The first day of surveillance revealed a reality Haruto hadn't quite expected.
Hiding in the shadows of the upper-tier residential sector, Haruto tracked his target through the dense, neon-washed streets. The Level 18 officer wasn't some corrupt, intimidating warlord or a brutal enforcer. She was a woman. From his vantage point, he watched her return home to a modest, heavily secured residence where she was greeted by two young children and a quiet, supportive husband.
Haruto pulled up her public registry file on his slate, analyzing her service record. She was a high-grade military officer with genuine authority, but her career had stagnated precisely because she refused to look the other way. Her unyielding integrity and refusal to take bribes from the massive underground syndicates had made her a thorn in Newlax's side—and a target for elimination.
Haruto stood in the dark alleyway, staring at the warm, glowing windows of her home. For a split second, a heavy, familiar ache tugged at his chest, reminding him of what it felt like to have a family, to have warmth, to have something worth protecting.
Then, the cold, ruthless whisper of his inner persona echoed in his mind, snapping him back to reality. Sympathy is a luxury for the victors. Hesitation is death. You aren't here to play hero; you're here to climb.
Haruto pulled his mask tighter over his face, his eyes turning ice-cold. He didn't care about her husband. He didn't care about her kids. In this glitched, rotten world, it was either them or him.
He tapped the digital slate, finalizing his execution plan for the next 48 hours.
The second day of surveillance went by in much the same way, locking down her daily routine like clockwork. But as Haruto checked his tracking slate, his eyes narrowed on the countdown timer ticking away in the corner. Only one day left. If he didn't pull this off today, Newlax's threat would become a reality, and he'd be the one left dead on the floor.
As he watched her movements closely through the lens of his slate, he finally spotted a tiny, crucial flaw in her airtight schedule.
Every afternoon following her lunch break, she took a brief, twenty-minute solitary walk through the quiet park adjacent to the administrative plaza. No guards, no military escort, no heavy security detail—just her, completely alone, walking peacefully while eating an ice cream cone to clear her head before her afternoon shift.
It was the ultimate window of opportunity.
When the third day dawned, Haruto was completely ready. He strapped his gear in place, pulled his tactical mask over his face, and stepped out into the crisp morning air. Today was the day. There was no room for hesitation, no room for second thoughts.
He had a district to claim, power to seize, and a death sentence to outrun.
As Haruto rushed toward the designated spot, a sudden memory flashed through his mind—a tip dropped by that unhinged beggar about a stash hidden beneath a heavy steel plate in the old sector scrap yard.
Veering off his path, he sprinted into the rusted, abandoned junkyard tucked beside a row of battered oil drums. He dropped to his knees, heaved the heavy metal plate aside, and let out a sharp breath. Nestled in the dirt was a piece of high-tier contraband: a sleek, military-grade hybrid firearm glowing with a faint green energy tint, capable of morphing between a close-quarters pistol and a precision sniper rifle.
He picked it up, checking the interface. Already loaded.
For a split second, his mind raced, weighing whether to take the heavy sniper configuration, but he quickly snapped back to reality. He didn't have time to second-guess. His target was already moving.
Haruto bolted out of the scrap yard and tracked her down to a narrow, sun-drenched alleyway. The afternoon heat hung heavy over the slums, leaving the side street completely deserted except for the target, who was leisurely walking down the lane, finishing her ice cream.
This was his final chance.
Haruto raised the green-tinted firearm, his finger tightening around the trigger. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. He stared down the sights at the officer, the brutal reality of what he was about to do weighing down on his chest.
No. I can't do this.
With a frustrated grunt, Haruto lowered the weapon, abandoning the ranged kill entirely. Instead, he holstered the gun, broke into a sprint, and closed the distance with raw physical speed.
Before she even heard the footsteps echoing off the concrete, Haruto lunged forward, sweeping his leg out and slamming her heavily to the ground.
She gasped, dropping her ice cream as she hit the pavement, but before she could scream or draw her sidearm, Haruto moved with ruthless efficiency. Wearing his tactical mask, he threw his weight over her, pinning her arms down. She struggled fiercely, trying to catch a glimpse of her attacker's face, but the dark mask completely concealed his identity, leaving her totally unable to recognize him.
Covering her mouth to stifle any noise, Haruto hoisted her up onto his shoulders in a tight, inescapable hold and dragged her deep into the shadows of the alley.
He needed to keep her hidden, restrained, and alive until nightfall—away from prying eyes—before making his next move.
