The next day, Noah was back to work early. The UNPA Branch Sector 07 building, once a gleaming monument to global cooperation, was now a glorified staging ground for heroes. The structure constantly hummed with contained mana—a thick, almost palpable energy that ignored his existence. Noah, the institution's janitor, was already on the lobby floor, pushing a wide mop, the only piece of equipment he could touch that didn't require an Awakened certification.
A man in a sharp, expensive suit carrying a slim metallic briefcase strode through the main entrance. The suit alone probably cost more than Noah's annual salary, and the briefcase likely contained classified Artifacts.
"You're early today, Noah."
Noah looked up, offering a quick, genuine smile. "Oh, Director Andrews. You're early too."
Andrews offered a familiar, patronizing grin. "Me? Not as early as you, though. This is what, 5 am in the morning?" He paused, his gaze momentarily slipping from Noah's face to the mop, confirming Noah's low status.
"That's my routine," Noah said, returning to his work. "If I can finish the entire four-story lobby and the administrative wings before 5 in the afternoon, I can use the training facility for a few hours. Best equipment in the city, provided I leave no trace I was there."
Andrews, already walking toward the staircase, slightly raised his voice. "Still no luck, son? You haven't Awakened yet?" The question was rhetorical, asked with the bland certainty that Noah was a lost cause.
Noah kept mopping. "Nah. But you'll be the first to know, sir." The lie was practiced and smooth.
"Alright then. Keep at it," Andrews called back, climbing the steps and disappearing around the corner, already forgetting the janitor's face.
By mid-morning, the UNPA lobby was a bustling, chaotic ecosystem of power. The ambient mana from hundreds of Players created a visible haze. Some were cloaked in dazzling, self-generated auras of fire or light; others wore dull, tactical gear but moved with the unnatural grace of high Agility stats. Newly Awakened teenagers sat on benches, eager to be registered as an official Player, waiting in line for orientation—their nascent powers already making them feel superior to everyone else.
Noah stared at them, pushing his mop through a patch of dried monster residue—probably from a dead Wyvern's scale that had been brought to sell at the UNPA. I wish I could become like that, too. He didn't need to be a god-tier powerhouse. Just a Common Class with an F-Rank stat would be fine. Something, anything, to feel recognized by the cosmic interface. He shook the envious thought away and continued scrubbing the marble, focusing on the monotonous reality of the squeegee.
A sharp, light slap connected with his back, pulling him violently out of his thoughts. He flinched and turned to see three younger Players smirking at him. Leading them was Casey, a stocky, eighteen-year-old with tight, bright blue light armor and twin axes clipped to his hip—his cheap, mass-produced E-Rank Berserker gear was a uniform of adolescent arrogance.
"There goes our Mop Man," Casey sneered, deliberately using the demeaning nickname.
Noah stared at them with a flat, tired expression. "What now, Casey? Got a Rift opening you need to miss?"
"Nothing," Casey said, feigning innocence. "We noticed that you're working super hard today than usual. Are you rushing your work so you can come train with us?" He laughed, a loud, grating sound designed to draw attention, and his two lackeys dutifully joined in. Several of the more powerful onlookers glanced their way, bored but amused by the spectacle of the powerful bullying the powerless.
Then, one of Casey's subordinates handed him a black pouch—likely filled with dust from a low-level dungeon. Casey took it and, with deliberate theatricality, poured a handful of loose, foul-smelling dirt onto the clean, damp floor Noah had just spent twenty minutes polishing. The dark particles instantly stained the pristine marble.
"Here's my gift to you, Casey. You should get back to it now, old man."
A nearby Player, clearly new and possessing a sliver of decency, started to approach. "Hey! Stop that!"
Casey turned, his face alight with entitlement, and casually gestured for them to retreat. "Shut it! Mind your own business! You haven't even finished your orientation, newbie." He turned back to Noah, whose expression hadn't changed, holding steady at a neutral lack of interest—a defense mechanism learned long ago.
Noah simply exhaled in quiet pity for the spoiled boy and started sweeping the dirt back into a dustpan.
Casey leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper meant only for Noah. "The truth hurts, Noah Chambers. Even if you train hard to the brink of death, you would never Awaken. The System knows you're useless."
