《Level Upper [World-hopping/LitRPG]》


 001 The Pencil Test

    I


    Since the world ended, humanity had found refuge in the Weave¡ªa vast, digital sanctuary where eternity could be real, food was no longer a concern, and life could become anything you wanted. Or so they said. The truth was less perfect, of course. No matter how much the Weave tried to imitate paradise, it couldn¡¯t escape the one thing that had always ruled humanity: money. Even here, people scrambled to own what they could while others struggled to get by with less.


    I was no different.


    I descended the stairs of my apartment building, the scuffed linoleum underfoot reminding me that even in a digital world, imperfections could be coded in. Outside, the sliding glass doors hissed open, and the artificial sunlight poured over the streets. The bus stop sat just a few steps away, a sleek silver bench where I joined a handful of others waiting for our morning commute.


    The bus arrived in near silence, floating a few inches off the ground, its sides gleaming with dynamic ads for the latest ITEMs. I tapped my smartphone to the scanner as I climbed on board. Fifty-five bytes vanished from my account, and I suppressed a sigh. Not a huge sum, but enough to remind me that nothing in the Weave came free.


    I took the first seat by the door, the synthetic leather cool beneath me. My phone buzzed faintly in my hand, a reminder of the novel I¡¯d been reading. It was a relic of the Before¡ªsome wild tale about gods and monsters, written by someone who probably never imagined their work would survive an apocalypse. I lost myself in the story as the city of Amway blurred past the tinted windows.


    Amway was all I¡¯d ever known.


    I was born here, in the Weave. They say people in the Before lived in a physical world, tethered to their fragile bodies. I couldn¡¯t imagine it. Here, life was simple¡ªclean and efficient. We didn¡¯t have flesh or blood. We were data, and the Weave was our only world. No hunger, no disease, no death. But also no escape.


    When my stop arrived, the bus hissed to a halt, and I stepped onto the street. Towering ahead was the Works Amway building, its logo spinning lazily above the entrance. I adjusted my suit jacket, checked my ID card, and crossed through the sliding doors.


    The Works was the leading company in ITEM development. If you owned a smartphone, a pair of holo-glasses, or even the augmented sneakers currently trending among teens, chances were the Works had a hand in making it. My job? To test and analyze these creations before they reached the public.


    It wasn¡¯t glamorous.


    ¡°Good morning, Owen Hart. You are cleared,¡± the security guard said after a thorough scan of my ID and a quick pat-down.


    ¡°Good morning to you too,¡± I replied with a grin, stepping past him toward the elevators.


    The ride up to my floor was smooth, the soft hum of the lift barely audible. When the doors opened, I made my way to my cubicle, a gray little corner decorated with a single fake plant and a digital frame displaying random scenic images. I set my briefcase down and powered on my workstation. The giant office clock on the wall ticked over to eight o¡¯clock sharp.


    Right on time.


    I was an ITEM analyst¡ªa fancy term for what was essentially a testerof any kind of Immaterial Tangible Emulation Module or ITEM for short. Blueprints for new ITEMswould arrive in my inbox, and my job was to run simulations, identify flaws, and send reports back to the engineers. It was grunt work, but it paid the bills¡ªor, more accurately, kept my byte balance above zero.


    As a Level 1, being an ITEM analyst was the best job I could hope for. Honestly, it was better than most. Level 1s were usually stuck with waste disposal, cleaning, or whatever odd jobs no one else wanted to do. It wasn¡¯t glamorous, but the alternatives were worse.


    I glanced at the setup in front of me: a standard PC and a Holo-Simulator. Nothing fancy, but functional enough to get the job done. My PC hummed faintly as I logged in, the screen filling with yesterday¡¯s reports and emails from higher-ups. Today¡¯s assignments were already waiting in my inbox.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    The first task was a blueprint for a new ITEM¡ªa pencil, of all things. Simple, but that was part of my job. Not everything that came through was a groundbreaking innovation; often times, it was just improving the basics.


    I downloaded the blueprint and transferred it to the Holo-Simulator. The sleek device blinked to life, projecting the pencil into existence. It floated before me, shimmering faintly like all holograms did.


    The pencil had a three-hour simulation duration. For the next three hours, my sole task was to use it, examine it, and log every detail. I pulled up a fresh sheet of simulated bond paper from the Holo-Simulator.


    The pencil¡¯s weight felt off¡ªtoo light to be real. Of course, it wasn¡¯t real. It was made entirely of holographic data. Still, the engineers were aiming for accuracy, so even minor discrepancies mattered.


    I pressed the pencil to the paper, the tip gliding smoothly across the surface. It worked. No glitches, no lag, no awkward pauses where the simulator failed to process the movement. I scribbled a few random words, testing how it responded to quick motions. Then, I tried sketching.


    My drawings were as bad as expected¡ªcrudely drawn stick figures and uneven shapes that looked like a child¡¯s first attempt at art. The pencil, however, performed perfectly. The lines were sharp, the shading smooth. It didn¡¯t even need sharpening, staying at the same perfect point no matter how much I used it.


    The hours crawled by as I doodled and scrawled on one piece of paper after another. The pencil was consistent. It wasn¡¯t exciting work, but it was important. The Weave¡¯s stability relied on ITEMS like these being flawless when they reached the public.


    By the end of the test, I¡¯d gone through more simulated paper than I cared to count. I flexed my fingers, stiff from three hours of writing and drawing.


    Not a bad way to start the day.


    If the simulation had real weight, I would¡¯ve tested the pencil¡¯s durability too. Maybe slammed it against a table or snapped it in half, just to see how much it could take before breaking. But that wasn¡¯t an option¡ªnot here, not with holograms. Instead, I checked the clock. I had an hour left before my break, plenty of time to type up the report.


    I started furiously typing on my PC. Writing about the pencil was easy¡ªstraightforward. No complications, no unexpected bugs or issues. It performed exactly as intended, even if it wasn¡¯t particularly exciting.


    When the clock finally struck noon, I saved my work and headed to the cafeteria.


    The cafeteria was buzzing with life, people chatting and laughing, holographic trays piled high with food. Eating wasn¡¯t a necessity in the Weave¡ªit hadn¡¯t been since the old world ended¡ªbut it had become a luxury. Maybe it was instinct, something ingrained in the human experience, passed down from the Before. Whatever it was, people still wanted to eat.


    I wanted to eat too, though I felt out of place here.


    The Levels were displayed above everyone¡¯s heads: [Level 2] [Level 2] [Level 3] [Level 2] [Level 4] [Level 2]. There were plenty of Level 2s around, even a sprinkling of 3s and 4s. But me? I was the only Level 1 in the room.


    Well, almost. The janitor¡ªalso a Level 1¡ªwas mopping near the corner. He glanced at me briefly before turning back to his work and disappearing down a hallway.


    I joined the line at the vending machines. In the novels I read, vending machines were always seen as inferior to real food, a cheap alternative for the desperate. Here in the Weave, though, the vending machines were different. They could replicate culinary delicacy, down to the smallest detail. The advertisements said it was even better than the real thing.


    Not like people would know.


    When it was my turn, I paid 355 bytesfor curry and rice. It stung a little¡ªthat was five bus rides¡¯ worth¡ªbut I could afford it. Working for the Works had its perks, even for someone at my level.


    ¡°Hey, Owen!¡± a familiar voice called. ¡°Over here! Let¡¯s eat together!¡±


    Charlie waved at me from across the room, gesturing to an empty seat he¡¯d saved.


    Charlie was a nice guy¡ªprobably the only friend I had here. He was a Level 3, which made his kindness even more surprising. Most people in his position wouldn¡¯t give someone like me the time of day. But Charlie wasn¡¯t like most people.


    He had blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and an easy smile. Unlike me, he came from wealth. Born through Data Inheritance, Charlie actually had parents¡ªreal ones, not just random spawning like most of us. His dad, apparently, had forced him into this job as an ITEM analyst to ¡°build character.¡±


    For a Level 3, ITEM analysis was considered low-tier work. But for me, it was a lifeline.


    I sat down across from him, setting my tray on the table.


    ¡°So,¡± Charlie said between bites of his sandwich, ¡°anything new or exciting recently?¡±


    I shrugged, poking at my curry with a spoon. ¡°Nah. Same old, same old.¡±


    He grinned. ¡°Come on, there¡¯s gotta be something. What¡¯s your current project?¡±


    ¡°A pencil,¡± I said flatly. ¡°Three hours of testing it on virtual paper. It worked. That¡¯s about it.¡±


    Charlie laughed. ¡°A pencil, huh? You must be living the dream.¡±


    I chuckled, shaking my head. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s the glamorous life of a Level 1.¡±


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t sell yourself short. You¡¯re good at what you do.¡±


    I gave him a small smile, but the words didn¡¯t quite reach me. Charlie meant well, but there was always a gap between us¡ªa gap I couldn¡¯t cross. He was a Level 3, born into privilege. I was a Level 1, just scraping by.


    Still, for a moment, it was nice to pretend we were the same.

 002 Byte-Crunching Lunch

    II


    We ate, we joked, and we talked. Charlie was always good at filling the silence, keeping the conversation light with stories about his overbearing father, absurd office gossip, and the occasional rant about Level 4s who thought they were better than everyone else.


    Between bites of curry, I nodded and laughed at all the right moments. It wasn¡¯t hard¡ªCharlie¡¯s energy was infectious. But just as I thought we¡¯d settle into the usual rhythm, he dropped something unexpected.


    ¡°Dad wants to talk to you,¡± Charlie said, his tone suddenly serious. ¡°Look for him in his office after work.¡±


    I froze mid-bite, the spoon hovering awkwardly near my mouth. ¡°Copy that,¡± I said, trying to sound casual.


    Charlie placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm, almost uncomfortably so, and his bright blue eyes met mine. For a moment, they weren¡¯t the eyes of a friend¡ªthey were sharp, cold, calculating.


    ¡°I¡¯m your friend, Owen,¡± Charlie said, his voice low and deliberate.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied cautiously, ¡°you are.¡±


    ¡°Friends do everything for each other, right?¡±


    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t get me killed over it,¡± I joked, hoping to break the tension.


    Charlie laughed and patted my back, his cheerful demeanor snapping back into place as if nothing had happened. ¡°You¡¯re such a joker.¡±


    He reached for his smartwatch. ¡°Here, show me your QR.¡±


    I took out my smartphone and opened my QR code. Charlie aimed the lens on the side of his watch at my screen, tapping a few times as it scanned.


    A notification popped up on my phone, and I glanced at my e-wallet. My balance had jumped¡ªan extra zero at the end.


    That was nice.


    I kept my face neutral, but internally I was already planning to deposit half of it into my bank account before anyone¡ªor anything¡ªcould take it back.


    Charlie stood up, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll go first. Enjoy the rest of your meal!¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said, forcing a smile. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡±


    When he was gone, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d been holding.


    Confession: I¡¯m a parasite.


    It should be pretty obvious by now.


    I scraped the last of the curry off my tray, savoring the rich, simulated flavor. Then I disposed of the steel-like tray in the trash bin. As I walked back toward the vending machines, I felt the weight of my new balance burning in my pocket.


    Screw it.


    I tapped through the menu, scrolling past the usual options until I found something extravagant: sushi. It was the kind I¡¯d seen on social media¡ªdelicately arranged rolls with shimmering fish and just the right amount of garnish.


    The price? Astronomical.


    But I could afford it now, at least for today.


    I swiped my phone and watched as 1,200 bytes disappeared from my account. The machine hummed as it prepared my order, and a few seconds later, the tray slid out.


    I carried the sushi to a nearby table, ignoring the questioning looks from a few Level 2s. They probably thought I was some upstart trying to look important. Maybe I was.


    I popped the first piece into my mouth, letting the flavors melt on my tongue. It was everything the ads promised¡ªfresh, vibrant, perfect.


    For once, it didn¡¯t matter that I was just a Level 1.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    By the time I finished eating, it was already 12:43 PM. My break was nearly over, so I grabbed my tray and disposed of it in the bin. I should¡¯ve headed straight back to work. Instead, something¡ªor rather, someone¡ªstopped me before I could make it far.


    An arm casually draped itself over my shoulder, and I froze. It was the janitor, the one I¡¯d seen earlier in the cafeteria. I¡¯d assumed he was a Level 1, just like me, but now that I was closer, something felt off.


    He had dark gray hair streaked with white, cold eyes that seemed to pierce right through me, and a face lined with a few wrinkles that suggested old age. But it wasn¡¯t his appearance that sent a chill down my spine.


    It was his Level display.


    [Level 45]


    I gulped hard, the sound audible even to me. That was the highest Level I¡¯d ever seen in my entire life. Levels above 20 were rare enough, usually reserved for executives or major players in the Weave. But 45? That was practically mythical.


