Chapter 15: "It's Morphin Time!"
[Congratulations! Quest: (UR) Win History Essay Competition completed!]
[Congratulations! Quest: (UR) Finish Piled-Up Homework completed!]
[You've received +25 LP, +2 INT, +1 WIS!]
Appeared across his vision one by one. His history essay had barely made the deadline, and now the mountain of missed homework from his recovery was finally done. It was nearly midnight by the time he finished the last assignment.
He tried to feel out his new stats. It wasn't a huge boost, but his thoughts felt a little clearer, and his memory seemed sharper. He couldn't help but wonder—if he kept increasing his INT and WIS, could he eventually become a school genius like Eve?
He frowned and shook his head. Even with the system, it still felt like it would take a long time to reach Eve's level.
He shut his laptop with a satisfying click and leaned back in his chair, stretching carefully. His ribs still ached if he moved too quickly, but the worst had passed. He was out of the hospital now, opting to finish healing at home.
Mrs. Alden, his English teacher, had visited a few times with assignments and snacks—her kindness bordering on motherly. Eve had been a quiet helper too, picking up things for him, helping around the house whenever lifting or twisting caused too much pain.
He reached for his phone and scrolled aimlessly, but his thumb paused over a short message near the top of his notifications:
Syler: Rest up. Let me know if you need anything. You went through something crazy, so don't try to act okay.
That was... kind of how it always went with Syler.
Elias sighed and set the phone down on his chest. He hadn't heard much from him these past few days. A couple of brief check-ins, and most of Elias's own messages had gone unanswered—especially the ones asking how Syler was doing. Probably one of Syler's moods again.
Even if he wasn't as intuitive as his twin, Elias had his own way of understanding his friends. Syler cared deeply—Elias was sure of that—but when it came to his own feelings, he shut down completely. And Elias? He was awful at those sorts of conversations. Every time he tried to approach anything sensitive, it felt like stepping into emotional traffic blindfolded.
So, he stuck to what he was good at. He'd been sending Syler dumb videos and cursed memes—anything to get a chuckle, even a tiny one. It was his way of saying, "I'm still here. You're not alone."
Still, he sometimes wondered—was that enough? Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough.
He glanced toward the doorway, where afternoon light filtered in through the sheer curtains. Quiet again.
Honestly, every time Mina was away for a while, things between him and Syler turned weird. Two socially awkward guys with completely different personalities—it was kind of amazing they were still friends at all.
But Elias did value him. Syler had been the first person to treat him like a normal human being, back when everyone else avoided him like the human embodiment of Murphy's Law. He'd seen past the disaster-magnet reputation. Sat next to Elias. Made jokes. Shared snacks.
Mina had come later—three years ago, when Syler brought her into their odd little group of three.
Elias stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. For all the years they'd known each other, Syler still felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. They were friends—close ones, even—but when Elias thought about it, he realized he didn't actually know much about Syler's family at all. Mina, who guarded her privacy like a habit, still let small things slip now and then—mentions of missing her mother's cooking, or teasing stories about her little brother. But with Syler? There was nothing. No names. No anecdotes. Elias didn't even know if he had siblings… or if his parents were still in the picture.
It wasn't like he or Mina had never asked. They had—casually, carefully, like people trying not to press too hard on a bruise they couldn't see. But Syler had a way of sidestepping those moments—changing the subject, deflecting with a joke, or just letting the silence stretch long enough that the questions dissolved on their own.
Syler came off as generous, easygoing, and kind. But beneath all that, there was something... sealed off. Like the real him was locked behind a dark, heavy door—and no one knew where the key was.
Elias and Mina had always hoped Syler would eventually warm up enough to open up. Especially Mina—Elias could tell she always tried to pick up on small details without prying into his business. But no matter how much time passed, Syler remained closed off.
Elias shook his head, his thoughts drifting back to the recent encounter with Jackal. He'd come terrifyingly close to death—saved only by the system's tools, which he had barely managed to use properly. They had saved his life, yes—but just barely. If not for Officer Clifford's last-minute shot, he would've been a goner. And while Elias knew he had incredible luck, the idea of relying on it alone deeply unsettled him.
Worse, he knew there were at least two other dangerous individuals involved. He didn't think they'd show up again soon, but the possibility lingered in the back of his mind. After failing to protect Elias in time, Officer Clifford had arranged for his colleagues to keep watch near Elias's neighborhood and usual walking routes. It wasn't the same as having a personal bodyguard, but it offered a small sense of security.
Still, fragments of that day haunted him—the cold press of the gun against his temple, the crushing pressure on his throat, the frantic, breathless panic of running for his life. And those dark, sunken, murderous eyes that looked like they wanted to swallow him whole. Sometimes, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, as if it were all happening again.
With a quiet sigh, Elias pulled out a small notebook and pen. He began scribbling down ideas on how to better train with the tools and abilities provided by the system. But his pen paused.
Everything he had was geared toward escape. Mobility. Evasion.
Would he have been safer if he had offensive or defensive options too? His eyes turned over to his LP.
[Lucky Points (LP): 146]
Should he use his LP? He only had enough for either one Iron-tier draw or two Unranked ones. Well… he was only about four points away from hitting 150, which might unlock more options.
Still, he decided to play it safe.
No, he'd try an Unranked Lucky Draw and save the rest of his points. If it turned out to be useless, then—lesson learned.
