[ Progress: ]

  

  
• Make a decision: ? (Complete)


  
• Survive: ? (Complete)


  
• Defeat 3 Gloom Maws: ? (Complete)
  
    


  

  [ Objective complete. ]

  Congratulations! You have passed the trial.

  Rewards:

  

  
• Permission to continue living in a mortal body


  

  

  
• ???
  
    


  

  [ Time before returning: 10 seconds ]

  I stopped in my tracks.—9—I blinked rapidly—8—and pressed my lips together tightly. —7— “Aaa…”—6— “FUCK YOU!”—5— “Ku, ku, ku, ku, ku.”—4, 3, 2, 1.

  [ Teleportation complete! ]

  In an instant, I was back in my room.

  “I feel traumatized by this experience,” Eden muttered, falling like a log on the bed.

  For what all the effort? Why couldn't he remain there for a little longer? Being automatically teleported? That wasn't fair.

  [ Update on the fragment world Saria. ]

  Without the protection of the Gloom Maw, the existence of the Matrix Oroco was detected by the scanners of a Jarkob starship. In their search for more, the crew destroyed the fragment world of Saria, eradicating the entire Mikoso Sapling population and seizing six additional Matrixes.

  Guess I spoke too soon.

  I sat at the table. The food was still warm, but my heart felt cold—hollowed out by the void within me. By system rules, all methods of evolution were permitted. Tyrannical methods were discouraged, but not explicitly prohibited or hindered, at least at first glance.

  I could’ve killed all the sprouting potatoes myself. Maybe that was the sword for. I could’ve taken everything from them. Gently, I placed the two Matrixes on the table.

  If he had done that, there would’ve been unseen repercussions—not to mention the pain inflicted on so many innocent souls. But if he hadn’t taken even one, the world fragment would have been destroyed anyway, and he would’ve missed this opportunity entirely.

  No matter what you do, there’s always a good and bad side to things. This world is so fucked up.

  I took a bite of sausage and a spoonful of mashed potatoes. The sour taste lingered in my mouth—and not because my mother hadn’t cooked them well.

  'Vex, my loving, caring, and ungrateful piece of marzipan, how have you been?' I transmitted telepathically.

  'How was it, patron? Your trip with the system?' Vex replied, his voice husky—like a three-month-old barrel of beer left to stew in the summer heat.

  'As twisted as ever. But I brought gifts.'

  “Eden! Come down! Mark is here to see you!” My mother’s voice rang out from downstairs.

  She really has some strong vocal cords.

  "I'm coming!" I shouted back from the hallway. "Now. This instance, or maybe the next."

  What could this muppet want from me? I don’t remember us being close enough for house visits.

  I stopped in my tracks for a moment. Wait… what if he’s here to propose?

  No. Dressed like this, I’d have to politely decline.

  Even though composed, Eden was irritated by the sudden interruption of his extremely important conversation with Vex. He was about to plan his next steps—training in the simulator and keeping pace with the other youths was far too slow for him.

  At this rate, this planet—and his previous one—might be conquered before he even reached Sky 7 or 8. The speed at which things developed left no room for patience.

  Sure, there was a chance that nothing would happen, that the planet and its people would remain untouched. But certainty didn’t exist in times like these. And if it was destined to be conquered… then why shouldn’t he be the one to do it? After all, his evolution depended on the beings under his control.

  “Mike, how can I help you?” I said, greeting him with a nod.

  “Eden, how are you feeling?” he asked in return. “I came to talk to you about something.”

  “Come in, boys. I’ll bring you some snacks,” my mother said with a warm smile.

  “No, no, no, Miss del Richo, please don’t bother,” Mike replied quickly. “I’m in a hurry. But thank you for your hospitality.”

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “It’s alright, Mother,” I assured her. “I’m not going to take his hand.”

  “What are you talking about?” she frowned.

  “School joke, Mother. Doesn’t matter.”

  "Ah, alright then," she replied, stepping inside and leaving the door open.

  This must be the smell of pollution and chemicals, I thought, my nose wrinkling as the very air I breathed made my skin crawl. It was poisoning me. How do you fools live in such dire conditions?

  Eden tucked his nose under his t-shirt. It didn’t help much, but it was the only thing he could think to do in the moment.

  I have no idea how you people breathe this toxic air. Don’t you sense it? Maybe not. Your noses must be purely decorative.

  "So, what did you want to talk about, little princess?" I asked.

  "Are you sick in the head? Since when can you call me that?"

  "Aaaa, never mind. Whatsapp?"

  "You realize this is the second time we've failed the test, right?" Mike said in a serious tone.

  "Yeah, that much I know. Ask me a math question, though. Gosh, I suck at math."

  Mike stared at me for a few moments, his expression laced with barely concealed contempt. "We only get one more try as a team."

  "Aha," I muttered, scratching my ear.

  "I need you to think about this carefully," he continued. "If you have a medical condition or you're not one hundred percent ready, you need to tell us. Not just for your sake, but for the team’s. Everyone’s future depends on this test. We have to pass."

  "Mhm, alright. Yeah, I'll tell you." I leaned back slightly. "And maybe you should do the same. Everyone has to be at one hundred percent, right?"

  "Pardon?"

  "You came to check on my condition and remind me of the stakes out of the goodness of your heart. I feel obligated to return the favor." I smirked. "I mean, the way you charge forward, breaking formation... it’s not exactly good for the team’s stability. But I know you can control that little impulse of yours."

