The first thing I smelled was expensive sandalwood and old money.
The second thing I felt was a splitting migraine that felt like a hot iron being driven through my skull.
"Where...?" I croaked, my voice sounding deeper, smoother, and far more aristocratic than the raspy tone of a thirty-five-year-old man who spent his nights screaming at anime sub-par translations.
I opened my eyes and didn't see my cramped, ramen-cup-strewn apartment. Instead, I saw a ceiling covered in gold leaf and a chandelier that probably cost more than my previous life's net worth. This room wasn't just big; it was a fortress of luxury.
Then, the floodgates opened.
Memories that weren't mine crashed into my consciousness. Michael Cain. Eighteen. The Cain Clan. The "Timid Young Master." I saw a life of isolation, of being the disappointment of a legendary bloodline. I saw the sneers of maids, the cold calculations of the clan elders, and the final, stinging betrayal—the faint metallic taste of poison in my late-night tea.
The original Michael was dead. Murdered by his own kin because he was a "thorn" in their side—a trash heir who couldn't awaken a system in a world where power was everything.
"So, I'm a rich second-generation orphan now," I whispered, sitting up and rubbing my temples.
The irony was thick enough to choke on. My parents—the so-called 'Heroes'—had murdered my grandfather, a Rank 9 powerhouse, just as he was on the verge of breaking through to the legendary Rank 10. Then they were slaughtered in turn. A cycle of blood and betrayal.
The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, I thought, a cold smile tugging at my new lips. Well, the oriole just died, and something much worse has taken its place.
Suddenly, a transparent screen flickered in my vision, pulsing with a dark, obsidian light.
[System Loading... 10%... 50%... 100%] [Loading Successful. Welcome, User, to the Global Terror Apocalypse System.]
My heart hammered against my ribs. In my past life, I was a virgin otaku who'd never even held a woman's hand, let alone a weapon. Now, a 'Golden Finger' was hovering in the air before me.
[You have been chosen at random to save this world... by being the one thing it hates.] [Goal: Become the world's greatest criminal. Strike fear into the heart of the world. Let them know the King has arrived.]
"The world wants a hero, and the System wants a monster," I muttered. "I can work with that."
[Does User want the System Tutorial activated? Y/N]
Yes. The interface was sleek and predatory. The concept was simple: Harvest 'Fear Tickets' from the terror of others. Use those tickets to spin a Gacha wheel that contained everything from every piece of media I'd ever consumed in my past life.
"GTAS," I said, testing the acronym. "I'll call you GTAS. Now, where's my beginner pack? Even the trashiest novels give a starter kit."
[Name Registered: GTAS. Distributing Beginner Gift Package...] [User received: 10 Gacha Tickets. Enjoy.]
I didn't hesitate. "Spin them all."
The wheel in my mind blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. White, green, blue, black, and a flash of blinding black-gold.
[Spinning... Results:]
[Blue]: Super Soldier Serum (Captain America Variant)
[Red]: Villainous Genius (High-IQ Strategist)
[Black]: Criminal Mastermind (Intuition & Planning)
[Black-Gold]: Psychology King (Behavioral Manipulation)
[Green]: Weaponry Mastery (Expert Level)
[White]: A half-eaten apple...
[White]: A pair of used silk panties...
...
I ignored the trash items, my eyes locking onto the high-tier rewards. This was it. The foundation.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The man looking back wasn't a timid boy. He was tall, with sharp, predatory features and eyes that looked like molten gold. He looked like the kind of man who started wars just to watch the fire.
"GTAS, integrate the Super Soldier Serum," I commanded.
[Integrating. Please wait...]
The pain was a tectonic shift. Every bone in my body broke and knitted back together in seconds. Every muscle fiber tore and was replaced by something denser, stronger. I collapsed onto the marble floor, gasping as a black, foul-smelling sludge seeped from my pores—the impurities of a weak life being purged.
Ten minutes later, I stood up. I felt... heavy. Not with weight, but with power.
I washed the filth off in the walk-in shower, the hot water steaming off my new, corded muscles. I didn't just feel like a new man; I felt like a weapon. After dressing in a tailored black suit that hugged my frame perfectly, I integrated the rest of the rewards.
The Criminal Mastermind and Psychology King talents settled into my brain like cold clockwork. Suddenly, the layout of the mansion didn't just look like a home; it looked like a series of tactical entry points and blind spots.
I checked the drawers of the mahogany desk, finding a pair of sleek semi-automatic handguns and a blackened steel katana—relics of a family that lived by the sword. I strapped them on, the weight feeling as natural as my own limbs.
I was hungry. Not just for the breakfast the chef was preparing downstairs, but for the fear of the people who thought they could kill me.
I headed for the door. It was time to meet the family.
