Chapter 2: Nobita's Hidden Power
Who exactly was Nobi Nobita?
Tommy knew him well. Back when he was still Rishi, sitting in his cramped Bangalore flat and watching cartoons after office shifts, he had seen the anime Doraemon. Nobita was its central character—the boy who always leaned on Doraemon's gadgets.
But unlike most "chosen ones" in stories, Nobita was no glamorous protagonist.
Every few days, he would be humiliated—usually by Gian's fists. In sports, he was hopeless. In school, his grades were terrible. Nobita was always late, his homework was either missing or wrong, and scoring zero on tests was as routine for him as eating lunch.
It was precisely because Tommy knew all this that disappointment welled up in his chest.
"Really? Out of everyone, I get him?" he muttered under his breath, his frustration echoing in the empty factory.
Of course, Nobita wasn't completely worthless. He was kind-hearted, loved nature, cared about friendship, and always stood up for what was right. He was compassionate to the core.
But compassion was useless against armed killers. Against these cold-blooded men with submachine guns, Nobita's kindness was nothing more than a cruel joke.
"This is tough…" Tommy rubbed his temple. A throbbing headache pressed against his skull. He had expected the system to give him some miracle, but instead it handed him a schoolboy who couldn't even run a mile without tripping.
Still… Nobita was a protagonist. And protagonists were never truly ordinary. Perhaps, hidden beneath all his flaws, there was something worth using.
With that thought, Tommy browsed through the system's interface. After flipping through pages of character data, his eyes suddenly widened.
Skills: Cat's Cradle (Master), Sleep (Master), Marksmanship (Master).
The words lit up before him like neon signs in the darkness.
"Cat's Cradle, huh?" Tommy frowned. Unless he somehow pulled the String-String Fruit from One Piece later, that skill was useless beyond idle play.
"Master of Sleep?" He snorted. "If I don't survive this night, I'll be sleeping forever anyway. Not much help there."
His gaze sharpened at the final line.
Master-level Marksmanship.
Nobita's secret, absurd talent—the one joke in the anime that often went overlooked. Despite being clumsy in everything else, give him a gun or a toy pistol, and his aim was godlike. He could hit targets aliens couldn't, and duel like the best cowboy in the Wild West.
Tommy's heart pounded. "So… my survival depends entirely on this."
Without hesitation, he activated the character card.
Instantly, a strange sensation swept through his body. His physique remained the same—broad shoulders, sharp features, the tough frame of Tommy Vercetti—but deep inside, something had changed. His grip on the revolver shifted naturally, like the weapon had become an extension of his arm.
He no longer needed to "aim." His body already knew.
"So this… is master-level marksmanship…"
Even with this newfound confidence, he didn't rush. Twenty enemies, all armed with automatic weapons, against his one revolver with a handful of bullets. He had no supplies. Worse, the spare ammo had already been spent in the earlier firefight.
That meant one thing: he had to kill fast, seize their weapons, and turn their own firepower against them.
Otherwise, even a godlike shooter would be finished once the bullets ran dry.
He steadied his breathing, pressing himself deeper into the shadows. The factory was pitch black, the broken windows letting in only slivers of moonlight. It was the perfect environment for an ambush.
Moments later, an armed bodyguard crept past his left side, glancing nervously into the gloom. He had no idea death was watching him from just a few meters away.
"He's mine."
Tommy raised the revolver. His heart thumped like a drum, but his hands were steady—unnaturally steady. He squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The gunshot cracked like thunder. The bullet tore through the air, spinning before slamming into the back of the man's head. The guard collapsed instantly, his body crumpling without a sound.
Tommy didn't wait to confirm. He rolled sideways, abandoning his position.
A second later, his hiding spot was shredded by a storm of bullets. The gunfire rattled the walls, sparks flying as concrete and steel were torn apart. Dust and debris filled the air.
But their fury betrayed them.
In the darkness, the muzzle flashes lit up their locations like beacons.
Tommy's eyes narrowed.
He raised the revolver and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five shots. Five bodies dropped before the echoes of gunfire faded.
It happened so fast the enemies didn't even realize what had struck them. One moment they were blasting the shadows, the next their comrades fell with clean, perfect shots to the head and chest.
"Wh-what the hell?!" the captain of the bodyguards cursed.
It had been twenty against one. By sheer numbers, Tommy should have been crushed. Yet in seconds, five men lay dead. Panic flashed in the captain's eyes.
Money could be earned again. But life? Life was only once.
He regretted saying yes to this job. If he had known the target was this dangerous, he never would have led the charge.
Still, he couldn't back down. This was an order from his boss, and failure wasn't an option.
"Keep firing! Close in! Don't let him escape!" he barked, his voice sharp to mask the fear creeping into it.
The remaining men, a dozen strong, pressed forward cautiously, narrowing the circle around their enemy.
But Tommy was ready. He now held the key to victory in his hand.