    This person... he couldn¡¯t just be a janitor.


    He had to be a player.


    ¡°H-how may I help you, good sir?¡± I stammered, my voice shaky.


    I noticed for the first time how eerily empty the hallway was. It had been bustling with people just moments ago, but now it was silent, as if the entire space had been swallowed by a void.


    This wasn¡¯t natural. It had to be the work of a SKILL.


    I had one too¡ª[Appraisal]¡ªbut whatever this janitor was using was far beyond my comprehension.


    A SKILL, or Systemized Kinetic Integrated Leveling Logic, was an ability granted by the Weave¡¯s system. The higher your Level, the stronger your SKILL became, allowing superhuman feats that defied logic. SKILLs could enhance physical or mental abilities, manipulate the environment, or even alter the perception of reality itself.


    My SKILL, [Appraisal], allowed me heightened observation, which was useful for my job and let me see others¡¯ Levels. It wasn¡¯t a rare SKILL, but it was uncommon for someone like me¡ªa Level 1¡ªto have it. Unfortunately, it wasn¡¯t perfect.


    It was rumored that people with higher Levels had access to certain SKILLs that could fake their Level or even manipulate their information entirely. If that were true, the janitor could¡¯ve easily masked his true Level, appearing as someone far lower than he actually was. The fact that he chose not to conceal it anymore was even more terrifying.


    ¡°Excellent work,¡± he said, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable weight. ¡°Keep working for the company.¡±


    And then, just like that, he vanished.


    One second he was there, his arm around my shoulder, and the next he was gone, leaving no trace.


    I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. The hallway slowly returned to normal, people trickling back in as if nothing had happened.


    What the hell was that?


    I forced myself to walk, blending into the throng of employees returning to their desks. My mind raced, replaying the encounter over and over. Who was that man? Why had he approached me? And more importantly... what did he mean by ¡°excellent work¡±?


    Shaking off the questions for now, I made my way back to my cubicle. I couldn¡¯t afford to lose focus, not with my job on the line. Still, I couldn¡¯t help but feel like this was only the beginning of something much bigger than I could comprehend.


    I returned to my cubicle, trying to act as if nothing had happened. The encounter with the janitor lingered in my mind, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Work was my best excuse for ignoring the storm of questions swirling inside me.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t shake the suspicion that the janitor might have been Charlie¡¯s dad. I¡¯d never met the man, but the timeline fit perfectly. The thought of being under the scrutiny of the CEO of Works Amway made my stomach churn.


    Was I being called out for freeloading off Charlie all this time?


    I glanced at the extra bytes Charlie had gifted me earlier. Guilt gnawed at me. Maybe today was the day I¡¯d get fired. That would explain the cryptic warning and terrifying SKILL display.


    The fear lit a fire under me. I worked harder than I had in months, typing reports with unprecedented eloquence and using [Appraisal] on every ITEM to squeeze out even the smallest details. Perhaps, in some naive hope, I thought my performance today would somehow redeem me in the eyes of whoever was watching.


    But my mind kept wandering back to the janitor.


    More specifically, the SKILL he performed. It was terrifying and... magical.


    Knowledge about SKILLs was scarce, and what little existed felt suspiciously censored. Most denizens of the Weave had no idea how SKILLs were acquired. In my case, I had simply awakened [Appraisal] one day, seemingly at random. There had been no explanation, no guide, just the sudden awareness of its existence.


    People in the Weave often believed in reincarnation. Since this place was as close as anyone would get to an afterlife, there was no need for concepts like Heaven, Elysium, or the Field of Reeds. It was widely believed that the SKILL you awakened was tied to your past life¡ªa lingering echo of who you once were.


    If that was true, maybe in my past life, I¡¯d been a parasite too.


    The thought wasn¡¯t comforting.


    I pushed through the rest of my day, working diligently. When the clock hit 5:00 PM, I saved my progress, closed the Holo-Simulator, and prepared to face whatever awaited me.


    I wanted to ask Charlie about the janitor, about his dad, about anything, but he wasn¡¯t in the office.


    ¡°Hey, Jasmine,¡± I asked, leaning over the cubicle divider. Jasmine sat next to Charlie and usually knew what he was up to. ¡°Have you seen Charlie this afternoon?¡±


    She shook her head, barely looking up from her screen. ¡°He didn¡¯t come back after lunch. Weird, right? He never skips.¡±


    My worry deepened. Charlie was the kind of guy who never left without saying goodbye. Something wasn¡¯t adding up, and the gnawing unease I felt since lunch wasn¡¯t going away.


    I braced myself, taking a deep breath. Whatever was happening, I had a feeling this wasn¡¯t going to be an ordinary evening.

 003 My Looming Doom

    III


    The unfamiliar hallways felt like they stretched on forever. I had no idea where the CEO¡¯s office was, but I couldn¡¯t afford to look like an idiot wandering aimlessly. After a few minutes of walking, I spotted a patrolling guard and stopped him.


    ¡°Excuse me, where can I find the CEO¡¯s office?¡± I asked, doing my best to sound confident.


    He gave me a blank stare before pointing to the elevator. ¡°You¡¯re on the wrong floor. CEO¡¯s office is on the 86th.¡±


    I blinked. The 86th floor? Not the top floor? That seemed¡­ odd.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I muttered and hurried back to the elevator.


    The building¡¯s layout was a mystery to me despite working here for a while. I rarely ventured beyond my designated floor, and now I was regretting my lack of curiosity. When the elevator doors opened, I stepped in and pressed the button for the 86th floor.


    The ride felt endless, the hum of the elevator doing little to calm my nerves. When the doors slid open, my heart skipped a beat.


    Waiting just outside was the janitor.


    ¡°Finally,¡± he said, sounding annoyed. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    I glanced at my phone, my stomach dropping. It was already 5:30 PM. Where had the last 30 minutes gone? I thought back¡ªpanicking over Charlie, eating overpriced sushi, aimlessly wandering around. Apparently, I¡¯d wasted more time than I realized.


    No.


    To be honest, I did it on purpose.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I stammered.


    The janitor didn¡¯t press further. Instead, he gestured for me to follow him.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± he said.


    The walk was slow and excruciating. Every step echoed in the eerily quiet hallway, each sound amplifying my anxiety.


    ¡°So, uh¡­ what¡¯s your name?¡± I asked, hoping to fill the oppressive silence.


    He glanced at me over his shoulder. ¡°You can call me Cleaner.¡±


    That didn¡¯t help my nerves.


    I mustered some courage and asked, ¡°How did you hide your Level from me earlier?¡±


    The Cleaner shrugged, his tone casual. ¡°I have a SKILL for that. Simple enough.¡±


    Of course, a SKILL. The fact that I couldn¡¯t even tell what Level he was¡ªuntil he let me¡ªwas proof of how far out of my league he was.


    After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at a massive door. It towered over us, at least twelve feet tall, with intricate carvings depicting a battle. A child hero was etched into the wood, defeating monstrous creatures with ease.


    I gulped. The imagery alone was intimidating.


    The Cleaner pushed the door open with little effort, though the size and weight made it feel more like a gate than a door. I followed behind him meekly, each step heavier than the last.


    The room beyond was vast, dimly lit, and foreboding. At the center of it all sat a boy on what could only be described as a throne. His blonde hair gleamed in the faint light, and despite his youthful appearance, the air around him radiated power.


    The Cleaner walked to his side and stood there silently.


    ¡°Kneel,¡± the boy commanded, his voice calm but carrying undeniable authority.


    I didn¡¯t hesitate. I dropped to my knees and lowered my head, not daring to meet his gaze.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the display above him:


    [Level ???]


    It was the first time I¡¯d ever seen a Level hidden so completely. Even the Cleaner hadn¡¯t done that.


    My hands trembled, my mind racing. What kind of power could someone like this possess? And more importantly¡­ what did he want with me?


    The boy on the throne looked down at me, his sharp eyes practically dissecting me where I knelt.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± he asked, his voice smooth and calm, yet laced with an authority that made it impossible to disobey.


    ¡°Owen Hart,¡± I replied, my voice steady despite the lump forming in my throat.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I am Kristof,¡± he said. ¡°CEO of Works Amway.¡±


    I blinked in surprise. Of course, he was. The throne alone should have tipped me off, but hearing it confirmed sent a chill through me. He looked no older than twelve, yet his presence filled the cavernous room.


    In this world, age had long since become irrelevant, especially to those with power and wealth. The Weave didn¡¯t just preserve appearances; it rewrote them. For all I knew, Kristof could have been centuries old. Just as advertsied, your life could become anything you wanted. Well, as long as you could afford it.


    ¡°Do you know why you¡¯re here?¡± Kristof asked, his piercing gaze fixed on me.


    I shook my head. ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been chosen,¡± he said simply.


    My heart sank. Chosen? That didn¡¯t sound good. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios¡ªwas this some corporate punishment? A dangerous assignment? Or worse, some kind of experiment?


    ¡°Chosen¡­ for what?¡± I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Kristof leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrests of his throne. ¡°Tell me, Owen, do you know how to level up?¡±


    I hesitated before answering. ¡°From what I know¡­ people level up through repetition. Doing the same task repeatedly until it refines their abilities. Some say it can also happen naturally, just by living a long life.¡±


    Kristof nodded, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. But there is another way.¡±


    Another way? My brows furrowed. I didn¡¯t like where this was going.


    ¡°What¡­ other way?¡± I asked cautiously, my stomach churning with unease.


    Kristof¡¯s lips curled into a mischievous smile. His next word was calm, deliberate, and utterly chilling.


    ¡°Murder.¡±


    The word echoed in my head like a thunderclap. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt an involuntary shiver crawl down my spine. ¡°But¡­ that¡¯s impossible,¡± I stammered. ¡°Isn¡¯t it? Here in the Weave, we¡¯re just data. People don¡¯t die here. The worst anyone experiences is a dent in their wallet, right?¡±


    Kristof didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne, his smile deepening. ¡°Let me show you,¡± he said softly, his tone as playful as it was ominous.


    Before I could react, Kristof stood and raised his hand. A blade materialized in his grasp, its shimmering surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly light. He swung the sword lazily through the air, and a golden arc of energy erupted from its edge.


    I froze, helpless, as the glowing arc flew toward me. Time seemed to slow as it approached, and I barely had a moment to process what was happening before it passed through me.


    For a split second, there was nothing. No sound, no sensation. Then the pain hit.


    I screamed, clutching at the stump where my left arm had been moments ago. Blood poured from the severed limb, pooling on the pristine floor. The pain wasn¡¯t just sharp¡ªit was overwhelming, all-consuming, as though my very existence were being torn apart.


    This¡­ this couldn¡¯t be real. Pain like this wasn¡¯t supposed to exist in the Weave. Yet it did.


    Through the haze of agony, Kristof¡¯s voice cut through, calm and almost amused. ¡°It feels genuine, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t speak, couldn¡¯t think beyond the blinding pain. But deep down, I knew he was right. This pain wasn¡¯t a simulation. It was real. It was ironic, considering how I shoudln¡¯t know what ¡®real¡¯ felt like.


    Kristof continued, his tone colder now. ¡°The people of the Weave have lived without this kind of pain, Owen. They¡¯ve never known what it¡¯s like to suffer, to fear, to truly live. That¡¯s because they¡¯re cattle. And cattle must be protected.¡±


    I barely heard him. My mind reeled as I pressed my trembling hand against the bleeding stump, trying to stop the flow of blood. The room spun, and I felt like I might pass out.


    Then, as suddenly as the sword had appeared, it vanished. In its place, Kristof held a staff, its surface glowing with a soft, ethereal light. He pointed it toward me and made a sweeping motion.


    Warmth surged through my body. I watched in stunned disbelief as flesh began to knit itself back together. Tendons formed, muscles wrapped around bone, and finally, skin covered it all. My arm¡ªmy arm was whole again.


    The pain faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me gasping for breath, my mind racing to process what had just happened.


    Kristof lowered his staff, looking down at me with a mixture of amusement and condescension. ¡°This is the reality you¡¯ve been shielded from, Owen. Welcome to the cruel truth.¡±


    Cattle.


    The word echoed in my mind, growing louder and heavier with each repetition. Kristof¡¯s conviction was chilling, and it felt like a blade pressed to my throat.


    I rose to my feet, trembling but unwilling to cower any longer. Fury burned in my chest, raw and untamed. For a moment, it was as if my entire being was consumed by a hatred so foreign and absolute that I barely recognized myself.


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡± I spat, my voice betraying the resignation I didn¡¯t want to admit.


