The week finally dragged to an end, and I was back in Newark. After Thursday's catfight, Friday was painfully uneventful—just me getting tossed around in the Chikara Dojo, grinding through some programming, and chatting with Arachne while she played night patrol.
Speaking of Arachne, we had our last study session on Friday, but decided to extend it for the upcoming weeks. Gwen suggested it, of course. It was less about studying and more about her unloading the weight of her shiny new secret life to the only guy who knew about it. It was a plus for me and a step toward earning her loyalty.
I was glad she didn't blame me for the catfight. Given her character, I wasn't really concerned, as she's not the type to blame others for such things.
What I was worried about was that the catfight might make me more famous than I originally was, which would be a nightmare. But once again, I was safe, as apparently everyone thought that Felicia fought Gwen over Peter. Flash's interference in the fight when Felicia declared Parker her boyfriend only solidified that belief.
And speaking of boyfriends, Parker's two very pissed-off girl friends made sure Felicia never got close. They even told him, right in front of everyone, to stay the hell away from her. Possessive much? And yes, the space between "girl" and "friends" was once again intentional.
I half-expected Gwen to jump in and stake her claim, too, but she stayed quiet on the sidelines. Sure, she looked uncomfortable when Felicia made her declaration, but compared to MJ and Liz, her reaction was muted—another small win for me.
Flash, ever the genius, tried to spin the chaos into rekindling things with Felicia. It backfired beautifully. She ripped into him so hard in front of half the students that he bolted with watery eyes like a kid who just dropped his ice cream.
The best part? When Felicia finally glanced at me—at my usual blank mask of a face—she cracked, then bolted herself. Call it cruel, but I didn't feel a shred of sympathy. Even during our last "intimate" moment after the heist, she still hadn't taken the mask off.
And as I said before, no deal with the mask on.
I pushed open the door of the ramen shop. Two customers were hunched over their bowls, slurping their noodles. Behind the counter, Old Man Kobayashi was sitting idle, eyes half-closed.
As I stepped in, he looked at me, and his eyes immediately narrowed.
"Come inside," Old Man Kobayashi ordered.
I was confused, but I nodded and followed him into the kitchen and then to the first-floor training room.
"So, you good, old man?" I asked along the way.
He grunted, which was basically a yes for him.
We finally stopped in the training room. I wondered what the old man wanted to say.
Just as I was about to ask what was wrong, he suddenly turned and attacked me, and a fist came straight to my face. My new, improved martial reflexes kicked in, I jerked my head back slightly, and slapped at his knuckles, trying to redirect. Even if my palm strike was not full force due to the suddenness of the attack, it still had considerable force, because my strength increased to F2, but I was unable even to budge his fist.
His fist stopped just before my face, slightly touching my nose. In my panic, I yanked my head even further back, even when the fist stopped. I lost my balance and landed on my ass.
"What kind of greeting was that, old man?" I barked, wincing in pain.
The old man didn't bother answering that; instead, he gave me a scrutinizing look.
"Your strength's higher than last week. Your form's sharper," the old man observed. Then his expression twisted into disgust, "But your balance is still shit."
This fucking old man.
He didn't even offer me a hand. Not that I expected it from a sadist like him. I forced myself up, legs wobbling.
"Have you learned from someone during the week?" Kobayashi asked flatly.
"Yeah, I joined the Chikara Dojo to help with my training on weekdays," I answered truthfully while rubbing my ass.
"Isn't that the Dojo of the Ozawa lass?" Kobayashi asked, more to himself than to me. Then he said, sagely nodding his head, "Then it isn't a bad choice."
We went downstairs, and Kobayashi switched the "Open" sign to "Closed." The customers looked at him in confusion, but he didn't bother explaining. We didn't wait long since they were mostly finished eating. Once they paid and left, we were alone in the shop. Kobayashi locked the door from inside and sat in a chair. He gestured for me to sit in the opposite chair, and I did.
We sat in complete silence as he stared at me. It was growing more and more awkward with him just looking at me like that.
I let out a breath of relief when he finally decided to speak.
"Your progress in just one week is absurd," Old Man Kobayashi said flatly. "I would have never believed it if someone told me. But seeing with my own eyes is forcing me to believe it."
