CHAPTER 11: The Man in the Office
The pain was gone.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not the carpet, not the lights, not even the fact that I was breathing without tasting blood or feeling a collapsed lung. Just... nothing hurt. No shattered bones. No limp arm. No busted ribcage creaking like a haunted house.
Just me.
Whole.
I opened my eyes to white.
Not the soft white of clouds or the sterile white of hospitals. No, this was something in between. Like someone had merged a luxury spa with a god's waiting room.
Slowly, it shifted. Edges materialized. Corners took shape. It wasn't a void.
It was... an office.
I blinked.
Yeah. An actual office.
Expensive-looking desk up ahead, the kind you only saw in movies where rich guys plotted against the working class. A polished bookcase off to the side filled with leather-bound tomes and useless décor. Two modern ergonomic chairs that practically screamed, "We care about your posture" which was a lie, because I was lying on a ridiculously comfortable couch.
Off to the far wall, there was a floor-to-ceiling window and beyond it, a skyline. High-rise buildings. Shimmering lights. Not quite day, not quite night. A kind of perpetual golden-hour haze outside, like the whole world had been dipped in honey.
Where the hell am I?
Then came the ding.
Not a bell.
A notification.
***---***
Congratulations.
Tutorial Mode Complete.
Mission 1: Updated.
Primary Objective: COMPLETE.
Reward: One (1) Weapon of Choice.
Available options will be presented following the explanation by the System Administrator.
Please choose wisely.
***---***
I sat up fast, because hey, nothing hurt. Not even a twinge.
I looked down at myself. My limbs were fine. My leg wasn't shattered anymore. My arm didn't dangle like a wet noodle. My ribs didn't stab me with every breath.
And my clothes…
Gone was the stolen goblin armor. Instead, I wore the wool peasant-style clothes I'd woken up in. Loose pants. Simple shirt. Laced boots. Not much in the way of armor, but way better than dying half-naked in a cave.
As I took it all in, a voice cut through the stillness:
"So are you just going to lie there on my couch forever, or are you going to join me?"
It was calm. Casual. Distant, but precise.
I looked around until I spotted him, a man sitting behind the desk, fingers flying across the keyboard like he was coding reality itself. His monitor blocked his face, but I could hear him clicking. Typing.
Working.
I stood slowly. The carpet beneath me was lush, deep red with gold embroidery, soft enough that it almost made me forget I'd been dying five minutes ago.
I walked toward the desk.
"I didn't say come here," the man said mildly. "Grab a seat. Pour yourself a drink. You look like hell, which is ironic, considering you're fine now."
He gestured to the sitting area off to the right. I hadn't even noticed it.
There, in a sleek arrangement that screamed money, sat a glass coffee table surrounded by two black armchairs. On the table were drinks, whiskey, maybe? A couple of tall crystal glasses, some unopened bottles, and a chilled decanter.
I looked back at him. Still just the back of a bald head and the sound of typing.
"Using Ki can drain you like crazy," he added. "That kind of feedback through an untrained nervous system? Brutal. Makes you hungry too."
He paused.
"Can I get you something to eat?"
I blinked.
The first thing that came to mind spilled out of my mouth:
"Uh... pepperoni pizza. And a Coke."
"Nice choice," he said, nodding. "My assistant will be up shortly."
And just like that…
The door I hadn't seen in the corner clicked open.
I turned.
And I nearly forgot how to blink.
She walked in like a slow-motion scene from a dream you were never supposed to wake up from. Black dress, one piece, hugged every curve like it had signed a contract. Long legs, glowing pale skin, sharp heels that clicked with confidence. Her hair, long, black, and flowing like dark silk, reached her waist effortlessly.
Her face?
Unfair.
Delicate, sharp cheekbones. Glossed lips. Cold blue eyes that didn't seem impressed by anything.
She carried a box of pizza in one hand and a 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola in the other like they were royal offerings. She didn't even look at me as she walked past, just glided across the carpet, heels not making a single misstep.
"Thank you, Rachel," the man at the desk said without looking up.
She placed the food on the coffee table and turned.
"Hi," I said, trying not to trip over the word. "I'm Kaizen."
She finally looked at me.
Up and down.
Then made a face like I was something she stepped around on the sidewalk.
"Get to thirty," she said dryly. "Then you can talk to me."
And with that, she turned and walked out.
I watched her go.
Stared, really.
Couldn't help it.
"…Damn," I muttered.
"Don't even think about it," the man behind the desk warned.
I turned.
He was standing now.
The desk monitor no longer hiding him.
Black suit, tailored perfectly. White dress shirt, crisp as sin. Red tie, knotted tight. The guy could've walked out of a high-level boardroom or he looked more like a certain assassine by the codename 47.
He was bald, cleanly so but it worked. Like he'd chosen the look and made it iconic. And yeah, he looked so like Agent 47 if 47 had been voted "Most Likely to Intimidate a Greek god."
His face was sharp. Uncomfortably symmetrical. The kind of handsomeness that made other men feel like second drafts.
And for some reason, that annoyed me.
He walked over with the grace of someone who didn't rush for anything. Ever.
"System Administrator," he said casually. "But you can call me S.A., or Sir, or whatever makes your mortal brain feel appropriately respectful."
I just blinked.
"This... is your office?" I asked.
He looked around. "Temporary construct. Easier on the mind than letting you drift around the system shell like an idiot."
"You look like a stock photo of a CEO and a hitman had a baby."
