Chapter 1: The D-Rank System
A pale morning sun rose slowly over the horizon, spilling its light across the parched, blistering earth.
The vast expanse was desolate, empty of people—only a few stray animals roamed freely. Scraggly branches, clinging to life, lay scattered across the barren ground.
Here and there, massive craters pocked the land as if struck by missiles. Bullet holes scarred the surface, and faint traces of blood still lingered, not yet scrubbed away.
Beneath the ground stretched cold, sterile white walls—an unnatural facility, wholly out of place in such a wasteland.
On a simple chair sat Renjiro Narusei, his hands neatly folded on the desk before him. His left thumb bore a slightly long nail, and his calm eyes stared forward, almost like a model student paying attention in class.
At the podium, a stern-faced man lectured, his voice sharp, his presence oppressive. A faint smell of gunpowder still clung to the pistol holstered at his waist.
"Remember this," the man barked. "To possess ability and not use it—that is true stupidity! Hesitating out of conscience, sparing your target—that is weakness!"
Narusei's expression didn't waver. He had long since grown used to these sermons.
One by one, the other children who had entered the so-called Abyss Orphanage with him had disappeared. Each time, the man would deliver this same lesson to the survivors. Now, Narusei was the only one left.
At first, they had all laughed and played, believing they had finally found a home. But as the days of blood-soaked training dragged on, their smiles faded. In the end, only blank faces remained.
Ding, ding!
The shrill ring of a bell echoed through the empty classroom. The man ended his lecture and strode out, the heavy thud of his military boots fading into the corridor.
He was going to fetch the corpse of the "target" killed earlier—standard material for the next lesson. Narusei's gaze flickered briefly toward the camera fixed on him, its red light blinking coldly. For a moment, his eyes betrayed a thought he did not voice.
Soon, blood smeared across the long white corridor as the man dragged in a body. He slammed the corpse down onto Narusei's desk, the sharp tang of iron filling the boy's nose.
"Remember—nothing is more fragile than the human head," the man instructed coldly. "Study it well. See where the weaknesses lie."
The corpse's bulging eyes seemed to stare straight into Narusei's own. It was grotesque, yet he remained unnervingly calm.
He reached out with his right hand, sliding it into the corpse's mouth. His fingers probed beneath the tongue until they found a small, smooth bump. Without hesitation, he pressed it.
In the same instant, Narusei's left hand shot out, clamping tightly around the man's throat. His thumb cut across with precision—blood erupted, spraying across his pale clothes. The man tried to speak, but only collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
Narusei didn't flinch. He snatched up the man's pistol, loaded a magazine with practiced ease, grabbed a grenade, and glanced at the now-dark camera. Without a word, he slipped out of the classroom.
"Farewell… my last companion," he murmured.
He had long been planning his escape. Life here was nothing but a cruel game of survival—the strong devouring the weak. To claim he bore no resentment would have been a lie.
He had long prepared a way to escape. All he needed was someone to cooperate with him—his last surviving companion.
They had agreed: whichever one of them was sent out on a mission first would secretly hide a signal disruptor, painstakingly prepared over five years, beneath the target's tongue.
But every mission was a death sentence. Fail, and the administrators would kill you themselves.
It was Narusei's idea, after all. He had secretly glimpsed the roster and knew that the next assignment wouldn't fall to him.
His companion's eyes had lit with hope at the thought of escape. But Narusei understood better—there was no way out. The facility was surrounded by heavily armed troops. Any attempt to run would be crushed immediately. That was why he chose instead… to do the final act himself.
The empty corridor echoed softly with his footsteps.
He pressed his back against the wall, gun gripped tight. Voices and boots approached. He knew he'd been exposed. If he didn't move faster, he was already dead.
"Alarm! Alarm! Student No. 1 has escaped—repeat, Student No. 1 has escaped!"
Inside a control room, operators hammered their keyboards in a frenzy. A man paced furiously, glaring at the monitor before slamming his fist down.
"After him! I don't care if he's dead or alive—bring him back!"
The command sparked chaos. Screens flickered, radios screamed with orders, and rows of armed soldiers mobilized in full combat gear.
The alarm wailed through the facility. Yet Narusei's face showed no fear—only grim acceptance. He moved faster toward his destination.
He turned a slick patch of flooring, scenting the air, and pushed into a side room. His bloodstained clothes startled the workers inside, but they didn't have time to speak.
Bang. Bang.
Gunfire echoed. Red holes bloomed on their foreheads. They collapsed in shock, faces frozen in disbelief.
Narusei vaulted onto a massive metal storage tank, tossing aside his gun. With both hands, he strained against the valve.
"Narusei! You can't run! Surrender now!" voices roared behind him.
He ignored them, forcing the valve open. A stench of petroleum filled the air.
Bullets tore into his leg. Pain flared hot, his calf going numb as blood pooled beneath him. More shots struck his chest, every breath heavier than the last.
Training simulations had taught him to remain calm under fire. But reality was different—the raw fear, the gnawing weakness—he could feel his body betraying him.
With trembling hands, he pulled the pin on a grenade and dropped it into the tank. Then he turned, smiling faintly at his pursuers.
"That's oil, you fools."
Panic flashed in their eyes, but it was already too late.
A searing white light consumed the world.
The earth convulsed violently. Buildings crumbled as a mushroom cloud rose into the sky. Everything—everyone—was obliterated.
And then—
Narusei's consciousness flickered back.
A synthetic electronic voice greeted him.
[Contractor No. 19999999, welcome to the Supremacy Space.]
[Rules will now be explained by System No. 19999999.]
The scene shifted. He was standing in the middle of a bustling futuristic street, towers of dazzling architecture stretching overhead.
He looked down: a pale-blue oval barrier of light enclosed his body, sealing him inside like an exhibit on display. Dozens of others were trapped the same way—some still unconscious, others pounding desperately on their barriers. A flash of light would engulf one, and they would vanish without a trace. The passing pedestrians didn't even blink.
Where am I? Narusei thought. I should be dead… so why am I here?
Text scrolled across the glowing barrier in front of him as the mechanical voice continued:
[In this space, only strength matters. Survival belongs to the powerful.]
[Each participant receives a personal System, with ranks that determine access and privileges.]
[The only universal currency is Points. Anything can be bought with Points.]
[You will traverse multiple worlds, complete assigned missions, and earn Points based on your performance.]
[As a newcomer, you may now select your first skill, gifted by the Space itself.]
Narusei stood in silence. His expression didn't change as he pressed his hand against the barrier—it was as solid as steel. Escape was impossible. The only choice was to accept a mission and begin.
Nearby, a team of figures in sleek, high-tech uniforms passed by. The woman at their head glanced at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Narusei, however, felt no thrill, no excitement for the skill he was about to receive. His voice was calm, almost cold, as he asked:
"…What rank is my System?"
[Your current rank: D.]