Haruto crouched in the suffocating darkness of the abandoned backroom where he had stashed her, letting out a quiet breath. That actually turned out a lot easier than I expected.
Hours had slipped by unnoticed, and deep night had completely taken over the streets outside. The alleyways were utterly deserted, silent save for the distant hum of the upper sectors.
Haruto stepped forward, pulling his tactical mask down over his face to ensure his identity remained hidden. He reached out and untied the cloth binding her mouth, looking down at her. "I'm going to take the gag off. But you need to stay quiet and walk with me, understood?"
The female officer gasped for air, coughing lightly before glaring up at him with a mix of fury and confusion. "What do you think you're doing?! Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Echo," Haruto replied calmly.
She froze, her eyes narrowing behind the dim light. "Echo... I've never heard of any syndicate named that. But whatever game you're playing, you're going to get yourself killed. You have no idea what kind of trouble you're walking into."
Haruto let out a dry, dismissive chuckle. "Oh, save the warnings. I know exactly what I'm doing. Did you really think a Level 8 commoner like you was flying under the radar? You're a Level 18 threat only on paper."
She gasped, her face draining of color. "How do you even know that?!"
"Because I'm Level 20 myself," Haruto leaned in, his voice cutting through the dark. "Your combat energy, your combat habits—they aren't hidden from someone at my tier. According to your public service file, you're listed as Level `18, you've been falsifying your records to keep a high profile. You are actually level 8 don't you"
She stared up at him in sheer disbelief, completely cornered.
Haruto straightened up, his tone softening just a fraction. "Relax. I'm not going to kill you. You can stay right here. In fact, I promise I'll come back for you. But listen to me carefully—this entire district is crawling with Newlax's thugs who are actively hunting for you. If you scream or let anyone see you, they won't hesitate to put a bullet in your head."
He turned toward the door, but paused, realizing she was still too terrified and unstable to listen. Before she could open her mouth to argue, Haruto swiftly pressed the cloth back over her mouth, muffling her protests, and hoisted her up over his shoulder to carry her out safely into the night.
Stepping cautiously through the shadows with the captive officer slung over his shoulder, Haruto suddenly froze. A rough, boisterous voice echoed from the mouth of the alley ahead.
"Well, well, well... what do we have here?"
A group of four local thugs stepped out from the flickering neon light, blocking his path. One of them squinted, pointing a finger at the muffled figure on Haruto's shoulder. "Hey, look at that! Some punk is trying to kidnap a woman."
Haruto's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. As the streetlamps hit the officer's face, a cold realization hit him—these wasn't just random thugs looking for trouble; they were part of the underground syndicate that recognized her face from the wanted boards. They were hunting her too.
Keeping his movements calm, Haruto kept her securely muffled and hidden against his back.
The lead thug stepped forward, flashing a disgusting, toothy grin. "Hey, kid. Hand the girl over to us. We know some guys higher up who pay damn good credits for mature women like her."
Haruto shook his head flatly. "No. Sorry. I have business with her, and this isn't kidnapping. I'm just taking her to a hospital for a check-up."
The thugs burst into harsh, mocking laughter.
"A check-up? Cut the crap!" another thug sneered, cracking his knuckles. "We're Level 11, kid, and we'll rip you to shreds if you don't hand her over right now. And don't expect any pity pay from us either—walk away while you still can."
Haruto let out a slow, heavy sigh. He gently lowered the officer down to the ground behind him, keeping her shielded from view.
The thugs smirked, drawing rusty pipes and blades. "Look at this little punk, he's actually trying to play hero—"
Before the thug could finish his sentence, Haruto vanished from sight.
Moving with blinding, supernatural speed fueled by his Level 20 stats and high adaptability, Haruto closed the distance in a fraction of a second. He didn't even bother drawing a weapon; he simply stepped inside the lead thug's guard and delivered a devastating, high-velocity punch straight to his chest.
CRACK!
The sheer force of the blow shattered the thug's defensive aura, sending him hurtling backward like a ragdoll. He flew twenty paces down the alley before slamming violently against the brick wall, instantly knocked unconscious and dropping his combat level back down below 11 from the sheer trauma.
The remaining thugs stopped dead in their tracks, their jaws dropping in utter terror as they stared at the unconscious body, then back at Haruto.
As the lead thug crumpled to the ground, one of the remaining gang members panicked and drew a crude, volatile magic mag-gun. A searing blast of fiery magic surged from the barrel, shooting straight at Haruto.