Well, I'm just special.
Jokes aside, his reaction was expected because not only had my strength attribute improved, but also two of my skills—martial arts and stealth—had gotten better over the week.
The stealth skill was upgraded after the last burglary, which completed the first objective of the Burglary mission and rewarded me with the Apprentice stage of the Stealth skill, thus upgrading it from novice to apprentice.
It was actually this skill that improved my reaction speed, allowing me to respond to his punch much faster. Without it, I still wouldn't have ended up with a broken nose because Kobayashi would have stopped the punch in time, but I would have made an even bigger fool of myself.
"Maybe I was just close enough to reach the next level and did it this week," I said cheekily.
"Despite your ridiculous claim, I feel you are not lying, or there is at least some truth to it, which, in itself, is even more ridiculous," Old Man Kobayashi said, looking like he forced down the urge to smack me on the head.
Ridiculous for a muggle like you, but not for a gamer like me.
"But no matter what, at least it shows that you have some ability to back your exaggerated delusions and they are not just some empty talk of a delusional fool with his head in la-la land," Old Man Kobayashi continued, his tone flat as he casually insulted me.
"Hey, that's no delusion," I snapped. The old ghost didn't bother humoring me with a response to that.
"How much do you know about martial arts?" Kobayashi asked.
Know about martial arts? What kind of question was that? Was it a philosophical question? Wasn't martial arts just learning how to hit people with style?
My expression was more than enough to tell him that whatever answer he wanted from me, he wouldn't be getting it.
"Do you know about the levels of martial arts?" Kobayashi asked, changing his question.
I knew system levels—Novice, Apprentice, etc.—but that probably wasn't what he meant.
"Do you mean the belts? Like white, yellow, all the way to black?" I asked, confused.
"That's just the modern way of dividing martial artists into levels," Kobayashi said with disdain. "But it's shallow."
Interesting. I had a faint guess where this was going, so I flicked open my interface and checked the title I'd gotten when martial arts hit Apprentice.
Third-rate Warrior: Increase martial arts training speed and comprehension by 5%.
Were these levels related to the title I got? It did give some wuxia vibes.
Kobayashi's tone grew heavy. "The real levels are recognized in the eastern hidden martial world—called Jianghu, Murim, or Wulin. Different names, same idea."
His face told me he was going to start an info dump on martial arts.
"The first level is Third-rate Warrior—someone who's finally grasped martial arts enough to use it against others. Outer disciples of the great sects sit here. Cannon fodder with basic skills." He paused, then delivered the verdict: "That is where you stand right now."
Yay me. Months of grinding, sleepless nights, busted bones—just to be qualified as disposable grunt number three.
Fucking fantastic.
So, the apprentice-stage martial arts skill was equivalent to a third-rate warrior. That meant, before, at the novice stage, I wasn't even qualified to be cannon fodder.
Outstanding.
"The next level is Second-rate Warrior," Kobayashi continued. "At this stage, martial artists can hold their own against multiple opponents. They've sharpened their skills enough to carve out a name for themselves. Inner disciples of the major sects are here. Most modern black belts barely scrape into this level—only a few touch the next."
So, the Adept stage is the Second-rate Warrior. Huh, noted.
Uncle Niko and Reina's F3 subordinates were both at this level.
"The third level is First-rate Warrior," he went on. "By then, a martial artist has mastered the majority of their style and can apply it with precision. Fighting multiple opponents—or cutting down anyone below their level—is trivial. Core disciples, elders, and sometimes even sect masters sit here. It's also the final stop for sheer effort. Even the untalented can claw their way to First-rate if they have the patience to grind away their entire lives."
Kobayashi paused, then scoffed, "And tell me—how many truly have that will?"
Fair point.
So, the Expert stage is the First-rate warrior. I haven't seen anyone at this level yet.
Wait a minute! What he meant by this was the last level someone can reach by hard work.
I knew my martial arts talent was shitty, but was he saying talent capped the grind? That I couldn't hit the ceiling and surpass just by abusing my Gamer system?
No way. That's bullshit.
Almost like he read my mind, Kobayashi said, "I know what you're thinking. But it's true. Effort alone only gets you to First-rate. Beyond that, you need something more." His tone dropped, almost mysterious.