    Kristof¡¯s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned forward in his throne. ¡°I am old,¡± he began, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. ¡°I am one of the first settlers who arrived here in the Weave. Time has made me¡­ reflective.¡±


    He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching into a cruel smile. ¡°I suppose I wanted to hear the perspective of someone I¡¯m about to kill.¡±


    So blatant. So final. Yet the way he said it left no room for doubt. Resistance was futile, and we both knew it.


    ¡°You¡¯re a monster,¡± I muttered, my voice hoarse.


    Kristof chuckled. ¡°Perhaps. But it is brave of you to stand there, hatred burning in your eyes, refusing to kneel. I thought you¡¯d at least beg.¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± I growled, defiance thick in my tone.


    Kristof sighed, leaning back in mock boredom. ¡°Enough prattling. This is getting irksome. There is a new SKILL I¡¯ve learned, and I would love to use it on you.¡±


    The words sent a jolt of panic through me. Survival instinct kicked in, and I bolted toward the towering doors, adrenaline surging through my veins. I didn¡¯t care that escape was impossible¡ªI had to try.


    But Kristof¡¯s voice followed me, sharp and commanding, freezing me in my tracks.


    ¡°Become elixir that shall raise my soldiers!¡±


    A flash of golden light erupted behind me, swallowing the room in its brilliance. I turned, horrified, as my body began to dissolve. Pieces of me broke away into shimmering cubes of blue and gold, disintegrating into the air.


    ¡°No! No! NO!¡± I screamed, clawing at the remnants of my form as my vision shifted. I could no longer feel my body¡ªonly the sickening sensation of being torn apart and reduced to nothingness.


    From some distant corner of awareness, I saw the Cleaner approaching, carrying a dustpan as if this were just another chore. He crouched, scooping up the blue liquid that was once my body, his movements deliberate and methodical.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± I whimpered, though I wasn¡¯t sure if the sound escaped.


    The Cleaner paid no attention. He poured what remained of me into a vial, sealing it tightly. My consciousness flickered, fading like a dying ember, until there was nothing left but darkness.


    That day, I died.

 004 Charlie鈥檚 Elixir

    IV


    Charlie Stone strode through the gleaming corridors of Works Amway, his footsteps echoing in rhythm with his anticipation. His future felt as if it were stretching out before him, golden and full of promise. Few could access the SYSTEM¡ªStrategic Yield Synchronization and Tactical Engagement Matrix¡ªbut he was one of the chosen. That fact alone set him apart, a mark of providence.


    No one really understood how the SYSTEM chose its wielders. Was it genetics, luck, or perhaps something more ethereal? Charlie didn¡¯t care. What mattered was that he had it, and the power that came with it.


    He opened his SYSTEM interface with a practiced flick of his hand, the familiar holographic display shimmering before him.


    Player: Charlie Stone


    Level: 5


    Health: 100%


    Power: 100%


    STATS (Points: 0):


    Willpower: 6


    Freedom: 6


    Fortitude: 6


    Empathy: 2


    SKILLS (Points: 0):


    Fake-Out (Level 3)


    Appraisal (Level 2)


    Charlie frowned as he stared at his stats. Level 5. It felt embarrassingly low for someone like him, someone who had been trained and groomed for greatness.


    His father had insisted on restraint. ¡°Patience,¡± his father had said countless times. ¡°You¡¯ll level up when the time is right. For now, you must learn to hide you have the SYSTEM for our enemies might target you..¡±


    It was maddening. Charlie hated holding himself back, but he obeyed his father¡¯s wishes. That included mastering Fake-Out, a skill he found useful but unremarkable. It allowed him to mask his level, projecting a facade that fooled even skilled observers.


    The Level 1, Owen Hart, had fallen for it without hesitation.


    Well, not like pretending to be a Level 4 was particularly deceiving.


    The memory of the encounter brought a flicker of unease. Why had his father insisted on involving Owen? Charlie couldn¡¯t see the purpose in such an elaborate deception.


    Sighing, he closed the SYSTEM and checked his smartwatch. 5:30 PM. Right on time.


    His father had summoned him to his office, the one place in Works Amway where even Charlie tread cautiously. It wasn¡¯t just an office¡ªit was a fortress, a reminder of his father¡¯s immense power and influence.


    Straightening his jacket, Charlie made his way to the private elevators that led to the 86th floor. The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the sleek interior. He stepped inside, pressing the button for his father¡¯s floor.


    As the elevator ascended, Charlie allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. His father¡¯s expectations were crushing, but they were also a source of pride. He would fulfill them. He would become the person his father believed he could be.


    The doors to Kristof¡¯s office slid open without hesitation, as if sensing Charlie¡¯s arrival. Stepping inside, Charlie¡¯s eyes briefly flickered to the janitor¡ªno, the Cleaner¡ªwho stood off to the side. Despite the gap in their ranks, Charlie nodded respectfully. The Cleaner had been the one to teach him Fake-Out, a skill that had proven invaluable.


    Though the Cleaner was technically subordinate in the hierarchy, his presence carried an air of authority. His level was far higher than Charlie¡¯s, and Charlie knew better than to let his pride blind him to the gap in power.


    ¡°Father,¡± Charlie greeted, his voice steady but tinged with excitement. ¡°How may I help you?¡±


    Kristof, seated in a high-backed chair that resembled more of a throne, turned to face his son. The CEO¡¯s youthful visage betrayed nothing of his true age or the immense power he wielded. ¡°A little experiment,¡± Kristof said with a sly smile, ¡°and an initiation ritual for you.¡±


    The Cleaner stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and handed Charlie a small vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Charlie took it hesitantly, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside seemed to glimmer and shift, almost alive.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Charlie asked, his nerves evident despite his best efforts to sound composed.


    Kristof leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on interlocked fingers. ¡°A way to raise your level without venturing into the dangerous world outside. Efficient, isn¡¯t it? This method minimizes risk while ensuring growth. Awakening the SYSTEM is rare, Charlie. We cannot afford to waste potential.¡±


    Charlie turned the vial over in his hand, studying it with growing apprehension. Something about it felt... strange. ¡°And you¡¯re sure this is safe?¡±


    Kristof¡¯s gaze sharpened, a subtle but unmistakable warning. ¡°Drink.¡±


    Taking a deep breath, Charlie uncorked the vial and tipped it back. The liquid was sweet and tangy, coating his throat as it went down. Warmth bloomed in his chest and spread outward, filling him with an invigorating sensation.


    Charlie instinctively opened his SYSTEM, his eyes widening as he saw the results.


    Player: Charlie Stone


    Level: 10


    Health: 100%


    Power: 100%


    STATS (Points: 5):


    Willpower: 6


    Freedom: 6


    Fortitude: 6


    Empathy: 2


    SKILLS (Points: 5):


    Fake-Out (Level 3)


    Appraisal (Level 2)


    His level had doubled. Doubled! Charlie stared at the display in awe, his heart racing with excitement. The implications were staggering. He had jumped from Level 5 to Level 10 in an instant. Along with it came an increase in available stat points and skill points, a boon he hadn¡¯t anticipated.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Thank you, Father! Thank you!¡± Charlie exclaimed, unable to contain his gratitude.


    Kristof leaned back in his throne-like chair, his laughter echoing coldly through the grand office. ¡°Of course, we are family, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    Charlie hesitated, the warmth of his newfound power beginning to sour. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, Father¡­ May I ask what role Owen plays in all of this? I did as you asked¡ªI befriended a Level 1, even arranged for him to acquire a Skill Book for Appraisal to lure him into working for Amway.¡±


    A flicker of amusement crossed Kristof¡¯s face as Charlie continued, ¡°What does befriending him have to do with this?¡±


    Skill Books were specialized ITEMs¡ªrare and expensive¡ªthat granted individuals the ability to learn specific SKILLs. To most of the world, gaining a SKILL was an event of chance or destiny. But in Owen¡¯s case, the truth was far more calculated.


    Charlie smirked as he recalled the deception. Owen had thought his Appraisal SKILL was the result of a natural awakening, a rare occurrence among Level 1s. The truth was that Charlie had hired a sleuth to plant the Skill Book, arranging for Owen to touch it by ¡°accident.¡± Without access to the SYSTEM, Owen wouldn¡¯t even know the difference.


    In truth, people like Owen¡ªNPCs, as players like Charlie called them¡ªwere little more than tools. The term itself was a derogatory slur, but it had grown so common in Amway and other places that Charlie hardly flinched when he thought it. Some NPCs were even tricked unaware into servitude using similar schemes. Charlie had always dismissed it as a necessary evil, a means to an end.


    But nothing could prepare him for what came next.


    Kristof¡¯s smile widened, his voice dripping with cruel delight. ¡°Of course, it was all to improve the quality of the Elixir you just drank.¡±


    ¡°Elixir?¡± Charlie¡¯s unease deepened.


    Kristof chuckled, waving a hand to summon a glowing holographic display. It showed Owen, standing frozen, his body trembling. Then, in horrifying detail, Owen began to crumble. His form dissolved into golden and blue cubes, breaking apart until nothing remained but a swirling mass of blue liquid. The Cleaner stepped into the frame, sweeping the remnants into a vial.


    Charlie¡¯s breath caught, his heart racing. ¡°D-did I just¡­ Did I just drink Owen?¡±


    Kristof¡¯s expression didn¡¯t falter, his smile sharp and predatory. ¡°Worth it, wasn¡¯t it? A mere Level 1 empowered you like this! And this is just the beginning. Here in Amway City alone, we have countless others just like him. Cattle! We have so much cattle!¡±


    Charlie staggered backward, the room spinning around him. The warmth of the Elixir now felt like fire coursing through his veins, burning with guilt and revulsion.


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Charlie¡¯s voice cracked, his words faltering. ¡°He was my friend¡­¡±


    Kristof sneered, his tone scathing. ¡°Friend? Don¡¯t delude yourself, Charlie. Owen was a tool, nothing more. You¡¯ve been blessed with providence. That makes you better than him. You should be grateful.¡±


    Charlie¡¯s hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. The weight of his father¡¯s words crushed down on him, the truth too heavy to bear. Somewhere, deep in his soul, something shifted¡ªa seed of doubt planted in the fertile soil of his horror.


    Kristof rose from his seat, looming over Charlie. ¡°Remember this day, my son. This is the price of power. And in this world, power is all that matters.¡±


    Charlie said nothing, his mind racing. He glanced at his SYSTEM, the numbers glowing mockingly back at him.


    Level: 10.


    For the first time, the sight of his progress didn¡¯t bring him joy.


    It brought only¡­ disapointment¡­


    But still ultimately in the end.


    ¡°Worth it.¡±


    Charlie sat alone in his sleek sports car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. The hum of the engine was a comforting white noise, masking the storm raging in his mind. He had always been a young master, born into privilege, power, and prestige. Life had been simple¡ªpeople existed in his world as tools, assets, or obstacles. Few ever breached that boundary to become something more.


    Owen had been one of those few.


    Not that it changed the fact that Owen was, ultimately, a parasite. Charlie had delighted in tricking him, luring him into the web his father had spun. Befriending Owen had been easy¡ªa fake smile, a few kind words, and Owen had practically fallen over himself to trust him. It had been amusing at first, a game to pass the time. But over the months, something unexpected had happened.


    Charlie had grown to like Owen.


    It was a twisted, self-serving affection, but it was real in its own way. Owen was like a pet¡ªendearing, loyal, and utterly unaware of the leash around his neck. Charlie had thought that when the time came, Owen¡¯s usefulness would end with some public humiliation, maybe a small punishment to remind him of his place. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined drinking Owen.


    And yet, here he was.


    The vial¡¯s tangy sweetness still lingered in his mouth, clinging like a bitter aftertaste he couldn¡¯t wash away. The guilt had been sharp at first, a cold dagger of realization that cut deeper than he expected. But guilt, like most emotions, was fleeting. The warmth of the Elixir had spread through his body, the thrill of power washing away the worst of his discomfort.


    Still, it wasn¡¯t enough.


    Charlie revved the engine and drove, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator than necessary. The streets blurred into streaks of neon as he weaved through traffic, his mind a mess of contradictions. Owen was just an NPC, wasn¡¯t he? That¡¯s what he kept telling himself. But the truth was, Charlie had humanized him.


    It was like losing a favorite pet.


    When he finally pulled up to his luxurious high-rise apartment, Charlie couldn¡¯t face the silence. He needed a distraction, something to drown out the lingering unease. Without much thought, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts, stopping at Jasmine¡¯s name.


    Jasmine, the naive co-worker who had always eyed his status with thinly veiled admiration, picked up on the first ring.


    ¡°Charlie?¡± Her voice was soft, hopeful.


    ¡°Meet me,¡± he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she replied eagerly.


