Early chapters on Pátreon.com/Herd99.
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The first thing Kain noticed was the stillness.
No jungle sounds. No thunderous footsteps. No roar of distant monsters.
Just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the gentle, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor somewhere nearby.
He was in the infirmary.
Bandaged. Bruised. Breathing.
Barely.
The second thing he noticed was the snoring.
A deep, gravelly rumble, like someone trying to chainsaw through granite. He turned his head—slowly—and spotted Garp passed out on the cot beside him, mouth open, half a rice cracker dangling between his fingers. Crumbs decorated his chest like battlefield debris.
Kain stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Then he groaned and flopped back onto his pillow.
"This man," he muttered, voice hoarse. "This absolute nightmare of a man."
A mechanical chime rang out inside his skull.
[System Notification: Mission Partially Failed!]
-Objective: Survive Garp's challenge.
- Result: Unconsciousness
- Penalty: Your naps will be interrupted by nightmares of Garp's fists for one week
Kain blinked at the prompt.
Then clenched his fists under the blanket.
"Nightmares?" he hissed. "Of his fists? That's psychological warfare, not a penalty. And make up your damn mind. Either say failed or accomplished. What is this 'partially' bull crap?!"
Was it fair to say he was pissed? He was fuming. Sleep was his thing! His solace. His escape. Spending a week in hell was enough punishment. Having it continue in his dreams was just cruelty.
The system didn't respond. It never did. Just dropped updates like anvils and left him to deal with the fallout.
A second notification followed a moment later.
[System Notification: Valiant 'Partial' Effort Detected!]
-Reward: +10,000 BSP
-Bonus: Permanent durability and stamina increase.
Kain exhaled, tension easing just a bit. "Okay. That's… not terrible. Sassy, but not terrible."
His eyes flicked to the corner of the interface, watching the BSP counter tick upward. The number was satisfying in a way no bandage ever could be.
He stayed there a while.
Breathing.
Letting his muscles unknot one centimeter at a time.
Garp snored beside him, undisturbed, oblivious to the trauma he'd inflicted across a whole island. Kain considered smothering him with a pillow. Briefly. Then dismissed it—too much effort.
Still, the thought lingered.
Revenge. Not serious revenge. Just… balance.
Something petty. Something clever. Something Kain.
He scrolled idly through the System Shop, half-thinking, half-zoning out.
Healing boosts. Stat upgrades. Tactical gear. A suspicious number of joke items. And—
He paused.
A tiny vial. Pale purple. Unassuming. Labeled in fine print:
[Traveler's Regret: Fast-acting, slow-burning laxative. Side effects include panic, existential questioning, and regret.]
– Price: 100 BSP
Kain stared at it.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, smiled.
"System," he whispered, "I have an idea."
The interface pinged again. This time it felt personal.
[New Mission Available!]
[Title: Petty Vengeance – Round One]
- Objective: Spike Garp's rice crackers with laxatives
- Bonus Objective: Laugh while he suffers.
- Reward: +5,000 BSP, 1 Free Nap Pass (20 uses)
- Failure Penalty: You will become Garp's permanent training dummy.
Kain read the screen three times.
Then chuckled. A slow, painful chuckle that made his ribs hurt.
"Now that's more my style."
-
It was almost midnight when Kain slipped out of the infirmary.
The corridor outside was dim, the lights low, the air cool. Most of the medical staff had gone to sleep. The few Marines still awake shuffled quietly, too tired to ask questions. Kain didn't bother explaining himself. He walked like someone with no energy to waste, which made him invisible.
He clutched the tiny vial tightly in one hand.
100 BSP well spent.
His mind replayed the plan over and over. Not because he doubted it—but because thinking helped keep the pain at bay. Every step reminded him that this was more than petty vengeance.
This was justice.
The lazy kind.
Garp's personal stash wasn't exactly a secret.
Every Marine on base knew the Vice Admiral hoarded snacks the way pirates hoarded gold. Rice crackers were his treasure of choice—cheap, crunchy, and apparently the fuel that powered his world-ending punches.
Kain knew where to go.
Down two flights. Left at the end of the mess hall. Past the kitchen pantry. There, tucked into the back of a locked storage locker, was Garp's secret stash.
Except it wasn't locked.
Just duct-taped shut, with a childishly scribbled warning:
"TOUCH THESE AND DIE. -GARP"
Kain peeled the tape off slowly, carefully, like defusing a bomb. He opened the locker.
Dozens of bags stared back at him.
Big ones. Small ones. Sweet-glazed. Wasabi-flavored. One had a sticker on it that just said "Super Crunch Mode."
Kain grabbed the half-open bag on top. The same kind Garp had been eating earlier.
Perfect.
He sat on the floor, back against the cool metal of the locker. His hands moved deliberately now. No jokes. No wisecracks.
Just quiet concentration.
He popped the vial's cap and sprinkled its contents into the bag, tilting it gently side to side to ensure even coating. The powder melted into the cracks like it belonged there. No smell. No color. Just a little chemical justice.
He resealed the bag, smoothed the plastic, and slid it right back to its original place—exact angle, same crease, identical to how he found it.
Kain leaned his head against the locker door and let out a long breath.
One part of him—the tired part—whispered that this was dumb. That he was poking a tiger with a twig and asking it to bite.
But the rest of him?
The rest of him remembered Garp's fist slamming into his stomach.
The crater.
The broken ribs.
The roar of monsters he hadn't even had time to scream at.
And that part of him grinned.
He made his way back to the infirmary before anyone noticed he was gone.
Garp was still there. Still snoring. Somehow louder than before.
Kain crawled back into his bed, every joint screaming in protest. He lay on his side, facing the old man, watching.
It was all set now.
The trap. The bait. The timing.
Now, all that was left was patience.
Patience… and a front-row seat.