Chapter 5 — Kill or Be Killed
The bruises from the alley fight hadn't even faded when the system pinged.
[Cooldown expired. Simulation slot available.]
I sat on my straw bed, staring at the glowing menu in my mind.
My breathing had improved. My stamina was leagues above what it used to be. But the fight had shown the glaring hole in my training — I didn't know how to fight people who wanted me dead.
I needed more than form and breathing.
I needed instincts.
And there it was, waiting on the list.
[Simulation Selected: John Wick — 10-Year Contract]
[Duration: 10 simulated years / 1 hour real time]
[Warning: Extreme risk. Recommended physical conditioning: Intermediate.]
[Proceed?]
I exhaled slowly.
"Proceed."
The world shattered.
Year 1: The Fall
Gunfire. Shouts. The acrid smell of smoke.
I woke up in a cold alley, cheap suit, bloody knuckles, and a pistol with one round left.
And a bounty on my head.
The first year was chaos. Running. Hiding. Fighting. Every day was survival, every corner another ambush. I learned quick — hesitation meant death.
I died dozens of times in that first year. Simulation resets were brutal: the system forcing me back into my broken body, every failure burned into my memory.
By the end of that year, I could clear a room with steady hands and cold precision.
Year 3: The Grind
The Continental became my reluctant sanctuary.
Under the watchful eye of instructors who didn't care if I lived or died, I trained.
Handguns, shotguns, knives — muscle memory drilled to perfection.
Hand-to-hand combat — joint locks, grapples, dirty strikes that didn't look pretty but worked every damn time.
Tactical awareness — exits, angles, pressure points.
And through it all, I kept breathing. Breathing techniques from Demon Slayer fused with lethal intent, keeping my mind sharp under fire.
Year 6: The Shift
Something changed around the sixth simulated year.
I stopped thinking like prey.
Every room, every street corner, every passerby — I assessed them all. Threat levels. Weapon tells. Exit strategies.
I wasn't just reacting anymore. I was hunting.
And I hated how natural it felt.
Year 10: The Reaper
The last simulated year blurred into a cycle of contracts, kills, and cold efficiency.
By the time my ten-year contract expired, I wasn't just surviving. I was dominating.
I'd earned a name. A reputation. And, in that world, a dangerous kind of respect.
But when the system pulled me out, I didn't feel relief.
Just… tired.
[Simulation Complete.]
[Rewards Integrated:]
– Firearms Mastery (Basic-Intermediate)
– Close-Quarters Combat (Intermediate)
– Tactical Awareness
– Mental Composure Under Stress
[Cooldown: 14 days]
I woke in my room, staring at the familiar ceiling, my hands trembling.
Not from weakness — but from the echoes of ten years of killing.
Ten years compressed into an hour.
I sat there for a long time, breathing deeply, forcing my mind to settle.
The skills were mine now — instincts sharper than any blade.
But the weight of those memories…
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. Dwelling wouldn't help.
What mattered was simple:
I was stronger. Smarter. Faster.
And for the first time, truly dangerous.
The next morning, Floating Cloud City felt different.
Every alley, every shadow, every group of rough-looking men — I noticed angles, patterns, escape routes.
When my uncle barked orders, I obeyed without thought, conserving energy and attention.
When I trained in the forest that evening, every swing, every breath felt cleaner, more precise.
I wasn't just moving anymore.
I was calculating.
That night, the system offered an update.
[Synchronization Progress: 18%]
[Projected Adaptation: 6 months until full physical synergy.]
Six months.
By then, I'd be ready to move to the next stage.
But for now, I had to stay quiet, keep building.
Because while Floating Cloud City still saw me as a weak, unwanted orphan…
I knew better.
And when the real storm came — when Yun Che returned, when the Sacred Grounds made their moves, when the skies themselves trembled —
I'd be ready to carve my own path.
No matter the cost.