    Charlie picked her up, and for the rest of the night, he lost himself in her. They drove to a secluded park and indulged in each other under the stars. Fucked like dogs they did. They found a motel, a rooftop, any place that offered a semblance of privacy.  There, they mated like animals. Jasmine clung to him, worshipping the ground he walked on, and for a while, he let himself be consumed by the physical connection.


    In a more colorful language, they had sex like crazy that their wet sloppy juices splattered everywhere. Moaning. Gasping. Climaxing. And everything in between.


    But no matter how many times Charlie lost himself to pleasure, no matter how many times Jasmine cried his name in ecstasy, Charlie couldn¡¯t shake the shadow looming in the back of his mind.


    He had drunk Owen.


    Even as he held Jasmine close, her warmth pressing against him, the thought remained.


    The guilt may have dulled, but it hadn¡¯t disappeared.


    Charlie died that night.


    Not because of guilt¡ªhe had long since compartmentalized that. Not because he fucked Jasmine too much either; overdosing on sex wasn¡¯t a thing.


    No, his end came from something far less poetic and far more terrifying.


    The Weave had its own rules, rules few understood and fewer dared to question. Forces far beyond Charlie¡¯s comprehension stirred in its depths. It was as though the very fabric of the Weave decided to remind him¡ªand anyone else watching¡ªthat some things were simply off-limits.


    Not even the great Kristoff who had survived for so long ever dared imagine.


    One moment, Charlie was basking in the afterglow, a smirk on his lips and Jasmine curled against him. The next, the SYSTEM froze.


    A blinking message appeared in his vision, glitching and stuttering:


    [ERROR: ILLEGAL OPERATION DETECTED. REVERTING.]


    ¡°What the¡ª¡± Charlie barely had time to react before his body seized up.


    Golden and blue light erupted from within him, his form fracturing like glass. The pain was instant and overwhelming, his scream strangled as his consciousness unraveled. His level, his stats, his skills¡ªall of it was stripped away in an instant.


    If this were the old world, gamers would¡¯ve called it a "stupid patch update" that ruined the fun.


    But this wasn¡¯t a game. This was the Weave. And the Weave didn¡¯t care.


    When morning came, there was no trace of Charlie Stone.


    Instead, what was left was a husk that used to be Charlie Stone, and inside the false data that clung to the SYSTEM was a totally different person. And no, it wasn¡¯t post-nut clarity.

 005 A New Horizon

    V


    When I opened my eyes, I had no idea where I was.


    The first thing I saw was Jasmine¡ªlicking, sucking, and choking on my length as I lay naked on a mattress, my back soft against its surface. The wet, sloppy sounds echoed around me, every sense sharp and vivid.


    Was this my fantasy manifesting before I died? Or could this possibly be the true afterlife?


    I wasn¡¯t sure what to think, so I just went with it. Jasmine, with her long, dark brown hair and impressionable personality, had always been a crush of mine. She was fun to be around, easy to talk to, and strikingly confident in ways that made her stand out. Her face didn¡¯t matter much here¡ªnot in a world where appearance could be customized to suit one¡¯s whims.


    Before I realized it, I was swept up in her rhythm. She was relentless, her movements pulling me deeper into her flow. My body responded as if it had a will of its own, instinct taking over where thought faltered.


    I felt like a farmer tending to his fields, each thrust like planting seeds into fertile valleys. The work was demanding yet exhilarating, the peaks of pleasure growing sharper with every moment.


    "So this is sex," I thought, barely able to keep up.


    The rumors had always painted a vivid picture: the rich supposedly made their heirs this way, supplementing the act with expensive methods like Data Inheritance. The thought seemed absurdly distant now, lost in the heat of the moment.


    This wasn¡¯t baby-making. This was banal and pleasurable sex.


    When I thought Jasmine was done, she surprised me. Her lips brushed my neck before she pushed me back onto the mattress, her confidence unshakable. Without missing a beat, she climbed on top of me, taking control with the poise of a seasoned cowgirl.


    I was, frankly, speechless.


    This had to be a dream, I told myself. It had to be. Because if it wasn¡¯t, the reality of this situation could mean something far worse than I dared to imagine.


    We continued into the night, non-stop, until exhaustion claimed us both. As she collapsed against me, her breath heavy and warm, I stared at the ceiling and wondered: if this wasn¡¯t death, then what was waiting for me on the other side of this moment?


    Jasmine was deep asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I could still feel her warmth, but I was brimming with an unsettling energy. Carefully, I untangled myself from her embrace, moving as quietly as I could. The sheets were a mess¡ªtangled and damp with sweat and¡­ well, everything else.


    I sighed, a wave of paranoia sweeping over me. I grabbed fresh sheets from the closet and swapped them out, fumbling slightly as I tried to be quiet. I had no idea how to treat a girl properly. Was changing the sheets after sex normal? Was leaving them the way they were rude? I didn¡¯t know, but I didn¡¯t want to risk doing the wrong thing.


    With the bed taken care of, I grabbed some clothes and headed for the restroom. The cool air hit my face as I stepped inside, and I felt the need to splash water on myself, to clear my mind.


    But then I froze.


    Hovering above my head in the mirror¡¯s reflection was a glowing label:


    [Level 10]


    "What the hell?" I muttered. My body stiffened, my hands gripping the edges of the sink. The shock of seeing my level displayed like that was enough to make me question my sanity. L-level 10? That was like¡­ ten times higher than I remembered.


    But that wasn¡¯t the worst part.


    The reflection in the mirror wasn¡¯t mine.


    It was Charlie¡¯s.


    "Charlie?" I whispered, leaning closer to the mirror as if the reflection might somehow explain itself.


    Suddenly, a bright, translucent interface appeared in front of my eyes, floating in the air like something out of a game.


    Player: Owen Heart


    Level: 10


    Health: 100%


    Power: 100%


    STATS (Points: 5):


    Willpower: 6


    Freedom: 6


    Fortitude: 6


    Empathy: 2


    SKILLS (Points: 5):


    Fake-Out (Level 3)


    Appraisal (Level 2)


    I stared, wide-eyed, at the glowing display, my mind racing.


    "This can¡¯t be real," I muttered, shaking my head as if that would make it disappear. But it didn¡¯t. The words and numbers remained, etched into the air as if mocking me.


    I touched my face, my fingers trembling as they ran over skin that didn¡¯t feel like mine. This wasn¡¯t me. It was his face, his body.


    The realization hit me like a truck.


    "I¡¯m Charlie," I whispered, the words tasting foreign and wrong in my mouth.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    A hollow, sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I stared at the interface.


    "I sure damn wish there was someone who could explain this to me," I muttered. "But what in the living hell is this?"


    There were no answers in the reflection, only questions that multiplied with every second.


    I knew the skill Appraisal but not Fake-Out. However, at a data level, it felt intuitive¡ªlike an instinct embedded deep within me. I could sense how to use it and its effects. It was versatile, more so than I initially thought. The skill could hide my real level, disguise it to appear higher or lower, and even make my deception harder to detect. It was brilliant in its subtlety, a skill built for subterfuge.


    So without a thought, I used Fake-Out to disguise myself as a Level 4 like the original Charlie.


    There were still a lot to explore.


    But I didn¡¯t have the luxury of time to fully process this newfound knowledge.


    Jasmine¡¯s arms wrapped around me from behind, her soft embrace pulling me out of my thoughts. She whispered something playful, helped me out of my clothes, and pulled me back to bed.


    This time, she leaned back, spreading her legs in an inviting display of confidence. I couldn¡¯t resist, even if I wanted to. My body responded on its own, as if compelled by some foreign instinct. I was caught in a haze of sensations, unsure if I was truly alive, dead, or somewhere in between.


    Before I knew it, days had turned into weeks. A fortnight of alternating between bouts of passion, half-hearted dates, and countless attempts to make sense of this new reality passed in a blur.


    It felt as though I had been absorbed into Charlie¡¯s life, the momentum of his routine swallowing me whole.


    I sat at his desk one morning, staring blankly at the printed simulation from the holo-simulator. It resembled an advanced version of a smartphone¡ªsleek, intuitive, impossibly advanced. And yet, it felt hollow.


    I had definitely become Charlie.


    The memories were fragmented, but clear enough to know that Kristof, the CEO of Works Amway, had killed me. My body, my identity¡ªgone, disintegrated into nothingness. And here I was, stuck in someone else¡¯s skin.


    To say I felt complicated would be the understatement of a lifetime.


    ¡°Hey, sweetie, wanna try cosplay sex later?¡± Jasmine leaned over from her cubicle, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with playful mischief.


    The way she said it so casually caught me off guard. It felt... endearing. Her lightheartedness clashed with the heaviness in my chest, but I managed to respond without giving myself away.


    ¡°Oh my, I never thought my girlfriend would be into such a thing,¡± I said, trying to mirror Charlie¡¯s charm.


    She giggled, her cheeks flushing just slightly before she returned to her screen. It should have been a moment of levity, but instead, it only deepened my unease.


    I felt sick.


    Sick, yet depravedly glad that no one seemed to notice I was a fraud. No one was pointing fingers, calling me out for not being Charlie. Maybe I could pull this off. Maybe I could live Charlie¡¯s life, fake my way through his routines and relationships.


    But the thought churned my stomach. The truth was simple and brutal: Jasmine didn¡¯t want me. She wanted Charlie. His status, his wealth, his rank¡ªit was all part of the package she clung to so desperately¡­ now of all times that Charlie had shown interest on her.


    And could I blame her? In this world, rank was everything. She was a Level 2, clinging to a Level 5 like her survival depended on it. Perhaps it did.


    I sighed, burying my resentment beneath a layer of self-loathing.


    ¡°Charlie?¡± Jasmine¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts, her tone uncertain. ¡°Is their a problem?¡±


    Her question hung in the air, and for a moment, I saw through her facade. She was trying so hard to please me, to keep me close. She must have feared that, like so many others in this cutthroat world, I¡¯d cast her aside for someone better, someone with higher level and a better background.


    She wasn¡¯t wrong to worry.


    ¡°No,¡± I said at last, forcing a smile that I hoped looked genuine. ¡°There¡¯s no problem.¡±


    Her face lit up, and she leaned back in her chair, satisfied with my answer.


    But inside, I felt hollow. Resentment and guilt twisted together in a bitter knot. I resented Jasmine for loving Charlie, for clinging to him so shallowly. But I hated myself even more¡ªfor taking his place, for resenting her, for being the parasite I had always been.


    Charlie had looked down on me, I was sure of it. He¡¯d used me, manipulated me, and likely had a hand in my death. But what good was resenting a dead man? It was as futile as everything else in this borrowed life.


    I sighed again, leaning back in my chair.


    Jasmine was talking about something else now, but I barely heard her. I could only hope I¡¯d find a way to make sense of this mess before it consumed me.


    This life¡­ it was intoxicating.


    The respect. The power. The love.


    It was all too much, too addicting to resist. Every day, I found myself sinking deeper into the role of Charlie, wearing his skin and his life as if they were my own. The way people looked at me, deferred to me¡ªit was the kind of reverence I¡¯d never known as Owen.


    And Jasmine... Jasmine was a world unto herself.


    As the days passed, she grew bolder, more desperate to ensnare my heart entirely. Her love was all-consuming, almost worshipful, and it filled a void I hadn¡¯t realized I carried. But it wasn¡¯t without its cost.


    She would get jealous easily, clinging to me whenever another woman so much as looked my way. Her questions, veiled in innocence, felt like probes for cracks in my desires. She wanted to know what made me tick, what hidden need she could fulfill to make me stay.


    ¡°Charlie,¡± she¡¯d whisper in the dark, her fingers tracing my chest, ¡°is there something you¡¯ve always wanted to try? Something you¡¯ve been too shy to say?¡±


    Her devotion was suffocating. She offered herself to me like a gift, always eager, always pliant. One night, she hesitated before saying, ¡°Would you¡­ like it if I were tied up? In bondage?¡±


    Her eyes searched mine, vulnerable yet determined.


    I didn¡¯t know how to respond.


    Another time, she suggested rougher play, offering herself as a willing participant to my whims. ¡°You can try choking me,¡± she said one evening, her voice shaking but resolute. ¡°Or¡­ slapping me, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re into.¡±


    I suspected she might have been a masochist, but my [Appraisal] skill told me otherwise. I was¡­ observant if nothing else.


    Jasmine didn¡¯t like pain, not really. I could see it in the way she flinched at even the suggestion of biting or anything that left a mark. She didn¡¯t enjoy being hurt¡ªshe only offered these things out of fear.


    Fear of losing me.


    And it sickened me.