Haruto's eyes widened. He threw his arms up to block, but a searing flash of pain shot through him as the flames slammed into his side. Shit... my healing magic and defense stats aren't fast enough to tank a head-on magic charge!
Gritting his teeth through the agony, Haruto didn't hesitate. He closed the distance before the thug could fire a second shot, unleashing a ferocious right hook that sent the man crashing into the brick wall alongside his partner.
The remaining thugs, completely terrified by the sheer mismatch in power, turned tail and bolted down the alley, scrambling into the dark.
Haruto staggered, clutching his left arm. The skin was severely burned, charred black and radiating blinding pain. Knowing he couldn't stay here in the open, he scooped the unconscious officer back up onto his shoulder. Pushing his body past its absolute limits, he dragged himself away from the main streets, navigating the maze-like slums until he reached the overgrown green lawn near Lilith's grand mansion—the exact spot where the unhinged beggar hung out.
True to form, the old beggar was sitting right there amidst the trash and weeds. As he spotted Haruto stumbling into the light, his eyes lit up with a manic grin, and he let out a raspy, welcoming cackle.
"Ohhh, my boy! You came back!" The beggar scrambled to his feet, rubbing his hands together eagerly as he limped closer. "Well, well! What's this? Did you bring your old pal a gift?"
Haruto froze, catching his breath as the old beggar pointed a gnarled, dirt-stained finger toward the high-tech green hybrid gun slung over his shoulder.
"You think I don't know what that is?" the beggar wheezed, his eyes glinting with a sharp, unnerving intelligence. "I'm the one who told you where it was hidden. That weapon's secret only I know. It's an ancient artifact from back when this whole city was first built, long before any of these street punks or syndicates existed."
Haruto stared at him, jaw dropping slightly. "What kind of crazy talk..."
With a swift motion, Haruto pulled off his tactical mask, revealing his face to the old man. His expression turned deadly serious. "Listen to me. This isn't just some random target—she's a high-ranking military officer. Don't you dare lay a hand on her, and don't even think about causing her harm. Can you protect her here?"
The beggar burst into a fit of raspy, high-pitched laughter, waving a hand dismissively. "Heh? Protect her? What's got into you, boy?"
"I'll explain later," Haruto snapped, his voice tight with urgency as he checked his severely burned arm. "Just keep her safe for now."
The beggar grinned, nodding toward a rusted metal chest. "Sure, sure, bring her over here—"
Before the old man could finish, Haruto stepped forward, pulling his mask back down over his face to hide his features. The moment the dark mask snapped back into place, the beggar's laughter abruptly died in his throat. He went completely silent, his eyes widening as he stared at the masked face standing before him.
Haruto frowned at the sudden shift. "What?"
The beggar swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a tense, gravelly whisper. "You... you're growing, boy."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's like something inside your soul... it just died," the beggar muttered, pointing a trembling finger at Haruto's chest. "That coldness in your eyes... you're turning into a ghost."
Haruto didn't have time for riddles. The countdown timer on his slate was flashing, and every second wasted brought Newlax closer to finding them. Moving with practiced precision, he knelt beside the unconscious officer, quickly extracted a clean blood sample, and securely stored it in a sealed vial.
He stood up, pulling his jacket tighter over his wounded arm and adjusting his mask one last time. He looked down at the old man, his voice flat and emotionless.
"Protect her," Haruto commanded coldly, turning on his heel and vanishing into the shadows of the night. "And from now on... call me Echo."
Haruto sprinted away from the sprawling lawn, his mind racing as the heavy realization set in. That old beggar... he hadn't just been babbling nonsense. He had looked right through Haruto, reading him like an open book. The man clearly knew everything about the underground syndicates, the hidden factions, and the dark history of the city.
Even when Haruto had stood before him armed to the teeth with a high-tier hybrid weapon, the beggar hadn't flinched an inch. He had looked at a military-grade artifact like it was nothing more than a cheap toy. Is that weapon actually an ancient artifact? Haruto wondered briefly, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.
There was no time to dwell on it now. He pulled the sealed sample vial from his pocket, a cold sense of satisfaction washing over him. Smart thinking had saved him from having to extract a fresh, messy sample from the officer while she was conscious; he had already discreetly swiped a small drop of her blood via fingertip contact earlier during the chaotic scramble.
With the proof safely secured and his objective within reach, Haruto vanished deeper into the neon-lit shadows, racing back toward the drop point to claim what was his.