Wesley blinked. "Wait… wait, wait, what?!"
He stepped back. The screen followed him like a puppy. He looked at his mop, then the screen. Then back at the mop. Then the screen again. Then back at the mop again. His brows furrowed.
"…No way," he muttered.
He raised the mop and gave the screen a cautious jab.
Schloop! It passed through like mist.
He pulled the mop back. Jabbed again. Schlick!
Pulled. Thrust. Thump! Swish! Thrust! Pull! Over and over.
After a full minute of obsessive poking and thrusting, he was convinced.
"I have a… System?" He looked around, as if the gods might appear to confirm it. "And it's… a Janitor System?"
He paused, mentally reviewing every transmigration and system-based novel he'd ever read. Systems that made the protagonist into immortal kings, overpowered cultivators, demon emperors…
And here he was.
Wesley, the Janitor.
He exhaled through his nose. "Well. As long as it doesn't make me a girl, a femboy, a cuck, or dead, I'm good." He gave the glowing screen a side-eye. "Or someone who likes their you-know… fellow men. I better not wake up tomorrow with rainbow-colored mop skills."
The screen remained neutral.
Wesley relaxed, planting his mop on the ground. "Alright. It's finally my time to shine… maybe."
He scratched the back of his head. "Do I even want to be strong though? Hm."
He imagined himself leading armies, waging war, giving grand speeches from atop divine towers.
Nah.
A contented smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "I just wanna live comfortably. Eat good food. Sleep in. Watch mages blow up classrooms while I clean quietly in the corner. That's life."
But then the screen chimed again.
DING!
[Janitor System Activated]
New Mission: Clean 4 designated spots.
Time Limit: 15 minutes
→
Tier I: Clean 4 spots within 15 minutes – 2 Bronze coins and basic buffs (Fire Resistance Lv. 1).
Tier II: Clean 4 spots within 12 minutes – 4 Bronze coins, basic buffs, and a low-level skill (Ember).
Tier III: Clean 4 spots within 8 minutes – 10 Bronze coins, basic buffs, low-level skill, and Mana of Knighthood (Become a Mana Knight).
Tier IV: Clean 4 spots within 6 minutes – 15 Bronze coins, basic buffs, low-level skill, Mana of Knighthood, and Mana of Flame Conjurers (Become a Fire Mage).
Failure Penalty: Arthritis for a year!
Wesley's mouth dropped open.
"Whoa, is this real? I will have bronze coins? My highest monthly salary is a hundred bronze coins, but if I complete this, I'll have ten or fifteen in just a few seconds?" He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "And I could become a Mana Knight and a Mana Conjurer?"
He felt like his world was spinning, but then he saw the punishment. "Arthritis? That's… that's just cruel!" he said, a playful smirk on his face.
He spotted a timer at the bottom of the screen:
Accept Mission? Yes / No
(Time left: 10… 9… 8… 7…)
Wesley straightened his posture. His spine stiffened. A fire lit in his chest.
"Does the system mean…I can say no?"
That single truth made his soul leap. The choice was his. Freedom! No tyrannical system forcing him into dungeons or marriages or eternal slavery. No threats unless he chose them.
"This system depends on my decision. I will only face punishment if I choose to take action and fail… Haha!"
The clock ticked: 6… 5… 4…
He grinned. "Alright, legs… do your thing."
He slammed the "Yes" button.
BOOM!
The room around him shifted. The colors bled out of reality. The dull gray stone walls became windswept cliffs. The shattered desks turned into jagged rock outcroppings. Smoke was no longer smoke—it was battle mist. A gong BOOOONG rang in the heavens.
He was back on the immortal battlefield. And so were they.
The four fire spirits emerged again, more vivid, more real. Their blades howled. Their fire roared.
And Wesley's mop glowed.
Golden runes etched themselves along the wooden shaft. Flames curled around the bristles, transforming them into a blazing spearhead. Sparks danced along the floor in anticipation.
He swung it in a wide arc. WHOOSH! The air parted.
He exhaled, eyes locked on his enemies.
"Here I go!" he roared.
The fire spirits shrieked in answer, launching forward in a furious charge.
And the janitor—no, the warrior—charged to meet them, mop-spear spinning, the battlefield lit with flame and fury.
"Take this! And this! AND THIS!" Wesley roared, swinging his mop like it was forged by the heavens themselves, a legendary spear spun from celestial flame.
The flame warrior spirits lunged at him—four of them, made from fire and fury, crackling with malevolent energy.
Their blades shimmered with scorching heat, slicing the air as they attacked from all directions.