    Why? I didn¡¯t know. She loved me. She worshipped me. I should have been happy, grateful even. And I was. But beneath the surface, something twisted.


    I loved her too¡ªat least, I thought I did.


    Yet every time she felt like she wasn¡¯t enough, she would spiral into despair. One night, after I¡¯d reassured her for the hundredth time, she sat on the edge of the bed, her voice trembling.


    ¡°I just¡­ I don¡¯t want you to leave me, Charlie. If I¡¯m not enough, tell me what to do. I¡¯ll change. I¡¯ll be better. Anything.¡±


    Her words cut me deeper than I wanted to admit. She wasn¡¯t lacking. She didn¡¯t need to change. But she couldn¡¯t see that, no matter how much I told her. And the more she doubted herself, the more it felt like she was unraveling.


    I found her once, staring blankly at a knife in the kitchen. She wasn¡¯t holding it threateningly¡ªjust tracing the blade with her finger, lost in thought.


    ¡°Jasmine,¡± I said sharply, breaking her trance.


    She flinched, dropping the knife. ¡°I¡ªI wasn¡¯t going to do anything,¡± she stammered. ¡°I was just thinking.¡±


    But I knew better.


    Her love for me was consuming her. And maybe, just maybe, it was consuming me too.

 006 Sick World

    VI


    The cool evening breeze brushed against our faces as we strolled hand in hand through the park. The gentle hum of city life faded into the background, replaced by the noise of honking cars and the rustling of leaves overhead. Jasmine squeezed my hand lightly, her playful grin tugging at my attention.


    ¡°For a date, this is rather tame. What happened to you, Mr. Stone?¡± she teased, her voice laced with mock disappointment.


    I chuckled. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that. Not every date has to be extravagant, you know.¡±


    Truthfully, I enjoyed these quiet moments. There was something grounding about strolling through the park, watching the world go by at its own leisurely pace. It was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the office, the relentless grind of Charlie¡¯s routine.


    But even as I tried to relax, I felt the pull of the SYSTEM.


    It was a constant hum in the back of my mind, like a second heartbeat. The interface lingered in my vision, subtle but persistent, and I couldn¡¯t stop myself from tinkering with it.


    SKILLS (Points: 5):


    Fake-Out (Level 3)


    Appraisal (Level 2)


    I still had no idea how it all worked, but I¡¯d come to trust my instincts. Somehow, I felt like I could toggle my points at will, reallocating them as needed. And so, I did.


    I focused on [Appraisal], willing it to rise.


    SKILLS (Points: 0):


    Fake-Out (Level 3)


    Appraisal (Level 7)


    The shift was immediate. A subtle but powerful awareness surged through me, as though the world had come into sharper focus. Colors seemed brighter, details more vivid. I turned to Jasmine, and for the first time, I saw her clearly¡ªnot just her surface, but the layers beneath.


    Her flushed cheeks. The faint lines of worry she tried to hide. The warmth in her eyes that was tinged with just a hint of fear.


    ¡°Is there a problem, Charlie?¡± she asked, her voice tinged with nervous laughter. ¡°You¡¯re staring so much you¡¯re making me blush.¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I lied, forcing a smile.


    I grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her closer as we continued our walk. Jasmine¡¯s laughter returned, light and carefree, and I tried to focus on the moment.


    We wandered through familiar landmarks in Amway City, visiting spots that had become staples of our dates. A street vendor caught Jasmine¡¯s eye, and soon we were sampling skewers of grilled meat and fried vegetables, laughing as we dared each other to try the spiciest options.


    By the time we reached a small bench overlooking the city lights, we were a pair of idiots, stuffed with street food and dizzy from laughter.


    Jasmine leaned her head on my shoulder, her voice soft. ¡°I like this version of you, Charlie. The one who doesn¡¯t feel like he has to impress anyone. Just¡­ you.¡±


    Her words hit harder than I expected, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.


    Because this wasn¡¯t me.


    The guilt crept in, but I pushed it away, holding her hand a little tighter.


    For now, I decided, I¡¯d let myself enjoy this life. Even if it wasn¡¯t truly mine.


    The city lights danced on the river''s surface, shimmering and refracting as Jasmine and I strolled hand in hand under the bridge. We¡¯d spent the evening indulging in the kind of carefree fun that felt almost too good to be real¡ªstreet food, laughter, and stolen moments that reminded me of what life could be like without shadows looming over it.


    But tonight wasn¡¯t just about fun. I had a purpose.


    The memory of my so-called ¡°awakening¡± lingered in the back of my mind, gnawing at my thoughts. I remembered vividly the day I gained the [Appraisal] skill, the sudden, inexplicable surge of knowledge that changed everything. I¡¯d been led to believe it was natural, an awakening meant for me. But now, I couldn¡¯t shake the suspicion that it had all been orchestrated. A lie.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Jasmine broke my train of thought. ¡°You¡¯re staring at me too much, Charlie¡­¡± Her voice wavered slightly, her usual confidence faltering. ¡°Are you going to abandon me?¡±


    I felt my heart twist. ¡°Never,¡± I said firmly.


    The neon signs above cast a faint glow around us, painting her face in hues of pink and blue. I held her face gently in my hands, leaning in to kiss her. She responded immediately, her lips soft and warm against mine, her fingers clutching my shirt like she was afraid I might vanish.


    Jasmine pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. ¡°Such a boring answer. What if I¡¯m damaged goods? We started off in a one-night stand, you know? You called me out of the blue in the middle of the night. Maybe you¡¯ll just throw me away, like some¡­ like some convenience.¡± Her voice broke, but she forced a weak smile. ¡°Even if you do, I guess I¡¯ll still be happy with the memories.¡±


    I held her shoulders, steadying her. ¡°Never,¡± I repeated, my voice firm, my heart heavy.


    She looked at me with so much trust, so much hope, that it nearly broke me. And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I activated my Level 7 [Appraisal].


    The SYSTEM interface materialized before me.


    Player: Jasmine Brandt


    Level: 2


    Health: 100%


    Power: 100%


    STATS (Points: 0):


    Willpower: 1


    Freedom: 1


    Fortitude: 1


    Empathy: 2


    SKILLS (Points: 0):


    Sex Slave (Level 2)


    My breath caught in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes, unbidden and uncontrollable.


    ¡°Charlie?¡± Jasmine¡¯s voice was soft, uncertain. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Why are you crying?¡±


    I forced a smile, even as my chest ached and my stomach churned. ¡°They¡¯re¡­ tears of joy.¡±


    She smiled, brushing away a tear from my cheek. ¡°You¡¯re so strange sometimes.¡±


    I hugged her tightly, burying my face in her shoulder to hide the truth¡ªthe horror and disgust roiling inside me.


    The real Charlie had done this to her. That much I was certain of now. Jasmine¡¯s vibrant spirit, her warmth, her devotion¡­ they weren¡¯t entirely her own. She didn¡¯t even know. The SYSTEM that controlled her life, her thoughts, her desires¡ªit wasn¡¯t accessible to her. If she could see it, would she lose her spark? Would she hate herself?


    The word Kristof had used echoed in my mind.


    Cattle.


    More tears poured down my face as I clung to Jasmine.


    ¡°There, there,¡± she whispered, stroking my hair gently. ¡°Everything will be fine.¡±


    But I wasn¡¯t so sure anymore.


    The motel room was dim, the only light filtering in from the flickering neon sign outside. Jasmine lay curled beside me, her breathing steady and warm against my chest. We¡¯d been lost in each other for hours, tangled in passion and momentary escape from a world neither of us truly understood.


    But I couldn¡¯t sleep.


    Carefully, I slipped out of bed, taking Charlie¡¯s smartphone¡ªmy smartphone¡ªoff the nightstand. I scrolled through the data I¡¯d painstakingly compiled over the past weeks, piecing together scraps of information that painted an increasingly grim picture.


    The SYSTEM, a mysterious force governing this world, wasn¡¯t just a tool. It was a weapon. A method of control. Knowledge about SKILLs and SKILL BOOKs was guarded zealously by the elites, doled out sparingly to maintain their power. The mere existence of SKILLs like Sex Slave turned my stomach, but that was only scratching the surface. There were countless ways to manipulate non-system users¡ªor NPCs, as the elites seemed to call them.


    I clenched my fist, bile rising in my throat. The knowledge I¡¯d uncovered wasn¡¯t just conspiracy theory material. It was real. It was sickening. And it was being used to maintain a stranglehold on people like Jasmine. People like me.


    Jasmine stirred beside me, her voice soft and groggy. ¡°Is everything fine, Charlie? Do you want me to¡­ take care of your fatigue?¡±


    She crawled closer, her hand reaching for my lap, her expression laced with concern and desire.


    I managed a smile, though it felt hollow. ¡°Everything will be fi¡ª¡±


    Her face exploded.


    A spray of blood and gore painted the walls, the sheets, and me. Her lifeless body slumped forward, and for a moment, I couldn¡¯t move. I couldn¡¯t even breathe.


    A shadow loomed through the gaping hole in the door. Slowly, the figure stepped into the room.


    It was the Cleaner.


    Dressed in the familiar janitor¡¯s uniform from Works Amway, he held a shotgun in one hand and a crumpled doorknob in another. He wasn¡¯t just here to clean.


    ¡°Charlie,¡± he said, his voice cold and disdainful, ¡°you have responsibilities.¡±


    I stared at him, still frozen, my mind trying and failing to process what had just happened.


    The Cleaner continued, his tone clipped and authoritative. ¡°Your father has allowed you to indulge your time with your pet for long enough. This will probably be the last time you can engage in such open debauchery. As someone who carries Lord Kristof¡¯s dtaa, this is unbecoming. It¡¯s been nearly a month.¡±


    His words were like knives, cutting through the fog in my head.


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t a pet,¡± I said through gritted teeth, my voice trembling with a mix of rage and despair. ¡°Her name was Jas¡ª¡±


    The slap came so fast I didn¡¯t see it coming. My head snapped to the side, and I tasted blood as it trickled from my mouth and nose.


    The Cleaner loomed over me, his expression unyielding. ¡°I am a higher level than you, young master. Get your shit together.¡±


    I clenched my fists, barely restraining the fury boiling inside me. My gaze shifted to Jasmine¡¯s headless body, lying limply on the blood-soaked bed. The warmth and happiness I¡¯d found in her were gone, replaced by a cold, dreadful sensation that spread through me like poison.


    Hatred.


    Pure, wicked, seething hatred surged through me. It clawed at my chest, burned behind my eyes, and threatened to consume what little remained of my sanity.


    The Cleaner turned his back to me, his voice calm yet commanding. ¡°Prepare yourself. Your time playing house is over. Your responsibilities to your bloodline await.¡±


    I stared at Jasmine¡¯s body, my heart pounding, my thoughts spiraling into a vortex of anger and despair.


    This world was sick.


    And I was drowning in it.

 007 Rebel Son

    VII


    Kristof waved his staff dismissively, and the holographic interface before him flickered away. He turned his gaze to the expansive glass pane that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a commanding view of Amway City-State. The lights of the sprawling metropolis twinkled like a sea of stars, each one a reminder of his dominion. Behind him stood the Cleaner, his stoic demeanor betraying none of the tension he carried.


    Kristof spoke without turning around. ¡°How did it look? Any side effects?¡±


    The Cleaner hesitated for the briefest moment, then replied, ¡°None so far, my lord. However, I would suggest continued observation.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Kristof asked, his tone sharp but curious.


    ¡°Apologies, Lord Kristof. It is just... a feeling.¡±


    Kristof finally turned, his piercing eyes narrowing. ¡°In the old world, we called it a hunch. Tell me about this... feeling.¡±


    The Cleaner cleared his throat, an uncommon show of unease. ¡°Forgive my impertinence, but the boy¡­ he looked like he wanted to kill me. That wasn¡¯t Charlie. He was never like that. Charlie was meek, weak, and would easily cower in the face of power. This sudden shift in personality¡ªit¡¯s unsettling. He fought, my lord. All the way. I had to sedate him in the end.¡±


    Kristof¡¯s lips curled into a cold smile. ¡°Interesting. Perhaps he had more spirit than we thought. Or perhaps it was a reaction to the Elixir. Either way, it doesn¡¯t matter. A month of observation is already more than enough.¡±


    ¡°What are your orders, my lord?¡±


    ¡°Send him to the Academy. Assign someone else to continue the observation in your place. Your skills are better utilized elsewhere. I still need to refine the Elixir¡¯s formula before we can proceed with the next round of testing.¡±


    The Cleaner bowed deeply. ¡°As you command, Lord Kristof.¡±


    Kristof turned back to the window, his thoughts already moving ahead. Charlie Stone was little more than a lab rat to him, a tool in his endless pursuit of perfection. The fact that the boy¡¯s level had doubled was merely a side benefit, one he had earned through sheer coincidence.


