Chapter 97: The Second Orange Weapon and the Ball
Ron had the best sleep he'd had in ages—a real, uninterrupted, soul-cleansing kind of sleep.
What do I mean by that?
He fell asleep around noon on the first day… and didn't wake up until the next morning. After groggily stumbling to the fridge and eating a nearly-expired cheesecake Penny had brought home from the Cheesecake Factory, he promptly fell asleep again. It wasn't until late afternoon that he finally emerged from his food-coma-slash-hibernation in full health and high spirits.
And just as he stretched his arms and enjoyed the clarity of a fully recharged brain, the system—dormant for days—finally chimed in with some long-awaited good news:
"Congratulations, Host. You have gained recognition from storyline character Arthur.
You have received Arthur's gift:
Perfect Infiltration
(Sure, blowing up an entire building with heavy firepower is one way to 'clear the zone,'
but a true assassin never forgets his roots.
Master-level infiltration techniques—now yours to command.)"
Ron's heart sank for a split second when he read the first part. He thought the system might've taken that ridiculous nonsense he told Arthur as gospel and given him some joke skill.
But thankfully, this one was legit.
I mean, who needs a system to teach them how to go in guns blazing? That's called common sense.
As usual, the skill transfer came with a side of drowsiness and brain fog. It didn't affect his body right away, but once the upload began, the dizziness hit like a truck. Then came the overwhelming urge to sleep.
Ron assumed this was just his brain reacting to a torrent of information being forced into it—kind of like how your fingers start burning when you game for too long on your phone.
When he closed his eyes again, his mind was already filling with knowledge he'd never had before.
He was now confident he could go downstairs, buy a pack of instant noodles… and sneak into every locked room in the building on his way back up.
But that wasn't even the biggest surprise.
When he reached for his gun, he noticed something peculiar—the M1911 pistol Arthur casually tossed to him yesterday was glowing with an unmistakable orange hue!
Just like before, when Old Jack gave him his revolver, it hadn't glowed at first. But once Jack truly acknowledged Ron, that Smith & Wesson had begun to emit that epic orange light.
And as anyone who's played one of those garbage Chinese browser games knows:
Orange = Epic Tier.
Until now, Ron only had one orange-tier weapon—and it was absurdly effective.
Was this going to be his second one?
What kind of overpowered stats would it have?
With excitement bubbling inside him, Ron approached the weapon like a pilgrim before a shrine. He gently picked it up and used the system to check its stats.
And then… he almost dropped it from shock.
M1911 of the Suicider
(Special Edition by Iwashima Armory)
From a Navy officer on the Korean frontlines…
to the legendary assassin Old Harry…
Every one of its previous owners used it to end their own life.
The gun possesses a strange and mystical power—
it helps you "go in peace."
Ron blinked, reread it again, and even rubbed his eyes—just to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
But nope.
That was it.
Its only feature was making your suicide more peaceful.
What the hell is this crap?!
What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Use it on myself? And why the hell would I want my enemies to go "in peace"? What kind of passive-aggressive "epic weapon" is this?!
Ron stood there, stunned.
This thing was so ridiculous it was almost comical.
He was never going to use this glorified mercy gun.
But… since it was a gift, he didn't throw it away. Instead, he quietly tucked it into the furthest corner of his system storage.
That small, 3×3×3 meter space—just 27 cubic meters in total—was barely enough for his personal light weapons cache anyway. Definitely not enough room for something like a tank, which he'd long dreamed of owning.
Ironically, the orange-tier gun wasn't even half as useful as the purple-tier P90 he had casually snagged from the assassin agency the day before. That gun didn't have a flashy description, but it had a single line of text that made it worth its weight in gold:
"A rare anomaly from the production line.
Feature: Absolutely zero recoil."
Just that one skill entry—Infiltration—was worth more than everything else combined. If only he could attach it to his revolver, that would be perfect.
Guuurgle~
Ron's stomach let out a loud, angry growl, yanking him out of his system interface and back to harsh reality. He was starving.
Out of habit, he made his way to the run-down little diner in the equally run-down part of town—Williamsburg Deli. But today, its doors were locked tight, and a sign hung crookedly on the front:
Temporarily Closed.
A short distance away, he spotted a long, black 2002 Lincoln Town Car—ancient, discontinued, and definitely not roadworthy. Leaning against it were four figures: three small, one... not so small. They were eating cupcakes.
Of course, the largest of the group was a Polish woman in an evening gown, her ample figure barely contained by the deep neckline—like a walking mountain of flesh. Ron immediately recognized her as someone from Max's Diner.
"Hey there!"
It was Earl, the one Ron knew best, calling out to him. "If you're here to play White Knight and rescue the damsels in distress, you're too late—we already have a fairy godmother!"
The Polish woman—Sophie—wriggled her hips and sashayed over, pressing herself against Ron with exaggerated flair.
"I am the fairy godmother," she said with a sultry purr.
Ron forced a polite smile and complimented her with all the sincerity of a hostage:
"That little tiara on your head? Really ties the whole outfit together."
He subtly took a step back, needing some breathing room.
"So... someone wanna tell me what all this glammed-up business is about? It's not Independence Day already, right? If I'm not mistaken, that's next Wednesday."
Lee Han stepped forward and gave Ron an enthusiastic handshake.
"No, no. Max and Caroline are headed to a fancy gala tonight. The plan was for all of us to go, but Oleg's car broke down."
Oleg threw up his hands.
"I told Sophie my cousin would be here in thirty minutes with the tools to fix it!"
Sophie rolled her eyes.
"You said that over an hour ago. And now the two sweethearts are already twenty minutes gone."
Ron pieced it together quickly.
Max and Caroline were planning to crash a gala and "coincidentally" run into a big-shot magazine editor. Their goal? Get her to try one of their cupcakes—and maybe score a feature to help promote their business.
Unfortunately, Oleg's "luxury" car—which had probably changed hands more than a hot potato—broke down the second it started. Sophie, ever dramatic, had declared, "Useless in success, perfect in failure—that's Oleg in a nutshell."
"Any chance you know what hotel they went to?" Ron asked. "If they don't have an invitation, it's gonna be tough to sneak in. Maybe I can lend a hand."
"The London West Hollywood at Beverly Hills," Sophie answered, pressing herself against him again, clearly not planning to back off. Oleg, meanwhile, was silently fuming nearby, glaring daggers at Ron but too recently scolded to say anything out loud.
But Ron wasn't exactly thrilled either.
Sure, he liked curvy women—Max, for instance, hit all the right notes—but Sophie? She was more like… how to put it politely?
If Max was a sleek muscle car, then Sophie was a WWII-era heavy tank—and not one of the working ones.
Yeah. Time to go.
"Thanks," Ron said, taking the cupcake Sophie handed him. He popped it into his mouth in one bite, barely chewing before swallowing. The hunger pangs eased up immediately.
"Nice meeting you, Ms. Sophie. But I think my princess needs rescuing. Ciao~"
With that, Ron slid back into his car and drove off, leaving Sophie behind, her eyes dreamy as she watched the car disappear down the street.
"He's so cool~ If only I could XX with a man like that… Wonder which of those two sweet things he meant by 'princess'? They're so lucky~"
"Maybe it's both of them," Earl muttered under his breath.