Twenty years. That's how long it had been since the first Rift ripped the skies over Earth and turned the world inside out.
Twenty years since biology became obsolete, since the rules of physics were re-written in code, and since humanity realized its interstellar dreams of utopia were about to become an F-Rank survival quest.
The world had been poised for the quantum age; instead, it entered the age of Levels and Loot.
The Towers followed the Rifts months later—black, metallic spires that speared the atmosphere, rising from beneath the planet's oldest scars. No one knew who built them or why, but when the first Tower spoke, its voice a synthesized ancient rumble, the world listened.
The Towers offered a bargain: Protection. Power. Ascension.
They gifted humanity the System—a strange, invisible game interface that branded people with Classes, assigned Stats, and unlocked Skill Trees. It was the means to fight back, a divine lottery ticket to escape extinction.
It came with a price. An Essence Tax, a mandatory tithe of experience and mana, automatically claimed by the Tower. The System was a savior, a guardian, and the most predatory overlord the species had ever known.
Now, two decades later, Earth was a scarred mess of fortified cities, mana-burned continents, and No-Fly Zones. Humanity was still standing, but only because the System had forced evolution at gunpoint.
Inside Refuge City-07, tucked beneath the colossal shadow of the Tower, a single janitor pushed his mop across a floor that used to be the lobby of the United Nations Parliament Assembly.
His name was Noah Chambers—and he was twenty-seven. He was part of the first generation to grow up entirely in the era of monsters and mana storms. Everyone his age had a story: they were either Awakened, or they were dead.
Noah hadn't managed either.
While his childhood friends had become A-Rank Mages, Legendary Warriors, and Mythic Healers, Noah had perfected the technique of scrubbing crystallized monster ichor off reinforced marble. The pay was decent, but the benefits—like, say, a +10 chance of not being eaten by a D-Rank Ghoul—were nonexistent.
The real kick in the teeth? His family.
His younger sister could incinerate Wyverns with a Rare Pyro Class. His brother forged weapons for Guild Captains using Godsteel. His youngest sister livestreamed SSS-Tier monster battles and trended globally twice a week as 'The Little Dragon.' Even his parents, an Epic Druid and a Legendary Runesmith, were vital cogs in the war machine.
And Noah? He refilled the coffee machines for the heroes who came back smelling of glory and gore.
It wasn't for lack of trying. He trained until his lungs burned. He studied every single Awakening tutorial on the System's archaic database. He'd memorized all twenty-seven thousand monster classification charts in the UNPA database. He'd even risked stepping into low-tier Rifts just to feel a glimmer of recognition from the universe—but the System never acknowledged him.
At twenty-seven, he was officially labeled Unawakened. A civilian. An invisible gear in a cosmos that had already moved on without him.
But Noah didn't complain. Not out loud. He had a job, a roof, and a family still breathing—rare blessings in a world that had lost billions.
Besides, someone had to clean up after the heroes. Someone had to wipe the blood, the dust, the ashes. Someone had to sweep the footprints of gods.
And if there was one thing Noah Chambers was good at—
It was cleaning up other people's messes.