    Reaching Level 10 had sealed his fate. Charlie was ready for the Academy, where his purpose would truly be fulfilled.


    Kristof¡¯s eyes swept over the city. He didn¡¯t dwell on Charlie for long. After all, the boy was one of many, and Kristof had an empire to shape, one carefully controlled experiment at a time.


    Since the Era of Great Migration, the Weave had been ruled by endless conflict. No matter the innovations, no matter the promises of a brighter future, one constant remained: people always sought to rise above others, and someone always had to be stepped on. There was no such thing as an ideal heaven, only a vaguely achievable paradise shaped by ambition and compromise.


    After the Era of Great Expansion, when it was discovered that the Weave¡¯s space was ever-expanding and new lands emerged with startling regularity, the wars briefly ceased. The energy once spent on bloodshed was redirected toward exploration and conquest of the unclaimed territories. It was a golden age of opportunity, a time when even the lowliest of nations dreamed of claiming their place among the stars of the Weave.


    But golden ages never lasted.


    Kristof stood in his towering skyscraper, the highest vantage point in Amway City-State, gazing down at the bustling metropolis. From here, the city looked like a network of pulsing veins, its life force flowing through every street and skyscraper. Yet Kristof saw not life, but a fragile machine teetering on the brink of collapse.


    The third era was coming. He could see the signs.


    Rumors of resource hoarding had begun circulating. Border skirmishes, dismissed as accidents, were becoming alarmingly frequent. Diplomatic envoys from neighboring city-states carried thinly veiled threats beneath their words of peace. The incursion was inevitable; it was simply a matter of when.


    Kristof smirked to himself, a cold and humorless gesture. History was nothing if not repetitive. Humanity had escaped its dying world, fled into the Weave in search of salvation, only to carry its old sins into this digital utopia. If left unchecked, they would destroy it, just as they had destroyed the Earth.


    "Humans," Kristof muttered, his voice tinged with disdain. "Such stupid creatures."


    He couldn¡¯t allow them to ruin this second chance. The Weave was too valuable to be squandered by their greed and short-sightedness. That was why he had dedicated his life to a singular goal: reducing them to cattle. A controlled herd, manageable and efficient, incapable of tearing each other apart.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The Elixir was a critical step toward that goal.


    Kristof turned from the window, his expression sharpening into one of calculated determination. Amway had to be prepared for the coming storm. Other nations would vie for supremacy, clawing at each other like starving animals. But Amway would not falter. Under his guidance, it would thrive.


    He strode toward the door, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow. Plans were already in motion¡ªagents deployed, resources allocated, alliances forged in secrecy. Kristof was always three steps ahead, and this time would be no different.


    At the thought of the impending Era of Great War, Kristof let out a low chuckle. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on him. They had escaped the apocalypse on Earth, only to bring it to the Weave.


    "Perhaps this time," he mused, "we¡¯ll get it right."


    But deep down, even Kristof wasn¡¯t sure if humanity could ever escape its nature.


    Kristof halted mid-stride, his instincts pricking at the air like a blade pressed to his neck. He turned sharply, narrowing his eyes at the door behind him.


    The explosion came without warning, a deafening blast of fire and debris that ripped the heavy steel doors apart. Smoke billowed through the shattered frame, and from it emerged a figure drenched in blood. Charlie.


    The young man dragged a holo-simulator in one hand, its light flickering with simulated energy, and gripped a grenade launcher in the other. His expression was feral, his movements unsteady yet purposeful. Kristof¡¯s gaze flicked to the glowing Level 10 hovering above Charlie¡¯s head.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Kristof asked, his voice cold, betraying neither surprise nor fear.


    Charlie bared his teeth in a manic grin. ¡°Die, motherfucker.¡±


    The grenade launcher hissed, firing a round straight at Kristof.


    The Cleaner moved faster than the eye could follow, catching the projectile mid-air with his bare hand. The explosion was instantaneous, engulfing the Cleaner in flames and smoke. Yet as the debris cleared, he stood unscathed, glaring at Charlie with an expression caught between rage and incredulity.


    ¡°Young Master!¡± the Cleaner boomed, his voice trembling with restrained fury. ¡°Because you are His Lordship¡¯s son doesn¡¯t mean you can just do whatever you like!¡±


    Kristof observed the exchange with detached curiosity, noting the subtle shift in the Cleaner¡¯s stance. Despite his reprimand, the Cleaner was shaken. Kristof could see it in the way his fingers twitched, the way his gaze lingered on Charlie¡¯s blood-soaked figure.


    ¡°This is foolish,¡± Kristof said calmly, discarding his staff. He reached to his side, summoning his sword with a fluid motion. The blade shimmered with an otherworldly light, its edges sharp enough to split reality itself.


    Charlie roared, charging forward with reckless abandon. He fired another grenade, this time aiming directly at Kristof.


    The patriarch of the Stone family moved like a wraith. With two quick swings of his blade, the projectile was sliced in half, detonating harmlessly behind him. The third swing came before Charlie could react.


    Blood sprayed across the room as both of Charlie¡¯s arms were severed, the holo-simulator and grenade launcher clattering to the floor. Charlie fell to his knees, his screams echoing off the glass walls.


    Kristof stood over him, the tip of his sword hovering inches from Charlie¡¯s throat. ¡°I like the passion,¡± Kristof said, his tone almost amused. ¡°But passion without strategy is just wasted energy.¡±


    Charlie gasped for air, his eyes blazing with defiance even as his body betrayed him.


    Kristof sighed, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯re not ready for this world, boy. Not yet. Perhaps in another life.¡±


    Behind him, the Cleaner stepped forward, ready to finish the job.


    But Kristof raised a hand to stop him. ¡°No. Let him live. Just a bit longer.¡±


    The Cleaner hesitated, then nodded. ¡°As you wish, my lord.¡±


    Kristof stood still, his piercing gaze locking onto the bloody figure before him. Slowly, he raised his hand and activated his Level 10 Appraisal skill.


    The system responded immediately, a glowing interface materializing before his eyes.


    [Player: Owen Hart]


    Level: 10


    Kristof¡¯s lips curled into a wry smile. ¡°I see,¡± he remarked, his tone dripping with condescension. ¡°You are foolish to your core. So human. So self-destructive. If I were you, I would have pretended to be Charlie to the best of my abilities¡ªhone my blade in the shadows and strike only when it truly mattered.¡±


    Owen¡¯s chest heaved as he glared at Kristof, his defiance unwavering despite the blood streaming from his wounds. ¡°Do you think this is a game? I¡¯d rather die than let your tyranny continue!¡±


    Kristof chuckled, the sound cold and hollow. ¡°Foolish till the end,¡± he muttered. ¡°But let me enlighten you, Owen Hart. Do you know the Weave was originally based on a VR game? Its AI evolved drastically as developers altered its functions, transforming it into this world we now inhabit. The Weave is nothing more than a giant simulation of souls. To me, it has always been a game.¡±


    Owen froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. The words struck a chord deep within him, unraveling what little stability remained of his stolen reality.


    Even the Cleaner, stoic and composed, appeared rattled for a fleeting moment.


    Kristof leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper that felt more menacing than any shout. ¡°Charlie is dead. Replaced by you¡ªa mere Level 1 who thought he could play in a world of gods. An interesting development, though hardly surprising. My formula, it seems, is flawed to the core.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, Lord Kristof?¡± the Cleaner interjected, his brow furrowed in confusion.


    Kristof didn¡¯t turn to face him. His gaze remained fixed on Owen, who trembled under the weight of the revelation. ¡°Charlie Stone is no more,¡± Kristof continued. ¡°He has been replaced by this parasite¡ªOwen Hart. Fascinating, yet meaningless. From this moment forward, Charlie¡¯s name is struck from the family registry. I¡¯ve disowned him.¡±


    Owen¡¯s body tensed, and he tried to flee, his instincts screaming at him to escape. But before he could make it three steps, the Cleaner was upon him, slamming him to the ground with one swift motion. A boot pressed firmly against his back, pinning him in place.


    Kristof turned his back to the scene, wiping the blood from his sword with a single, deliberate stroke. ¡°Heal him,¡± he commanded. ¡°And then send him to the Academy. Let them break him properly. He still has his uses. The Academy could always use more cannon fodder.¡±


    Owen gritted his teeth, his anger boiling over. ¡°You think I¡¯ll just bend to your will? That I¡¯ll let this go?¡±


    Kristof smirked, glancing over his shoulder. ¡°Do well to survive, Owen Hart. Who knows? Perhaps someday, you¡¯ll grow strong enough to kill me.¡±


    Without another word, Kristof strode away, his footsteps echoing ominously in the chamber.

 008 Drastic Measures

    VIII


    The train rattled on, the dim overhead lights flickering every so often. I sat on the cold metal floor, back against a crate, forcing my breathing to remain steady. Across from me, the Cleaner lounged on another crate, his sharp gaze never leaving me. His posture was casual, but there was nothing relaxed about him.


    He smirked. ¡°You¡¯ve got guts, kid. I¡¯ll give you that. But do you have brains?¡±


    I met his gaze, unwilling to rise to his taunts. ¡°I imagine Kristof spared me because I have something he wants.¡±


    The Cleaner scoffed. ¡°That, or he¡¯s curious how long you¡¯ll last before you break.¡±


    I kept my expression neutral. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then why spare me?¡±


    His smirk widened. ¡°You tell me.¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer immediately. I knew my place here¡ªI wasn¡¯t an equal in this conversation. The Cleaner was testing me, prodding to see what I understood. If I answered wrong, he¡¯d mock me. If I answered right¡­ he¡¯d mock me anyway. But it wasn¡¯t just about humiliation¡ªhe was gauging my intelligence.


    I exhaled slowly. ¡°This isn¡¯t a mercy. It¡¯s prudence.¡±


    His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. ¡°You catch on quick. Players are¡­ rare after all. And the Academy would always have a use for firewood like you.¡±


    I let the silence stretch before asking, ¡°Academy? Sounds better than jail. What¡¯s it like there?¡±


    The Cleaner chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll love it there. It¡¯s a place where ¡®meritocracy¡¯ is the law. The strong rise, the weak are trampled, and the Elite ensure the whole system keeps spinning. They claim it¡¯s fair, that anyone can make it if they try hard enough.¡± He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ¡°What a joke.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°If it¡¯s such a lie, why does Kristof play along?¡±


    ¡°Because he benefits from it.¡± The Cleaner¡¯s smirk disappeared, replaced by something colder. ¡°The Council of City-States collectlivelt runs the place, but don¡¯t fool yourself¡ªpeople like Kristof pull the strings from the shadows. They let the Academy exist because it churns out killers, and killers are useful.¡±


    I clenched my fists. ¡°So I¡¯m being thrown into the meat grinder.¡±


    ¡°Bingo.¡± He pointed a finger at me like a loaded gun. ¡°Question is¡ªwill you come out ground beef, or will you be the one holding the knife?¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer.


    The train¡¯s overhead lights flickered again, casting shadows across the stacked crates. The air inside the cargo hold smelled of oil and metal, tinged with something acrid.


    The Cleaner studied me, then suddenly let out a sharp laugh. ¡°You¡¯ve got that look.¡±


    ¡°What look?¡±


    ¡°The one that says you think you can beat the system.¡± His amusement was clear now, but so was the edge in his voice. ¡°That you¡¯ll be the one exception. That all it takes is playing your cards right.¡±


    I held his gaze. ¡°Am I wrong?¡±


    He leaned back, stretching. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what I think. You¡¯ll find out soon enough.¡±


    Silence settled between us, broken only by the steady hum of the train.


    I took a slow breath. ¡°If I want to survive Academy City, what¡¯s the first thing I need to know?¡±


    The Cleaner¡¯s smirk returned, but this time, it was darker. ¡°First rule¡ªdon¡¯t trust anyone.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Not even you? Yeah, obviously not you.¡±


    His laughter was sharp and grating. ¡°Especially not me.¡±


    The train jolted, the slowing momentum making the crates creak against their restraints. The Cleaner stood, stretching as though he¡¯d just woken up from a nap. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re almost there.¡±


    I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the soreness in my limbs. My mind raced, absorbing everything he¡¯d said.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The game was rigged.


    The strong ruled, the weak suffered.


    And I was walking straight into the lion¡¯s den.


    But that was fine.


    Because I wasn¡¯t here to play by their rules.


    I was here to win.


    The rhythmic clatter of the train filled the silence. I leaned against the crate, arms crossed, thoughts running like wildfire. The Cleaner¡¯s smirk lingered in my mind, but I pushed it aside. I needed to focus.