He smiled faintly. "I get that a lot."
I looked down at the pizza and Coke, steam still rising off the slices. My stomach rumbled like a demon waking up.
"Eat," he said. "You earned it."
And maybe I had.
But something told me I hadn't earned everything just yet.
I bit into the slice like it owed me money.
Hot, cheesy, greasy, real. Realer than anything I'd had in weeks. Or days. Time was weird here. Honestly, I couldn't even remember if I'd actually tasted food since waking up in that cave. My stomach growled like it was trying to sing backup vocals for a metal band.
"You weren't kidding about Ki use draining everything," I mumbled around a mouthful. "I feel like I haven't eaten in a year."
"You technically haven't," the man in the red tie replied from behind the desk. "Not physically, anyway. Neural pain transfer doesn't translate to calorie consumption. But now that you're out of the tutorial instance, you'll want to keep your real body fueled."
I washed it down with a swig of Coke. The fizz hit like divine retribution. "Okay. So let's get to the part where you tell me what the hell is going on."
He finally walked over to the couch and sat in the armchair opposite me, crossing one leg neatly over the other. Calm. Composed. Corporate.
"You completed your first mission," he said. "Well done. Not many do. Especially not with two shattered limbs and a near-death scenario."
"Yeah, great times," I muttered, wiping sauce from my chin. "Would've been nice if your system didn't let me get my ass handed to me for forty-five straight minutes before deciding to show up."
"It's not about 'letting' anything happen," he replied coolly. "The tutorial was designed to assess your will. Not just survival instinct but intent. You could've chosen to hide. To avoid conflict. To prioritize your own life. You didn't."
"I also got turned into mashed potatoes."
"And you still kept fighting."
I grunted and reached for another slice.
"Anyway," he continued, "you should know a few things before we present your reward."
"Finally," I said. "Let's hear it. Lay it on me, Suit Daddy."
That got him to smirk. Just a little.
"You'll be undertaking a series of one hundred missions," he began. "Each tailored to test and shape you in different ways. Fifty of those missions will draw from you, your memories, fears, ambitions, regrets. The other forty are randomized."
"Randomized how?"
"Random as in whatever the system feels like throwing at you. Escort quests. Assassinations. Retrieve a ring from a lava pit. Kiss a cursed goblin's ass. Could be anything."
"Sounds like every RPG I ever rage-quit."
He ignored that. "Every tenth mission is a special event. System-designed. Non-negotiable. Think of it as a mid-season finale designed to make you question your life choices."
"Can I skip them?"
"No. You may delay or skip a standard mission twice. Once, it buys you fifteen hours. Twice, another fifteen. But the third time?"
"Lemme guess," I said, reaching for my drink. "I die."
"Instantly. No warnings. No respawns. Permanent failure. You don't get to opt out of growth."
I sipped the Coke. "So basically, the system is just God with better formatting."
"Close," he said. "You'll also occasionally receive side objectives bonuses. They're optional. Skipping them doesn't cost you your life, but it will cost you rewards."
I raised an eyebrow. "So if I'd just killed the Chief and ignored the women in the orgy pits?"
"You'd still have cleared the mission. But you wouldn't have been invited here. Or healed. And you certainly wouldn't be getting your choice of weapon."
That made me pause. "…Wait, so healing like this?"
"Only after primary objectives are completed. Full restoration. Broken bones, internal bleeding, spiritual fatigue, it's all reset."
I leaned back, nodding slowly. "Alright. That part? I like."
He steepled his fingers. "Each mission will vary in length and complexity. You may have time to rest between them or they may chain together. In some cases, you'll be thrown into the next scenario before your breath returns."
"Great," I said. "Just what I wanted. Relentless cosmic sadism."
"The system is neutral, Kaizen. It reflects you. Your drive. Your decisions."
"And what happens when I hit mission one hundred? I get a cookie?"
He tilted his head. "If you complete all 100 missions successfully, and the system determines you have the capacity... you may ascend."
"To what?"
"To a state that makes gods tremble."
I let that one sit a minute.
"I'm gonna need more pizza before I process that."
He actually chuckled. "Feel free."
I took another bite. Then pointed the crust at him. "Alright, so now tell me what the hell you meant by 'choose your reward carefully.' That sounds ominous."
He stood again and walked toward the far end of the room where a wall I hadn't seen before shimmered into something like glass.
The skyline faded.
A display screen appeared, wide as a billboard and glowing faintly.
Then the weapons appeared.
Rows and rows of them. Swords. Spears. Bows. Gauntlets. Guns. Whips. Staffs. Shields. Even stuff I couldn't name, bladed rings, glowing tridents, gun-looking-blades, scythes made of smoke.
"Every weapon you see here," he said, "has existed in this world, or another. Some are long-lost relics. Some are known only by the few who survived their wielders. You get to pick one. Only one."
I swallowed my bite. "This is like shopping for a nuke."
"This things can make Nuke's feel like little fire crackers."
I stood slowly and approached the display, eyes wide. Some of these weapons glowed. Others pulsed with Ki. Some looked almost alive.
And yet I could already feel myself narrowing it down.
Something that fit me.
Something that could finish what I started.
"Take your time," the Administrator said behind me. "But not too long. The system always moves forward. You won't stay here forever."
I reached out toward the display.
And in my gut, I felt it:
Whatever I chose now?
It wasn't just a weapon.
It was who I'd become.