[Would Host like to use 50 LP to spin a (UR) Lucky Draw?]
[Yes] [No]
"Yes," Elias whispered.
The gacha slot whirled brightly for a few seconds then stopped.
[Congratulations! You've received Skill (UR) Mixed Martial Arts!]
Elias pumped his fists in the air. "Let's go!" he shouted, unable to hide his excitement.
Then quickly slapped a hand over his mouth in horror.
Right… it was late.
He glanced toward the door and listened carefully. After a few tense moments of silence, he finally relaxed. Looked like he hadn't woken Eve after all.
He did another silent fist pump. 'Good luck for the win!' he inwardly cheered. Even a boy as mature as Elias had his fantasies about knowing martial arts—he'd seen enough action and martial arts movies to dream of pulling off cool moves himself. Now, he could actually feel the knowledge sinking into his brain.
Dozens of martial arts techniques surged through his mind, and it felt like his body instinctively knew how to move. He wasn't at a professional level—not even close—but compared to someone who'd never had a single self-defense lesson, it was a massive leap. And this was only Level 1 (UR) Mixed Martial Arts.
Elias's sparkling eyes locked onto the (UR) Lucky Draw.
What if he got another cool skill?
"System! Do another Lucky Draw!" he said eagerly.
The gacha screen began to whirl. Elias watched with bated breath.
[Congratulations! You received Title: (UR) King of Catchphrases!]
---
(UR) Title: "King of Catchphrases"
Passive Effect:
Whenever the Host uses a one-liner, dramatic phrase, or heroic catchphrase out loud while performing an action, the success rate of that action increases by 5–15%, depending on the dramatic flair.
(Note: Bonus increases slightly if someone is watching. Cringe level does not affect the boost… but might affect friendships.)
Active Effect – "Cue the Theme Music!"
For the next 60 seconds, any combat, performance, or social action taken while using overly dramatic dialogue gains +25% effectiveness. (Cooldown: 1 hour)
(Note: Boost applies to actions such as attacks, dodging, persuasion, and intimidation. Embarrassment resistance not included.)
---
Elias's eye twitched.
"What am I? Am I a power ranger?"
He looked at his remaining 46 Lucky Points and felt like crying.
He quickly turned off the screen, shoved his papers aside, and flopped back onto his bed.
A memory surfaced—he was eight years old, holding 50 raffle tickets in his hand, grinning like he'd already won the world. Then came his mother's scolding.
"Elias, no matter how lucky you seem to be, gambling is very bad and should never become a habit," she'd said, her usually gentle blue eyes narrowed in stern disapproval.
Elias let out a bitter laugh at the memory.
"Mom, I was wrong."
Only silence answered him.
—------
Far away, at the Assassin's Guild, a man sat with his hands chained to the wall. His back was riddled with fresh, bloody cross-hatches and slashes, layered over older scars in the same shape. The color of his blood nearly matched the deep red of his long hair.
Despite the gruesome wounds, his beautiful face remained calm—he didn't even flinch. His eyes were devoid of emotion, as if he were observing someone else's pain, not his own.
The Assassin's Guild was never kind to its own. Most of its members had been taken young—sold into the organization or were abandoned children with nowhere else to go.
Chameleon had been one of those children, sold by his own father without a second thought.
But just because the guild took them in didn't mean it cared for them. It was like a jar of starving spiders—if you wanted to eat, you had to fight and crush the others. Only the strongest crawled out alive.
Chameleon's ears twitched at the sound of footsteps approaching his cell. Slowly, he looked up at the door with indifferent eyes.
It creaked open, revealing a man dressed in a security guard's uniform.
"Looks like grace has found you," the man said, dangling a key between his fingers. "Someone begged the big boss to end your punishment early."
Chameleon stared at him without a word.
The guard's smile twitched, annoyed at the lack of reaction. He stepped closer and leaned into Chameleon's ear, even pinching his earlobe between his fingers.
"Too bad," he whispered lewdly. "I wouldn't have minded staring at that pretty face a few more days. If you weren't a man, I'd definitely want you under me."
Chameleon didn't flinch. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space in front of him, blank and distant.
Clicking his tongue in disappointment, the man crouched to unlock the shackles. But the moment the final chain was undone, it snapped tight around his neck. Before he could react, a hard kick knocked him to the floor.
He gasped and clawed at the metal as Chameleon stepped on his chest, tightening the chain with terrifying force.
The guard's fingers scrabbled desperately at the links, his gurgling breaths growing more frantic. But it was no use.
The beautiful man's expression remained frozen, his cold eyes fixed on the dying man like he was watching a dull documentary.
Only after another full minute did Chameleon loosen the chain. Once satisfied the body was still, he stood and stretched slightly, a pleasant smile curling onto his lips—a beautiful, cheery expression that sent a chill down the spine.
"Been a while since I put down a pig," he said with a light chuckle.
He walked out of the cell whistling, vigorously wiping his hands on his pants as if he'd touched something filthy.
"Better pick up some missions while Big Boss Sable's distracted with that other fat pig causing him trouble. Maybe I'll rake in some cash and buy a new identity before the big boss finally calls on me," he hummed. The thought of everyone scrambling to find him—especially that one pig—once he vanished, filled him with delight. His humming grew louder.
The other prisoners shrank back, trembling as the eerie tune echoed down the hallway.