    Why had I attacked Kristof?


    At first glance, it seemed like a reckless, impulsive act¡ªsuicide even. And maybe, in some ways, it was. But there was a method to my madness.


    Kristof was untouchable. A towering figure in Amway¡¯s power structure, surrounded by loyalists and enforcers like the Cleaner. If I had simply tried to run, I¡¯d have been caught, probably branded a traitor, and disposed of. If I had groveled, I¡¯d have been used up and discarded the moment I was no longer valuable.


    Neither outcome suited me.


    I needed to make Kristof look at me and see something more than just another pawn. I needed him to want me alive.


    That meant proving my worth. That meant showing him that I wasn¡¯t just another desperate rat scrambling for survival¡ªI was someone with ambition, someone who could think, scheme, and execute.


    So I attacked him.


    It was stupid. Mad. Nonsense.


    That somehow worked.


    I knew my simulated bombs wouldn¡¯t kill him. The Cleaner was right about that. But their purpose wasn¡¯t to kill¡ªit was to test. I needed to see how Kristof reacted to something like me. Would he kill me instantly? Would he torture me? Would he see value in me?


    Kristof let me live. That meant I had intrigued him. That meant I had a sliver of control in this situation.


    And then there was the second reason.


    Amway was a prison. A gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. I¡¯d already tested its limits in the shrot time I was living as Charlie. I knew escape was impossible¡ªnot through conventional means, at least. I needed to be sent out, not chased down as a fugitive. That meant Kristof himself had to decide that I was better off elsewhere.


    And that was exactly what happened.


    Now I was on this train, bound for Academy City.


    A place where system users like me could grow. A place where power could be seized. A place where, if I played my cards right, I could stop being someone else¡¯s pawn and start becoming a player in this twisted game.


    Had everything gone according to plan?


    Not exactly.


    I hadn¡¯t accounted for the humiliation at Kristof¡¯s hands, the sheer weight of his presence pressing down on me, forcing me to acknowledge that I was still weak. I hadn¡¯t predicted the Cleaner¡¯s interference. I didn¡¯t think. I was a bundle of nerves, mid explosion. And I exploded.


    But that was fine.


    Even when plans faltered, new opportunities arose.


    The train came to a slow, rhythmic stop, its mechanical hum fading into the stillness. I felt the subtle shift in motion before the faint hiss of air brakes filled the cargo hold. The dim, confined space became unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional creak of settling metal.


    The Cleaner remained seated on his crate, his posture as relaxed as ever. He didn¡¯t look at me, but I could feel his presence looming¡ªhis aura heavy, his amusement simmering just beneath the surface.


    I decided to break the silence, despite the danger. My voice, steady but laced with defiance, sliced through the tension.


    ¡°This was a mistake.¡±


    The Cleaner finally turned his piercing gaze toward me, one brow quirked in vague curiosity.


    ¡°Letting me go,¡± I continued, my chest tightening as my heart raced. ¡°Kristof will regret it. One day, I¡¯ll come back, and he¡¯ll wish he¡¯d finished the job.¡±


    The words left my mouth before I could think them through, and I realized, far too late, just how suicidal they sounded. Why do I keep doing this?


    For a moment, the Cleaner stared at me, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then he laughed¡ªa sharp, derisive sound that bounced off the metal walls.


    ¡°Revenge?¡± he drawled, standing up and dusting off his pants as though I weren¡¯t even worth the effort of a real response. ¡°You¡¯re barely alive as it is, kid. You think you¡¯ll make it far enough to even scratch Kristof?¡±


    I didn¡¯t flinch. His dismissiveness confirmed my earlier assessment¡ªhe and his master didn¡¯t see me as a threat. That was good. That was important.


    But his words still stung.


    ¡°You¡¯re just another bug,¡± he added, shrugging with theatrical indifference. ¡°One of millions squashed before they ever get anywhere. If it¡¯s not here, it¡¯ll be in Academy City. You¡¯ll die, Owen Hart. Probably sooner than you think.¡±


    The cargo hold door groaned, the sound reverberating through the chamber as it began to slide open. Light spilled in, illuminating the gray walls and casting long shadows. The Cleaner glanced at me, then grabbed my arm in an iron grip.


    ¡°We¡¯re done here,¡± he said flatly.


    Before I could even register what was happening, the world around me warped. A pulse of light engulfed us, and in an instant, the suffocating metal walls of the cargo hold vanished.


    I blinked, disoriented. We were now standing in a pristine, sterile hallway. The walls gleamed unnaturally white, and the faint hum of overhead lights filled the air. It was eerily empty¡ªno people, no sounds save for the two of us.


    The Cleaner let go of my arm and gestured lazily toward a door at the end of the corridor.


    ¡°You¡¯re enrolled,¡± he said with mock enthusiasm. ¡°Congratulations. Try not to embarrass yourself more than you already have.¡±


    I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off with a sneer.


    ¡°Speaking of embarrassment, let¡¯s talk about your idiotic stunt back at Amway. Attacking the CEO? Really? You should¡¯ve stayed quiet, played your cards right, and pretended to be Charlie. You might¡¯ve had a shot at something, anything, if you¡¯d used your head.¡±


    I met his gaze, unflinching.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather die,¡± I said firmly, my voice low but unwavering. ¡°I¡¯d rather die than live another day pretending to be Charlie.¡±


    For a brief moment, something flickered in the Cleaner¡¯s expression¡ªsomething almost resembling curiosity or grudging respect. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual air of condescension.


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± he said, turning on his heel. ¡°Your funeral.¡±


    With that, he strode down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared into the distance.


    I was left standing alone, my fists clenched at my sides.


    This wasn¡¯t just about survival anymore.


    It never had been.

 009 Hunger & Data

    IX


    The hallway was eerily empty. My footsteps barely made a sound against the polished floor as I walked toward the door that bore my name¡ªOwen Hart.


    For a second, I just stared at it. Seeing my real name there instead of Charlie Stone gave me a strange sense of finality. There was no going back.


    I stepped inside.


    The dorm room was far bigger than my old studio apartment back in Amway. The bed looked comfortable, the desk was neatly arranged, and the window¡ªan actual window¡ªoverlooked the city skyline. Artificial or not, it was a luxury I hadn¡¯t expected.


    I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my smartphone. The device was still with me, meaning my bytes were still intact. That was good. Bytes were everything¡ªcurrency, data, maybe even something more fundamental. I scrolled through my notepad, reviewing the scraps of information I had managed to gather from Charlie¡¯s files.


    Academy City.


    It had been mentioned before, but only in vague terms. Some kind of Player training ground, a place where the City-States honed their best. But the way the Cleaner spoke about it made it clear¡ªmeritocracy was a lie, and power here wasn¡¯t earned fairly.


    I swiped over to my email. A new message had arrived:


    Class Schedule ¨C Owen Hart


    <ul>


    <li>Combat Theory [8:00 AM]</li>


    <li>System Mechanics [10:00 AM]</li>


    <li>Break [12:00 PM]</li>


    <li>Simulation Training [1:00 PM]</li>


    <li>Ethics and Governance [3:00 PM]</li>


    <li>Independent Study [5:00 PM]</li>


    </ul>


    I sighed, locking my phone. It didn¡¯t matter what they called these classes. The real lesson here was survival.


    A flicker in my vision made me pause. My system interface¡ªstill barely understood¡ªflashed a notification:


    [Status: Hungry]


    [Power: 55%]


    Hunger? I frowned. I hadn¡¯t felt this since¡­ ever. I had assumed bodily needs were simulated, but this was different. A gnawing emptiness twisted inside me, sharp and demanding.


    I scrolled back through my notes. Somewhere, in the fragmented information left behind by Charlie, I found a mention of this.


    Only the City-States have the luxury of never suffering from hunger.


    So this was intentional.


    I clenched my jaw. If hunger was a status effect, then why did it hurt so much? And more importantly¡ªwhy did I feel like I could consume bytes instead of food?


    My fingers hovered over my phone. It acted as my wallet, holding my stored bytes. If I could figure out how to withdraw them¡­


    But I hesitated. Bytes were valuable. If I messed up, there was no telling how much I¡¯d lose. And I couldn¡¯t afford to make a mistake.


    That left one option.


    ?


    The hotdog vendor stood at the corner of a small plaza, illuminated by neon signs advertising his wares. He was a Level 1, which meant he either hadn¡¯t fought before or had no desire to.


    And yet, he didn¡¯t seem to hate his job.


    I watched him for a moment, confused. Why? The Cleaner had said it himself¡ªmeritocracy was a lie, and power was everything. So why was this man content to serve food in a world where levels dictated your worth?


    Ah¡­


    He was an NPC. A non-player. The others didn¡¯t recognize him as a player so he probably remained ignoant to a lot of things.


    I shook off the thought and handed him a few bytes.


    The hotdog was warm in my hands. I hesitated before taking a bite. It was just data, right?


    The moment I tasted it, my system flickered.


    The hunger that had been clawing at my insides vanished, replaced by a warmth that spread through my body. The flavors¡ªsavory, slightly charred, the tang of mustard¡ªwere vivid.


    Too vivid.


    I felt¡­ full. But more than that, I felt something else.


    Like I had just taken in more than food.


    Like I had just grown.


    After feeding myself until I felt full, I then proceeded to look for the library.


    ¡°Ah, found you.¡±


    The library was massive¡ªvaulted ceilings, endless rows of bookshelves, and an eerie silence that made every movement feel watched. It was nothing like the compact digital archives I had been forced to rely on back in Amway. Here, knowledge was tangible. I intended to devour it.


    I found a terminal tucked between the shelves and settled into the chair. The screen lit up with a soft hum. A search bar blinked at me, waiting.


    City-States.


    The results poured in. I skimmed, my eyes dancing over the texts, absorbing whatever I could.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    There were exactly twelve City-States under the Council. Each one ruled by an Overlord, beings who had existed for far longer than anyone should. Their rule was absolute, their authority unquestioned.


    And their laws were ironclad.


    <ul>


    <li>Migration was forbidden.No one could move between cities.</li>


    <li>Hunger did not exist.Those within the cities never suffered from it, unlike those in places like Amway.</li>


    <li>Non-system users were confinedwithin their respective city-states. Those without access to the SYSTEM were considered</li>


    <li>Level-ups were restricted.No one could rise in power unless it was</li>


    </ul>


    And that was just the surface.


    The deeper I read, the more the words blurred together¡ªcontrol, confinement, oppression.


    I might not have been the most educated person, but even I could recognize what this was. Trampling on freedom. Stripping away human rights.


    This wasn''t order.


    This was a cage.


    ?


    I searched for Academy City.


    What I found made my blood run cold.


    It was considered the unofficial thirteenth city, a place separate from the Council but still under its influence. Unlike the others, it had no permanent ruler. No Overlord.


    Instead, it had a purpose.


    I kept scrolling. Then my eyes caught on a single line.


    50% to 70% of the academy¡¯s students die every year.


    I stared at the words. Read them again.


    Half. More than half.


    I felt something dark coil in my stomach.


    Why?


    I pushed further, searching for an answer. It didn¡¯t take long.


    The Council¡¯s philosophy was simple:


    Quality over quantity.


    They believed in eliminating the weak, ensuring that only the best survived. The Academy wasn¡¯t just a school. It was a furnace. A place designed to forge champions¡ªor grind failures into dust.


    I leaned back in my chair, gripping the edges of the desk. My breath came slow, controlled, but my fingers trembled.


    I had been sent here for a reason.


    Not to learn.


    Not to grow.


    But to either become something worth keeping¡ªor die trying.


    The Academy City was more transparent than I had expected. After everything I read in the library, I would have assumed otherwise. But maybe that was the whole point¡ªwhen you ruled with absolute authority, there was no need for secrecy. No need to hide the brutal truths.


    I sighed, shutting down the terminal and rubbing my temples. This place wasn¡¯t just a school; it was a furnace. A battlefield disguised as an institution.


    Then my smartphone buzzed.


    I pulled it out of my pocket. A new email.


    Sender: Academy Administration


    Subject: Guidance Office Interview


    Dear Owen Hart,


    You are requested to report to the Guidance Office for an interview. Attendance is mandatory.


    I frowned. Guidance Office?


    I doubted this was about helping me adjust to student life.


    ?


    I returned the books I had been reading, placing them carefully back onto the shelves. Then, I began my next task: finding the damn office.


    The Academy was a maze of towering buildings and interconnected pathways. There were no clear signs, and the map on my phone was frustratingly vague. I resorted to the oldest trick in the book¡ªasking for directions.


    One person sent me down a hall. Another told me to take the stairs. A third waved me in a direction that directly contradicted the last person.


