Wesley darted down the hallway with wild energy in his steps, his arms swinging like he was leading a battalion to war.
He wasn't just a janitor in this moment. No. In his mind, he was the Spearmaster of the Ninth Immortal Sky, a figure of awe whose mere name sent tremors through demonic realms and righteous sects alike.
The Wielder of the Flame-Slaying Polearm.
The Guardian of Heaven's Broom—wait, no, spear, he corrected himself, dramatically swinging his mop in slow arcs as if it were a sacred artifact bestowed by celestial dragons.
He was lost in his own fantasy, muttering legendary techniques under his breath, reciting titles he made up on the spot with the kind of confidence only an overactive imagination and a newfound system could provide.
But the moment he spotted real people—students walking down the marble-floored halls, teachers pacing briskly between classes—Wesley would slow to a near-glide.
His exaggerated posture snapped into something resembling composure.
He nodded, adjusted his grip on the mop, and adopted an expression that said, Yes, I am a serious custodian of cleanliness. But then, something happened that always threw him for a loop—girls smiled at him.
It wasn't universal, and many students just walked past, some boys looking through him like he was a piece of wall décor with a mop attachment. But the girls, especially the younger ones from the junior division, greeted him with a kind of cheerful familiarity.
"Good afternoon, Mister Janitor!"
"Keep it up, Mister Wesley!"
"Thank you for making the hallways shine!"
Each greeting hit him like a wave of warm mana, and though his eyes widened every time—still not quite used to being noticed in a positive light—he beamed back with a confident nod.
"Heh, just doing my sacred duty as a defender of cleanliness and purity," he would murmur, barely audible but charged with pride.
Some of the boys would acknowledge him, a few tossing him a half-hearted "Yo" or a silent nod, probably influenced by the fact that Wesley now walked with a strange charisma.
He radiated something unnameable, like a breeze of purpose had infused his limbs, making every step seem less like janitorial labor and more like a celestial mission to purify chaos from the realm.
That energy didn't go unnoticed by his fellow janitors.
Leaning on their mops or sitting against hallway walls, the older janitors watched Wesley's bounding enthusiasm like they were witnessing the ghost of youth's past.
"He's still new," one would murmur.
"Let the boy have his fire," another would say, managing a half-smile. "Better than seeing another kid crushed by reality."
But when Wesley passed by them, mop over his shoulder like a knight with a greatsword, something shifted—even if just for a few seconds.
The dullness in their eyes flickered.
Maybe it was hope. Maybe envy. Maybe a memory.
They wouldn't speak it aloud, but in the moment Wesley trotted past, cheeks flushed and humming a triumphant tune from a fantasy RPG, he became a tiny light in their dreary world.
Wesley, of course, had no idea the small impact he was making. He was too caught up in the grand epic playing in his head.
They don't know it yet, he mused to himself, but a warrior has been born in the janitor ranks.
A silent dragon hidden under tattered uniforms and outdated mop handles. I may have been born without power, rejected by a family I never chose, but now… now I have a cheat.
His heart skipped. The system.
That glorious, life-altering, world-breaking system.
He almost forgot to breathe thinking about it.
Back on Earth, he never got anything. No virus apocalypse. No dungeons. No chance to awaken as a zombie hunter, no flying aliens to punch in the face, no secret organizations knocking on his door to tell him he was the reincarnation of the Flame Emperor of Nine Suns.
Just bills, awkward group chats, and a boss who monitored his lunch breaks.
But here—this magical world, so utterly strange yet wonderful—he was finally given the chance.
At first, it seemed like a cruel joke. Sent to a low-level city in a low-level academy, forced to work as a janitor after being kicked out of a prestigious magic family. But now? Everything had changed.
The System had arrived.
With a cheat like this, he could rewrite everything. And if he had to sweep a million floors to unlock legendary abilities, then so be it.
Finally, he reached the last room.
Inside, it wasn't as messy as the previous two.
A couple of overturned chairs, dusty shelves, and the subtle aura of teenage laziness.
Still, Wesley stood in the doorway like it was the entrance to a demon lord's lair, panting slightly from his run but already steadying his hands like a swordsman drawing his blade.
Then—
DING!
[Janitor System Activated]
New Mission: Clean 3 Designated Spots
Time Limit: 15 minutes.
→ Tier I: 2 Bronze coins and basic buffs (Fire Resistance EXP)
→ Tier II: 4 Bronze coins, basic buffs, and Slash EXP
→ Tier III: 8 Bronze coins, basic buffs, low-level skill, Knight Mana EXP
→ Tier IV: 11 Bronze coins, basic buffs, low-level skill, Knight Mana EXP, Flame Conjurer Mana EXP
Failure Penalty: Balls Itch for a month.
Wesley blinked. "That's… that's cruel."
But then he saw it—Fire Resistance Experience.
Did that mean if he kept doing this, he'd be immune to fire someday?
Could he one day walk into a volcano, laugh, and bathe in lava like some mythical salamander god?
His heart thumped at the idea. It was just resistance for now, sure, but every buff mattered. Especially since it was from cleaning.
Then his eyes darted to Slash EXP.
A Knight's basic skill—what if one day he could slice mountains? Or cut lightning in half just by yelling his move louder? He let out a breathless laugh.
The skill he had was only three star ranks..
The madness of the system was better than any gacha pull.
But what truly made him giddy was the last bit—Knight Mana and Flame Conjurer Mana experience.
That was like being a dual-class adventurer. He could wear armor and throw fireballs. He could tank and nuke.
He was going to become a godly hybrid character, like those ultra-rare builds in online games that only whales could afford.
"Alright, alright," Wesley whispered to himself, fire in his eyes. "So be it."
He closed his eyes.
And when they opened again, the room was gone.
In its place, there stood a cursed chamber within the Burning Sky Sect's hidden trial dimension. He stood at the edge of an ancient trial site, its floor littered with spiritual dust and charred remnants of past failures.
Wesley knew he had to succeed. His soul core depended on it. His immortal standing depended on it.
He grasped the mop like it was a divine artifact.
The handle shimmered in his mind's eye, runes flickering down its wooden shaft, its bristles glowing faintly with the flames of ancient phoenixes. No longer was it a mop.
It was the Immortal Heaven Spear.
Wesley took a deep breath, then surged forward.
"Flame-Slaying Sweep: First Form!" he shouted, slamming the mop toward the first desk corner.
Dust exploded like it was sentient, trying to flee the divine strike.
"Second Form: Cleansing Torrent!"
He spun on one foot, mop dancing like it was alive, spinning across a bookshelf's edge with immaculate grace.
"Final Form... Heaven-Purging Spiral!"
The mop whipped through the air, leaving behind not only a squeaky clean floor but a mystical breeze that scattered faint glowing motes—at least in his imagination.
But to any outsider peeking through the window, they'd just see a janitor twirling around like a ballet dancer with a mop, eyes burning with purpose.
Yet Wesley felt something.
Not just the cleanliness of the room, but a pulse of energy—like something in the world had just acknowledged his will to rise.
And in that moment, he grinned.
"This is it! This is it!"