The apartment door creaked open on tired hinges, and Theo stepped inside. A wall of silence pressed against him. No voices. No warmth. Just the low hum of the fridge and the faint hiss of the city bleeding through the window cracks.
He dropped his school bag on the counter. The neon outside painted shifting patterns across the walls—red, blue, gold, then gone—like ghostly reminders that life outside was still moving, even if his own home stood still.
Theo let out a breath. Another day done.
The space was small, barely more than a single room cut into zones: a narrow kitchen, a worn couch facing a blank wall, a bed tucked against the far corner. It wasn't much, but it was his. Every bill, every cracked tile, every dent in the furniture—paid for, earned, owned.
He moved through the motions of his evening. Water into the kettle. Pasta in the pot. A strip of dried meat sizzling against the pan until the scent filled the air. It was simple food, but it was his food. No foster mother yelling at him for eating too much, no foster father drinking away the grocery money. Just silence, and his own rhythm.
He ate standing by the counter, eyes drifting to the single framed photo that hung on the wall. A faded picture, edges curled with time. His parents—smiling. He remembered almost nothing of them, only fragments: a hand ruffling his hair, the sound of laughter, a lullaby that dissolved before it reached the end. They had been gone before he even understood what it meant to have a family.
The system had carried him after that. Foster homes, endless names and faces, rules that shifted from house to house. He had learned to keep his head down, to adapt, to survive. But when high school began, survival wasn't enough. He refused to drift anymore.
The training came first—early mornings, late nights, pushing his body and mind until muscle and bone screamed. Then the tournaments. At first, no one expected the tall foster kid to last a round. But Theo had a way of breaking expectations. Regional competitions fell to him, then citywide. The trophies gathered dust in his closet, but the prize money mattered. Every fight, every victory, carved a path forward.
At fifteen, he signed the emancipation papers with bruised knuckles and a swollen lip, fresh from the Amos city 15 and under tournament. That day, he walked into this apartment with keys of his own. No more guardians. No more waiting for someone else to decide his future. Just him.
Theo set his bowl down and stretched, the day's fatigue settling deep in his limbs. He collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow was His eighteenth birthday. Tomorrow his system would awaken, as it had for every human since the age of Spirit Power began.
Theo slumped into the couch, staring at the ceiling. The day had been long, but his thoughts refused to quiet down. Inevitably, they wandered back to the systems.
Six grades. That was how people categorized them—SS all the way down to D.
"D-rank systems… those are the bare-bones ones, right? Just a glorified character sheet. Stats, skills, equipment, that kind of thing." Theo rubbed his temple, recalling what he'd learned in school.
"C-rank's the same, but with those little daily tasks. Push-ups, running, practicing a skill—busywork to make you stronger."
He smirked. "Then there's B-rank… the one that lets you choose a class and absorb skills straight from books. Handy, but still not amazing."
His thoughts shifted naturally to the higher grades, curiosity tugging at him. "A-rank's where things get fun—quests, shops, a trading center, even a whole network to talk with other users. I heard it feels like stepping into another world once you get there."
Theo exhaled slowly, his eyes half-lidded. "But S-rank… those have a theme. Something unique. Something powerful. Almost unfair."
He'd only ever heard rumors. A system like a slot machine, spitting out random skills and items every morning. Another that rewarded you for acting cool, literally powering you up just for being a badass. And then one that could combine anything, no matter how ridiculous.
Theo chuckled to himself. "If I ever got an S-rank… I wonder what mine would be?"
As for SS-rank, that was an enigma even among rumors. People spoke of them, but no one he knew had ever seen one, much less explained what they could do.
Theo stretched, yawning. "Eh, whatever. Even if I get stuck with a D-rank, I'll grind it up to S. Hard work's always been my thing anyway."
He pushed himself up from the couch with a groan. His body felt heavy, but the routine came almost automatically. He shuffled into the bathroom, flicking on the dim light. First, he brushed his teeth, letting the cool mint settle the last of his wandering thoughts. Then he splashed cold water on his face, washing away the dull ache of fatigue.
He studied his reflection for a moment—messy hair, tired eyes. "Yep, looking like a corpse already." He gave a crooked grin before heading back to his room.
Theo stripped off his clothes and tossed them carelessly into the laundry basket. He swapped them for a worn t-shirt and loose shorts—his usual sleepwear. On the way back to his bed, he picked up a water bottle and took a long drink, the cool liquid helping settle him further.
Finally, he pulled back the covers, slid into bed, and stretched out with a satisfied sigh. The mattress welcomed him, the kind of comfort that only hit after a long day. He set his phone aside after one last absentminded glance, then reached over to flick off the lamp.
The room fell into silence. Darkness pressed gently against his eyelids as his thoughts, still tangled with dreams of systems and themes, slowly blurred and dissolved.
Sleep came quietly.