    By the time I finally stood in front of the Guidance Office, I was convinced the staff had designed this place to be as inefficient as possible.


    I pushed open the door.


    ?


    Inside, a woman sat at a clean, white desk, flipping through a stack of documents. She looked up as I entered, her expression unreadable behind thin, rectangular glasses.


    "You''re late," she said.


    I checked my phone. "I¡¯m exactly on time."


    She shrugged. "Then you¡¯re late in spirit."


    I raised a brow. What?


    "Sit," she instructed, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.


    I did as I was told.


    The woman studied me for a moment before speaking. "I¡¯m Stephanie. I work for Works Inc., which means I have a direct connection to Lord Kristof. While you¡¯re in the Academy, I¡¯ll be the one overseeing your progress."


    My fingers curled slightly against the armrest of the chair. Kristof¡¯s reach extended even here.


    Stephanie adjusted her glasses. "You''re not the only sponsored candidate from Amway. There are several others under my supervision, so let''s get this interview over with, shall we?"


    She pulled out a form and a pen.


    "Name?"


    "Owen Hart."


    "Age?"


    "Twenty-three," I answered, falling back on Charlie¡¯s age.


    She didn¡¯t even look up. "How old are you really?"


    I exhaled through my nose. So she knew.


    "Five," I answered.


    She finally glanced at me. "Five?"


    "Yeah," I said, my voice even. "I didn¡¯t have a childhood. I was born fully mature. Natural spawning."


    Stephanie didn¡¯t react. This information wasn¡¯t surprising to her. I supposed in this world, people like me weren¡¯t uncommon. We make a good percentage of the population in Amway at least.


    She simply nodded and continued filling out the form. "Alright. Next question..."


    And so the interview continued.


    Stephanie¡¯s pen scratched against the paper, her gaze cool and detached. The interview had been methodical so far¡ªbasic questions, all leading to a file somewhere in the depths of the Academy¡¯s archives.


    Then she paused. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine.


    "Do you seek to harm Lord Kristof?"


    The room felt suddenly smaller.


    I could feel the weight of her stare, the subtle shift in the air. Lie detection. I didn¡¯t know what skill she had, but I could tell¡ªif I lied, she would know.


    "No," I said.


    Silence.


    Then Stephanie smiled.


    "Liar."


    I tensed.


    Her nails tapped against the desk. "If you wish to stay here, Owen, I strongly advise you to always speak the truth with me. It will reflect poorly on you otherwise."


    There was no malice in her tone. Just fact.


    I exhaled slowly. My fingers curled against my knee as I spoke again.


    "Yes," I admitted. "I want to harm him."


    She nodded, scribbling something onto the paper. "Good."


    I blinked.


    "Good?"


    Stephanie leaned back in her chair. "The Council of City-States has long sought a method to replace the Overlords. It is a well-known dilemma. One without a clear solution¡ªuntil now, perhaps. For over the past decade, the Council had done their best to manufacture hatred to a bigger scale in hopes to create people like you. It seemed Lord Kristof had outdone himself."


    I narrowed my eyes. "What are you saying?"


    She twirled the pen between her fingers. "The consensus is that even the Overlords themselves wish for change. If only to expand the number of City-States and improve the survival chances of the Council as a whole."


    A bitter taste filled my mouth.


    I thought I understood this world. I thought I had pieced together enough of its mechanics to take advantage of it. But time and time again, it proved that there were layers to this place that I hadn¡¯t even begun to peel back.


    The Overlords wanted to be replaced?


    I couldn¡¯t tell if that made them wise, pragmatic, or simply monsters playing a longer game.


    Stephanie shut the folder. "That concludes our interview."


    The air between us settled into something unspoken. A warning. A challenge.


    She adjusted her glasses. "You are now a member of the Provisional Army of the Council. That comes with responsibilities."


    I didn¡¯t miss the underlying message. Get strong. Or die.


    I clenched my jaw.


    This world didn¡¯t just demand strength. It demanded something worse.


    Resolve.


    And I had plenty to spare.

 010 Into the Unknown

    X


    I didn¡¯t get it.


    Really?


    The Academy¡¯s casualty rate was 50% to 70%, yet from everything I had read in Charlie¡¯s notes, system users were rare and highly valued. The City-States hoarded and protected them like precious resources. So why would they willingly throw so many away?


    It didn¡¯t add up.


    I needed answers.


    I logged into one of Charlie¡¯s old forums¡ªa place where system users exchanged knowledge¡ªand posted my question. Then, while waiting for a response, I buried myself in more research at the library.


    A ping sounded from my smartphone.


    Someone had replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s quick.¡±


    I swiped open the notification, only to be met with a flood of mockery.


    "How the hell do you not know this?"


    "Lmao, is this guy serious?"


    "Another ignoramus. Just go die in a Dungeon already."


    I scrolled past the insults, looking for something useful¡ªand finally, I found it.


    "The casualty rate is because of the Dungeons."


    "Every Academy student is required to enter a Dungeon at least once a month."


    I frowned.


    Dungeons?


    I searched the library database for anything related to them. Within minutes, I found my answer.


    Dungeons were alternate worlds¡ªor rather, fabricated storylines created by the Weave. They were filled with corrupted data that the system arranged into a challenge that system users could clear. The point was to contain the corruption before it spread too much.


    It was a cleanup job.


    And the Academy had turned it into a test of survival.


    The books explained that every student¡¯s system interface contained a Dungeon function. I hesitated for a moment, then accessed my own interface.


    A new button appeared before my eyes.


    [Random Dungeon]


    So it was real.


    According to what I had read, the Weave would match each person to a dungeon suited to their level. Every Dungeon had a storyline, and in order to clear it, the player had to complete certain objectives within that story.


    The part that caught my attention the most?


    Dungeons were one of the fastest ways to level up.


    Not only that, but players had a high chance of obtaining powerful Skill Books¡ªitems that could grant them powerful abilities.


    I stared at the button on my interface.


    I wasn¡¯t stupid.


    This was a death sentence for the weak.


    But for the strong?


    It was an opportunity.


    And I needed every opportunity I could get.


    I decided to postpone the whole dungeon-delving thing.


    I needed to research more before throwing myself into something that could very well kill me.


    Instead, my thoughts drifted to something else¡ªsomething that had been bothering me since I arrived at the Academy City.


    Hunger.


    Back in Amway, hunger didn¡¯t exist. The City-States had eliminated it entirely. No one starved. No one needed to eat unless they wanted to. I had assumed that was a universal truth of the Weave¡ªa digital paradise where people never suffered the flaws of the real world.


    But that illusion had shattered.


    Outside the City-States, hunger was real. A cold, gnawing emptiness in my gut that refused to be ignored. Even if it was simulated, it felt no different from true suffering.


    So like any hungry person, I looked for food.


    Thankfully, they had affordable food in the cafeteria.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The first chance I got, I returned to my room. I didn¡¯t like the stares I was receiving.


    I sighed and pulled out my smartphone.


    I stared at Jasmine¡¯s picture on the screen.


    A part of me wanted to believe she was still somewhere out there, waiting for me. But another part of me whispered that she had probably moved on to whatever afterlife-afterlife there was. I shook my head.


    Thinking about it wouldn''t change anything.


    I lay down on the bed, knowing I didn¡¯t need to sleep. Sleep wasn¡¯t necessary in the Weave. Technically, our minds never needed rest.


    And yet¡­ people still did it.


    To escape.


    To dream.


    So I let my eyes close, and for the first time in a while¡­ I dreamed.


    +++


    ++


    +


    Jasmine was there.


    She sat across from me at our favorite caf¨¦, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. Her smile was warm, teasing, just like I remembered.


    But something was different.


    I wasn¡¯t Charlie.


    The face reflected in the caf¨¦ window was Owen¡¯s.


    Dark hair. Dull appearance. The real me.


    Jasmine tilted her head. "Will this bring you happiness?"


    I blinked. "What?"


    "Challenging Kristof. Seeking revenge." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Will it make you happy?"


    I hesitated.


    I had never really thought about it that way.


    Would it?


    Would finally bringing Kristof down fill the void inside me?


    I exhaled. "I don¡¯t know."


    Jasmine¡¯s expression softened. "Then why not let it go?" She reached across the table, placing a warm hand over mine. "Find happiness instead."


    I wanted to.


    God, I wanted to.


    But I couldn¡¯t.


    I clenched my fist. "No."


    Jasmine frowned.


    I pulled my hand away. "I will have my revenge."


    A shadow passed over her face. She looked at me¡ªnot with anger, not with disappointment, but with something far worse.


    Sadness.


    And then¡ª


    I woke up.


    Morning came early.


    Of course, it did.


    Who was I kidding? Sleep wasn¡¯t really necessary here. It was just something people did out of habit¡ªor maybe for comfort. But the moment my eyes opened, reality rushed back in.


    I had class today.


    Combat Theory.


    There was no uniform requirement at the Academy. The only rule was that students had to wear formal attire¡ªat least 80% black.


    I didn''t change.


    There was no need to.


    From what I had read, people used to wash their clothes regularly in the Before. That was strange to me. My clothes were always neat and pristine¡ªunless, of course, a SKILL altered them or someone forcibly edited my data.


    With that thought, I left for class.


    +++


    ++


    +


    Combat Theory was boring.


    Not because I didn¡¯t care¡ªbut because I barely understood anything.


    The professor¡ªa tall man dressed in pristine white¡ªspoke in abstract terms.


    Something about Qi, Qigong, Information-based Existence, Aeather, Mana, and Power. About how to wield data at its inert state.


    I could feel my brain short-circuiting.


    What the hell did any of that mean?


    Was this some kind of philosophy class? Because it sure felt like it.


    I tried my best to focus, but the words felt like static noise in my ears.


    +++


    ++


    +


    The rest of my classes weren¡¯t much better.


    Most of the professors wore white, a stark contrast to our mandatory black attire. It was unsettling¡ªlike they were a different breed of people altogether.


    System Mechanics was bearable, at least. The professor actually explained things in a way I could follow.


    But Ethics and Governance?


    Just as mind-boggling as Combat Theory.


    The class debated over the structure of the City-States, the necessity of Overlords, and the balance of power in the Weave.


    I sat in silence, feeling more lost than ever.


    Did people actually enjoy this?


    By the time classes ended, I felt like my head was going to explode.


    +++


    ++


    +


    I went straight to the library.


    I had no time to waste.


    If I was going to survive in this place, I needed to understand dungeons¡ªinside and out.


    The library had few people scattered here and there, quietly flipping through pages or scrolling through their system interfaces. The peace and quiet were valuable¡ªsomething I had learned to treasure in a world that felt more like a battlefield than a place of learning.


    Sadly, peace never lasted long.


    A dark-haired man strode toward me.


    Before I could even react, he shoved me.


    I stumbled slightly, catching myself against the edge of the wooden table.


    I frowned and glanced at him. The Level 15 hovering over his head made my stomach tighten.


    I focused. [Appraisal - Level 7] activated.


    Name: Derek Manticore.


    Crap.


    I knew that name. At least from old CHarlie¡¯s stories.


    Derek smirked. "Oh? At least you remember me, Charlie."


    I stiffened.


    Not good.


    I met his gaze evenly. "That isn¡¯t my name."


    His smirk widened. "Tch. Still playing dumb?"


    I could tell instantly¡ªthis was trouble.


    Derek was an old acquaintance of Charlie Stone.


    And I had been sworn to secrecy about how I stole Charlie¡¯s body¡ªhow I shouldn¡¯t even use his name here.


    I forced myself to stay calm. "Leave me in peace. I have a lot of reading to do."


    Derek snorted. "Stop acting all high and mighty already, punk. From what I heard, your daddy disowned you. Charlie, I must say, this is your newest low."


    I exhaled slowly. "My name is Owen."


    "Hah~! So pathetic!"


    Derek sneered and looked like he was about to make another remark when¡ª


    "Don''t cause any disturbance in here, or do you want me to hurt you so that you¡¯d learn your lesson?"


    A voice, sharp and laced with irritation, cut through the tension.


    Derek and I both turned.


    A brunette woman in a neatly buttoned blouse and glasses stood behind him, arms crossed.


    Her expression was completely deadpan, but her words carried an unmistakable threat.


    "I. HATE. NOISE."


    Derek clicked his tongue. Annoyed. Frustrated.


    But he wasn¡¯t stupid.


    He shot me a final glare before walking away.


    I let out a slow breath. "Thanks."


    The librarian adjusted her glasses. "The same goes for you."


    Her voice was flat. Uninterested.


    "I. HATE. NOISE."


    I watched her disappear behind the bookshelves.


    Great.


    I just wanted to read, and now I had two people I needed to avoid.