"Back off, you flaming bastards!" Wesley shouted, twisting his body into a wild spiral, the mop-spear spinning like a blazing hurricane.
He ducked low, narrowly evading a fire blade aimed at his neck—though in the real world, it was just a wet clump of blackened dust flying through the air, narrowly missing his temple.
Another flame warrior lunged forward. Wesley countered. "Too slow!" he yelled, jabbing his mop forward in a powerful thrust, the wooden pole bouncing off a sticky patch of gum stuck to the floor.
In his mind, the gum exploded like a fire spirit's core. In reality, it just smeared across the tiles with a squelch.
He stomped forward, each movement was exaggerated, theatrical even, with his boots squeaking across the polished tiles.
"You think you can defeat me with that crusty corner of doom?! Wrong! I've cleaned tougher messes from a boys' dormitory toilet bowl during flu season!"
One flame warrior raised a flaming scimitar overhead—Wesley gasped and spun to dodge.
A bottle of dried ink that had been knocked over earlier slid from a desk and burst beside him, splashing his leg with dark goo.
"Agh! I've been grazed!" he bellowed, hopping dramatically on one foot as if pierced by molten steel.
"You dare spill cursed liquid on my armor?!" he accused the flame warrior, while in reality, he frantically wiped the ink off with his pant leg.
Another fire spirit lunged at his back, twin swords blazing.
Wesley saw it just in time—he dove and rolled, flinging his mop ahead of him. It clattered into the edge of a gum-crusted chair, the tip glancing off and spinning lazily. "You're fast… but not fast enough!" Wesley yelled, scrambling to his feet. "Taste divine judgment!"
In one smooth motion, he dipped his mop into the bucket, twisting it with fervor. Water splashed, suds fizzled, and the mop began to spin again—this time faster, louder, more dangerous.
The spear of legends reborn! In the world of mortals, the mop head had slowed earlier, dragging on grit, but now it danced again with momentum, spinning slick and clean like a turbine of justice.
The flame warriors hissed and circled him, readying for their final assault.
The clock was ticking—he could feel the pressure pounding in his chest. His real-world hand was numb, every tendon tight, every joint screaming.
"Come on!" he muttered under his breath, breaking a sweat that trickled down the bridge of his nose. He struck left, right, down, diagonally.
He leapt over a pool of ink. He swiped under a chair. He thrust his mop under a desk, knocking loose a colony of dust bunnies he was sure had been plotting his assassination.
In his mind, they were lesser fire minions—gnashing their teeth, clawing at his legs. "Not today!" he shouted, stabbing into them with his mop-spear, flipping a pile of paper scraps into the air. "You shall not tarnish these sacred tiles!"
One fire warrior swung low.
Wesley jumped, twisting his body mid-air with a spin only an anime protagonist should've been capable of. His foot caught the edge of a bucket, water sloshing over the rim.
In the real world, it soaked his shoe. In his world, it was blessed with water spilling from the divine chalice of Saint Janitros, cleansing the battlefield.
"Holy water acquired!" he said dramatically. "Your flames weaken!"
The spirits hissed, their forms flickering.
Ten minutes left.
Wesley gritted his teeth. His back ached. His palms stung with friction burns. His breath came in short gasps.
But the classroom—no, the battlefield—was nearly clean.
The ancient curse of mess and chaos had been pushed back. He could see light shining from the floor.
The smell of burnt parchment and bitter mana had faded.
Now there was only the sharp scent of disinfectant and sweat.
"Take this! Final strike!"
Wesley screamed, as he raised his mop high, bringing it down with the force of a thousand janitors past. He scrubbed with fury, polishing the last grime-ridden tile beneath the blackboard.
In his imagination, the final flame warrior screamed as Wesley's spear pierced its core, its fiery body cracking into shards of ash and sparks.
In reality, he dropped to his knees and gave the floor one last hard scrub with a mop soaked in lemon-scented floor cleaner.
Then—silence.
The classroom gleamed.
Desks were back in rows.
The waste bin had been emptied.
Crumpled paper balls had vanished.
Even the windows looked a little less dusty, though he hadn't touched them.
Perhaps it was his aura.
Wesley collapsed backward, panting. His arm throbbed. His fingers twitched. His clothes were speckled with dried ink, dust, and suspicious crumbs.
His mop leaned against a desk like a warrior's spear returning to rest.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, flicking droplets onto the now-pristine floor. "That was... the fastest and most intense cleaning session of my life."
Then—Ding!
A golden glow radiated from the system screen that hovered in front of him.
Mission Completed
Mission: Clean 4 designated spots
Time Limit: 15 minutes
Time Used: 5 minutes, 45 seconds
Tier IV Reward Earned