  Mike stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "What are you trying to say?"

  "Exactly what you meant."

  "I came here to check on you and make sure you're alright. And you're telling me I performed poorly?" His voice edged with frustration. "What’s going on with you?"

  "With me?" I grinned, reaching into the back pocket I didn’t have and pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. I lit it, took a slow drag, and exhaled right under Mike’s baffled gaze.

  "This stress, man… it’s simply too much." I flipped the lighter in my palm—and instead of a flame, a small pink candy appeared. I held it out. "Want one?"

  When someone comes with hidden intentions—draped in seemingly righteous concern—they assume everyone else operates the same way.

  Well, not that I wasn’t playing the game too. I knew exactly what Mike wanted.

  He wanted a substitute for the test. Someone he deemed more capable then myself. And conveniently, that someone happened to be a close friend of his. If that person joined the raid team, Mike’s words would carry more weight.

  This wasn’t just about the test. It was about positioning. Influence. If things went his way, it would be the first step toward shifting from vice leader to outright taking Raphael’s place.

  Fortunately for both of us, I wanted out of this sucker show anyway.

  "Since when do you smoke, man?" Mike asked, ignoring the candy I held out to him.

  "You don’t want the lollipop?" I made a deliberate ‘pop’ sound with my lips. Mike’s eye twitched. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate it.

  "Look, Mike, I told you," I said before he could reply. "I meant exactly what you meant—for the team to be better, for us to pass the test. That’s what you want, right?"

  Mike stepped closer, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop into a whisper. "Take care of yourself."

  "You too."

  My response came in the form of an uppercut to his liver. A clean, sharp strike. Mike staggered back, clutching his stomach, his eyes locking onto mine with something between surprise and restrained fury.

  I’m weaker than I thought. If Iskar—the real me—had thrown that punch, Mike would be curled up on the floor right now.

  It wasn’t just about raw strength. It was technique. Muscle memory. Explosive power. Things I had lost. Things this version of me, a gunner, didn’t have.

  "Who would've thought?" Mike straightened, rolling his shoulders. "The always cheerful, level-headed guy actually has the guts to start a fight with me."

  His hand flicked upward, flux surging through his palm as he slashed at me diagonally—Ashva Sword School’s signature move.

  I stepped back in time, avoiding the strike.

  Predictable.

  Mike followed up immediately, closing the gap, but I moved first—aiming to disrupt his stance before he could fully commit.

  He countered smoothly, sweeping my arm off course and pivoting to my side.

  Quick. Calculated. I adjusted, shifting right to intercept, parrying his next blade-hand strike with my forearm to send it off course.

  Mike lunged again, this time targeting my leg while attempting to land a hit on my torso.

  Shit—misread that.

  He caught my wrist instead. My opening was wide, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

  I activated [Burst]—power surging into my right leg as I drove my foot straight into his inguinal region. His body instinctively folded forward from the biomechanical shock.

  I followed up instantly, left hook aimed behind his guard—straight into his ribs. The right side had the bigger opening, but my foot hadn’t fully touched the ground yet. I couldn’t generate enough power. The strike lacked impact.

  Damn. Too soon. My illusion was forcefully broken after just a few seconds.

  "You too."

  Mike jolted back, breaking eye contact as he shook his head, dazed. "What the—"

  I smirked. "Did you have a nice dream?"

  He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the strange sensation creeping through his body. "Was that your doing?"

  Before he could recover, I grabbed the back of his head, holding him steady. The cigarette had long since vanished. In its place, an open vial of a potent sleeping agent rested between my fingers. The vapors curled into his nose.

  His body swayed.

  Mike surged forward with one last burst of resistance—only to crumple to the ground like a withering flower. The moment Eden sensed the rising danger in Mike’s rage, the drug’s potency intensified, resolving the crisis before it could escalate.

  Still grinning, though a bead of cold sweat slid down his spine, Eden flicked the small vial away. It dematerialized before ever hitting the ground.

  His fingers idly grazed his lips as he scanned his surroundings. Anyone see that?

  Unfortunately, yes.

  A neighbor—an old woman with a walking stick—stood frozen on the street, staring wide-eyed at the scene.

  “Shit. Now I really can’t take his hand.” Eden sighed, looking down at Mike in disappointment. “Vex, take care of her.”

  ‘As you wish, Patron.’

  Like a shadow slipping through reality, Vex closed the distance in an instant, seizing control of the old woman’s mind. With a small bow of her head, she turned and shuffled back into her house as if nothing had happened.

  Eden clapped his hands together. “Mother!” he called out. “Bring the broom and dustpan. We’ve got some trash in front of the house.”

  He paused, reconsidering.

  “Actually… never mind. I’ll just drag him.”

  Grabbing Mike by the ankles, he began hauling him toward the nearest dumpster.

  The sound of his mother’s horrified gasp hit Eden before he even saw her. Maria stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide in disbelief.

  “EDEN!” she shrieked, dropping whatever she was holding and rushing toward him.

  “Mother, the broom,” Eden reminded her, tone casual as ever.

  “What are you doing?!” Maria dropped to her knees beside Mike, frantically checking his vitals. “What happened to him? Where are you taking him?”

  “To the dumpster.” Eden’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  Maria ignored his stupid jokes entirely, focused on ensuring Mike was still breathing.

  Eden sighed. “Mother, open the lid already. Let’s not make a scene.”