I checked the weight of the handguns in my shoulder holster one last time. In my previous life, I'd only ever seen guns in John Wick movies or tactical shooters. Now, thanks to the [Weaponry Mastery] and [Criminal Mastermind] talents, my fingers knew the safety, the tension of the trigger, and the balance of the barrel better than I knew my own name.
I didn't just walk out of the room. I moved with a predatory silence that the previous Michael was physically incapable of.
The hallway was lined with portraits of the Cain ancestors—men who looked like they'd carved empires out of bone. As I passed a maid polishing a silver vase, she didn't even bother to bow. She actually rolled her eyes, her lips curling in a sneer she didn't bother to hide.
"Master Michael is finally awake," she muttered, her voice loud enough for me to hear. "The Elders have been waiting for twenty minutes. If I were him, I'd stay in bed and pray they don't kick him out today."
In the past, Michael would have looked at the floor and hurried past.
I stopped.
I didn't turn my head. I just stood there, letting the [Psychology King] talent analyze her. Posture: Arrogant. Pupils: Dilated with contempt. Hands: Trembling slightly. She was brave because she thought I was a coward.
"The vase," I said, my voice low and vibrating with a sudden, icy authority.
The maid flinched, the silver cloth dropping from her hand. "W-what?"
"You missed a spot," I said, finally turning my gaze toward her. With the [Super Soldier Serum] and the [King of Soldiers] aura active, my eyes didn't just look at her—they felt like two loaded barrels pressed against her forehead. "And the next time you speak while I am in the room, ensure it is to ask for my permission. Am I clear?"
The maid's face went from pale to ghostly white. She couldn't breathe. The 'Fear' was tangible.
[System Notification: Fear harvested from 'Maid Sarah.' Fear Tickets +2]
I didn't wait for her answer. I left her shivering in the hallway and reached the massive double doors of the dining hall. Two guards stood there, Rank 2 system users with "Bodyguard" systems. They crossed their spears, blocking my path.
"Young Master, the Elders are in a private session. You are to wait until—"
I didn't say a word. I simply leaned forward, entering their personal space. My mind, fueled by the [Criminal Mastermind] talent, mapped out fourteen ways to kill them both before they could even draw a breath. They felt it. That raw, murderous intent that only comes from a true apex predator.
Their spears shook. Slowly, instinctively, they pulled back, their eyes wide with a confusion they couldn't name. I pushed the doors open.
The dining hall was a cathedral of marble and oak. At the far end sat the three Great Elders and the Council of five. They were mid-laugh, sipping expensive wine and discussing how to divide the Cain assets once the "trash heir" was officially disposed of.
The heavy oak doors slammed against the walls, the boom echoing like a gunshot.
The laughter died instantly.
At the head of the table sat Elder Silas, a man with a Rank 7 'Iron Wall' system and a face like wrinkled parchment. He glared at me, his hand slamming onto the table. "Michael! You dare interrupt a Council meeting? You were summoned thirty minutes ago! Where is your respect? Where is—"
I walked toward him, the clicking of my Italian leather boots the only sound in the room. I didn't take my usual seat at the far end of the table—the seat for children and losers.
I walked straight to the head of the table, pulled out the ornate chair reserved for the Clan Head, and sat down.
The room went deathly silent.
"Silas," I said, leaning back and crossing my legs. I let the [Psychology King] talent scan the room. Every one of them had a secret. Every one of them was a criminal, but I was the Mastermind. "You look stressed. Is it the poison? You seem disappointed that I'm able to walk, let alone speak."
Silas narrowed his eyes, his "Iron Wall" aura flaring, a faint metallic shimmer appearing on his skin. "I don't know what nonsense you're babbling about. You are a system-less disgrace. Stand up from that chair before I break your legs."
"You could try," I said, my voice dangerously calm. I pulled one of the semi-automatics from my holster and placed it casually on the white linen tablecloth. "But before you do, let's talk about the offshore accounts you've been using to funnel the Cain family's treasury into the 'Hero Association's' pockets. Or perhaps we should talk about the 'accident' that killed the Grandpa?"
Silas froze. The other Elders looked at each other, their faces blooming with a mixture of shock and terror.
"You... how could you know..." Silas stammered.
"I am the Apex of the Unseen, Silas," I replied, my golden eyes locking onto his. "I see everything. And right now, I see a room full of dead men who haven't realized their hearts have stopped beating."
[System Notification: Mass Fear Detected. Fear Tickets +45... +60... +110!] [Gacha Draw Available!]
I picked up a piece of toast, spread some jam on it with the tip of my knife, and took a bite. The bread was perfectly toasted.
"Now," I said, pointing the knife at the Council. "Who wants to be the first to tell me exactly how my parents died? And don't lie. I can hear your heartbeats... and they're skipping."