see what looked like a rest area—a small oasis in this desert of physical torture. Several benches and chairs were scattered around, and he could make out some of the cadets who'd already finished, including Ward, who somehow still maintained his perfect posture despite everything.

Taking a deep breath, Maximus started forward. The first few steps weren't too bad—then reality set in. Each footfall sent shockwaves through his exhausted legs. The vest seemed to gain weight with every meter, transforming from a mere burden into an actively malevolent presence trying to crush him.

The first barrier came up quickly. What would normally be an easy hop turned into a monumental effort. Maximus cleared it, but the landing sent pain shooting through his legs. More barriers followed, each one requiring more effort than the last.

Then came the hills. Short but steep, they forced him to lean forward, his feet slipping slightly in the loose dirt. The weight of the vest threw off his center of gravity, making each step a calculated risk. Halfway up the first hill, his legs began to shake uncontrollably.

The mud section was pure misery. Each step threatened to steal his boots, the suction making it feel like he was trying to lift not just the vest but the entire earth with each movement. Other cadets passed him, their military training evident in their steady pace and efficient movements.

Through the haze of exhaustion, he caught a glimpse of Eagle passing by. Unlike everyone else who trudged through the mud, Eagle seemed to glide over it, his movements so precise that he barely left footprints. The vest that tortured everyone else might as well have been filled with feathers for all the effect it had on him.

The final stretch became a battle of will versus body. Maximus's muscles screamed for relief, his lungs burned with each breath, and sweat poured down his face in rivers. The rest area seemed to mock him, remaining stubbornly distant despite his continued movement.

Finally, mercifully, he crossed the finish line. His legs gave out immediately, and he collapsed onto the ground, not caring about the dirt or the vest anymore. His chest heaved as he tried to pull in enough oxygen, the world spinning slightly around him.

"Hey, you alive down there?" Maverick's voice cut through the fog of exhaustion. He and Jackson appeared above Maximus, concern mixed with amusement on their faces.

"Give him some space," Jackson commanded, though his tone carried a note of respect. "First day's always the hardest."

Through blurry vision, Maximus could see Eagle sprawled on what appeared to be a worn leather armchair, somehow already fast asleep, his vest discarded beside him. The sight would have been infuriating if Maximus had any energy left for emotions other than exhaustion.

"Water," he managed to croak out, and someone pressed a bottle into his trembling hands. As he lay there, trying to remember how to make his muscles work, one thought managed to penetrate the fog of fatigue: if this was just the evaluation, what would the actual training be like?

Maximus jolted awake, momentarily disoriented. Despite being underground, the room was well-lit with artificial lighting that mimicked natural daylight. He found himself sprawled on a comfortable couch in what appeared to be a high-tech break room. The walls were painted a warm yellow, adorned with various holographic displays showing what seemed to be training schedules, mission briefings, and various S.H.I.E.L.D. announcements. Security cameras were discretely positioned in corners, their presence a reminder that even this relaxation space was under constant surveillance.

"Looks like you're not quite up to your father's standards," Jackson's voice cut through his confusion. Maximus turned to find him standing nearby, his expression a mix of disappointment and concern.

"What... what time is it?" Maximus managed to ask, his mouth feeling like sandpaper.

"You've been out for about eight hours," Jackson replied. "Missed breakfast, but you're lucky. We get twelve hours of rest before the next training session—which won't be as intense as this morning's evaluation, don't worry."

Before Maximus could respond, Maverick appeared, munching on what looked like a chicken leg. "Hey, look who's not dead!" he announced through a mouthful of food. "Perfect timing—now you can share your ration with me." His grin was visible even as he took another bite.

Jackson shot Maverick a reproving look, but any further conversation was interrupted by a loud growl from Maximus's stomach.

"Kitchen's that way," Jackson pointed to a corner of the room where several staff members could be seen working. "Tell them you're here for your ration. Better eat quick—training starts again soon."

"Yeah, rookie," Maverick chimed in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let's see if you can survive the weights they feed us here." He laughed, taking another bite of his chicken.

Maximus made his way to the kitchen, where a kind-faced woman handed him a tray loaded with what appeared to be ground beef, pasta, and vegetables he'd never seen before. The portion size was enormous—easily triple what he normally ate.

Taking in his surroundings more carefully now, he noticed the room was larger than he'd initially thought. Circular tables were scattered throughout the space, and various holographic screens displayed everything from news feeds to training simulations. The technology seamlessly integrated into the casual setting created an odd mix of advanced military facility and comfortable cafeteria.

Maverick waved him over to a table where he sat with Jackson and Eagle—the latter sprawled in his chair at the far end, appearing to be half-asleep despite sitting upright. Maximus slid into an empty seat, eyeing the mountain of food before him with a mix of hunger and intimidation.

"First time seeing real food?" Maverick teased, noticing his expression.

"Give him a break," Jackson interjected, though he was smiling. "He's had a rough morning."

"More like a rough landing," Eagle mumbled without opening his eyes. "I could hear you hit the ground from my nap."

Maximus took his first bite, and his eyes widened in surprise. The food was actually good—really good. His stomach growled again, and suddenly the portion size didn't seem so intimidating anymore.

"See? The kid's got potential," Maverick laughed as Maximus began eating with increasing enthusiasm. "At least his appetite's up to S.H.I.E.L.D. standards."

The conversation flowed easily after that. Maverick kept everyone entertained with exaggerated stories of previous training disasters, while Jackson occasionally corrected his more outlandish claims. Even Eagle contributed the occasional dry comment, though he never bothered to open his eyes fully.

For the first time since arriving, Maximus felt himself relaxing. The aches from training were still there, and he knew more challenges awaited, but in this moment, sitting around a table with these oddly mismatched individuals, things didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

"Just wait until you try the dessert," Maverick said with a wink, reaching over to steal a vegetable from Maximus's plate. "That is, if you survive long enough to earn it."

Jackson smacked Maverick's hand away, Eagle snorted in his half-sleep, and Maximus found himself grinning despite his exhaustion. Maybe, just maybe, he could find his place here after all.