I leaned forward despite myself. "And what's that?"
"Comprehension," the old man answered.
Comprehension? Wait, didn't my title improve it too?
"Yes. Comprehension." He leaned back, as if the answer was obvious. "Every martial art was born from someone's body and mind. It's tuned to its creator—habit, stance, even how they breathe. You can copy the movements, but sooner or later, the technique and your body don't sync. That's where you hit a wall."
"So you make it compatible with you," I guessed. "Bend the art to your frame."
A thin smile flickered across his face. "Exactly. You must understand the art's essence—what it's trying to do, not just how it looks—and then alter it until it lives in your body. That is the door to Martial Master." He tapped his temple. "Only when every move is yours, instinct, not imitation, have you truly reached that level."
According to the system's levels, after the Expert stage came the Master stage. And, to reach it, I would no longer be able to rely on just grinding.
Old man, you just made my life even more difficult.
But, at the same time, it was more interesting. After all, what's the fun if I could reach the peak with just grinding?
"Every person who can reach this level can be considered a genius. Rarely are sect masters and ancestors in major sects at this level of attainment. Most give up at the first-rate warrior level and instead learn more martial arts to improve themselves. This method can improve them marginally, but it only takes them further and further away from the next level, which requires a deeper understanding of one martial art."
"Of course, sometimes martial artists, in their pursuit to learn more martial arts, come across a martial art that resonates with them deeper than the other, then they might have a chance to peek at the next level," Kobayashi explained.
"Not only that, if someone practiced a weapon-based martial arts, then if they became a Martial Master, generally together with Martial Master, they can also be called a similar title created with the weapon. Such as Sword Master, Spear Master, Bow Master, and many more," the old man continued.
Then Kobayashi showed a playful smile as he said, "Maybe if you have hundreds or even thousands of years to practice, then you can brute force your way to the Martial Master level."
Centuries. Right. I'd die before the first season finale. Brute force was an option only for immortal NPCs.
Moreover, that method was still a maybe.
Kobayashi's gaze drifted as he'd just remembered something. "Your dojo instructor—the Ozawa lass—she's at this level. A true prodigy. Martial Master before thirty. And she still has a shot at going further."
Yeah, well, that was something I already knew from her status.
Name: Colleen Wing
Rank: E3
Titles:
Martial Master
Sword Master
Skills:
Chi Manipulation (Master)
Martial Arts (Master)
Swordsmanship (Master)
Unarmed Combat (Master)
"What's the next stage, old man?" I asked in anticipation and eagerness when Kobayashi stopped to drink a glass of water.
"Next is the Martial Grandmaster," Kobayashi introduced.
Martial Grandmaster was equivalent to the system's Grandmaster level.
"To reach Master, you must comprehend the art," he continued cryptically. "But to reach Grandmaster, you must comprehend yourself."
The fuck?
Did I somehow crossover to a xianxia world from Marvel?
Kobayashi explained after looking at my blank expression.
"Even if you've modified a style to fit you, it is still borrowed. To become a grandmaster, you will need to search and comprehend your own style. To this day, very few have done it, but each is immortalized in the annals of history. Even if you finally found your style and comprehended it, it was not the end, but the beginning. Grandmaster is a long road where you continuously polish, expand, and evolve your style."
"Many Martial Masters comprehend multiple martial arts to the master level, and combine them to make their own style. Whether they could become a grandmaster is another matter."
"Of course, some create their style before even reaching the Martial Grandmaster level. That doesn't make them a grandmaster, but makes becoming one far easier."
No one spoke for a few minutes. I was too busy digesting what Kobayashi just explained to me. The old man made me realize that the road of martial arts was still too long for me, and I had merely taken the first step on it.
"Is that it? No way it just stops there," I pressed.
"There is another level," Kobayashi said at last. "The realm of Innate. Those who touch it are called Martial Sages."
That's it. That was the equivalent of the Transcendent level in the system.
"What is it? What's so special about it?" I asked excitedly.
He gave me a deep look, hearing that, then shook his head. "Forget it. It's too far from you. Knowing too much is also not good. Become a Master first—then we'll speak of Sages."
"Oh, come on. You can't just drop a bomb like that and clam up. Give me something, old man," I groaned.
Old Man Kobayashi ignored me and went to the door to switch back the "Closed" sign to "Open".
"Get ready to take orders," he said flatly. "And we will continue your training. We need to work on your balance. Don't spill a single drop." With that, he vanished into the kitchen.
Any protest I had died instantly at the mention of one word: training.
I lowered my head dejectedly. All thoughts related to martial arts left my head. I didn't want any stray thoughts to spill the soup and give the old ghost any chance to punish me.
…
It was already evening. I had been working as an unpaid laborer from morning until now. In that duration, I was punished five fucking times. Of those, twice because of those two clowns who made my life difficult the last time; they did the same thing this time, too.
They better not find me outside, or they would find out why the roses are so red.
My hell training was finally over when I got a message from Reina to discuss the next job. I immediately felt as though I had been granted amnesty and had left the ramen shop for the bar.
I entered Reina's office. It somehow felt a little different. After looking carefully, I realized that Isabella was missing from the room. I shrugged and strolled to Reina's desk.
"Hey, Ms. Reina, did you miss me?" I greeted Reina cheerfully.
Reina's expressionless face immediately twisted in disgust. She picked up the revolver from the table and aimed it right at my forehead.
"Kidding," I said with a cheeky smile as I raised my hands.
She still didn't lower the gun, but I laughed lightly and sat down on the chair in front of her casually. Of course, without asking for her permission.
Reina looked like she was having an intense debate in her head about whether it would be better just to kill me and be done with all the nonsense.
But it looked like I had charmed her enough that, after glaring at me, she lowered the gun.
I knew she liked me and couldn't bring herself to kill her favorite freelance thug.
Then she suddenly picked up the gun and pointed it at me again. "Did you just think of something disrespectful?"
"Me? Never. I respect you more than anyone in this world," I said innocently, looking like a wounded puppy.
She gave an even more intense glare but lowered the gun again.
I heard a snort of laughter from behind me, but it was immediately smothered when Reina glared at the culprit. I looked back, and it was the big guy who was sitting with the face-tattoo guy on the couch.
I waved at him with a toothy smile, and unexpectedly, he waved back.
Wow, I thought there were only rude people in this building. But there was actually a nice guy among them.
"About the last job," Reina started, pulling my focus back to her.
She continued when I turned to her, "We found out the rat who snitched the shipment details to the rival gang."
"And you want me to hunt this rat?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
And, as expected, "Yes. Make sure the rat doesn't see tomorrow's sun," Reina said coldly.
Just before I was about to agree, the office's door opened, and Isabella entered.
She looked like she was suppressing her rage inside her. She walked with her shoulders stiff, her jaw clenched.
Her expression turned respectful as she came near Reina's desk.
"Mardina, please let me kill that traitor," Isabella requested. Her face filled with guilt.
"Isabella, I told you I don't blame you. It's not your fault," Reina said softly.
"Thank you for your understanding, Madrina," Isabella said gratefully. Then her expression became serious as a hint of killing intent appeared in her eyes. She once again requested, "But he is my subordinate. Please let me end him."
Reina looked at her subordinate's determined expression and sighed, "Fine."
Then Reina pointed at me like I was an afterthought, and said, "I have already called Kevin for this job. Take him with you." She continued dismissively, "He can be the lookout."
Wait what? Why did my kill job change to a lookout job? Fuck.
Isabella turned to me, her expression one of disgust at the thought of working with me. But since Reina had ordered her directly, she agreed, albeit reluctantly, "Yes, Madrina."
"Follow me. Make sure you don't hold me back, or before the traitor, I will put a bullet in your head," Isabella said bitingly.
Well, fuck you too, bitch.
Of course, I didn't show it on my face. Instead, with a cheesy smile, I said, "After you, lady."
She nodded respectfully to Reina and then turned to leave. I gave a two-finger salute to Reina and followed behind Isabella.
On the way, I checked the mission in my system.
Mission: Betrayal's Price
Description: The cartel finally found out the rat who sold the intel of their cigar shipment to their rival, Iron Serpent MC. Accompany Isabella to eliminate the traitor.
Reward: $200, More missions from Reina
Failure Conditions: The traitor escapes
Failure Consequences: No more missions from Reina, and Isabella despises you forever.