Noah scooped the last of the dirt and straightened up. "Did my sister dump you again, asshole?"
The two subordinates gasped dramatically, covering their mouths. "Ooooh! Are you just gonna eat what he said?" one hissed at Casey.
"Shut up," Casey snapped at them, his face darkening with humiliated rage. He approached Noah and delivered a quick, hard punch right into Noah's gut. The blow, backed by his E-Rank Strength stat, was devastating.
Noah crumpled, his diaphragm protesting, gasping and doubling over. He gripped the handle of the mop, trying desperately to force air back into his lungs.
Casey smiled, a savage, youthful grin. "You like that, old man? That's a punch from an eighteen-year-old E-Rank Player. I didn't even try that hard. That's your reality check." He laughed again and started walking away, his subordinates trailing behind him. They were leaving a trail of dirt and blood that Noah knew he would have to clean later.
Noah slowly straightened up, enduring the lingering, visceral ache. He continued sweeping, the pity he felt for the young fools warring with a deep, cold reservoir of anger that was far more dangerous than any low-rank skill.
Casey stopped and looked back, raising his voice so the whole lobby could hear and Noah's sister's reputation would be stained by the insult. "You know what we're gonna do to your sister, Mop Man? We're gonna party with her, spread sleeping dust around, and then—" Casey made an obscene gesture, spiking the threat with the ultimate act of misogynistic dominance. "That's what."
Something cold and clinical snapped inside Noah's head. The fear was gone, replaced by a terrible, calculated clarity.
He walked slowly, deliberately, toward the departing group. The scattered onlookers began whispering, the noise spiking in alarm as they sensed the shift in the air. "Is he gonna do what I think he's gonna do?" one asked. "Yeah, he's gonna get his ass kicked. That kid's a Berserker."
The collective noise alerted Casey, who started to turn, but it was too late.
Noah already had the Glock-18, a weapon he always carried beneath his thick UNPA uniform, pressed hard against the back of Casey's head. The cold metal was the great equalizer.
Casey froze, feeling the sudden, undeniable cold steel. All his E-Rank Defense meant nothing against a nine-millimeter slug. He instinctively raised his hands. His subordinates stammered in panic. "No, stop that! You know you could be arrested for that, right? Threatening a Player with a firearm is a Level Four felony!"
Casey, hinting at bravado despite the gun, grinned mockingly, eyes wide with terror. "Well, go ahead, Mop Man. Shoot me. You won't."
The crowd fell silent, a terrifying hush washing over the busy lobby. Everyone was waiting for the security to intervene, for some high-rank Player to step in, but no one moved.
"You know, I was fine if you beat me up. Humiliate me. I get that," Noah said, his voice flat and calm, a chilling contrast to the gun he held. "I would have cleaned your dirt and gone back to the gym. But threatening to rape my sister is something I cannot let you escape."
Casey's grin faltered, fear replacing arrogance. "So, what? We're male and female. We'll eventually have to cope with that sexual frustration one way or anoth—"
His words were cut off. Noah pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening, the crack echoing off the marble and glass, a sound that immediately cut through the mana-rich silence. Casey screamed, collapsing, clutching his leg as arterial blood immediately began to spread across the pristine floor Noah had just cleaned. The two subordinates scattered, running in pure, un-Awakened terror.
Noah gently lowered himself, sitting beside Casey's face, looking down at the crying Player.
"You know what makes us normal humans different from you Awakened?" Noah whispered, touching the still-bleeding wound lightly. Casey screamed again, a raw, animal sound. "If we feel fear or anger from someone stronger than us—someone who claims superiority by cosmic fiat—we do not hesitate to take you down. It's why, throughout history, we built nuclear weapons. Because we felt threatened. It's also why I have this gun. You may be an E-Rank Player, but you're still flesh and blood. You do not bleed lesser than us, but you sure as hell bleed easier."
He leaned closer, his eyes cold. "And there's no official law stating that an Unawakened human committed a crime against a Player. The world resonates with the oppression you people dish out. I know, I'll get away with this. Have you seen Breaking Bad? Tell me the one who keeps getting away with it. Tell me who I'm talking about."
Casey, pale and shaking, shouted through the pain. "Heisenberg!"
Noah smirked, a dangerous, cold expression of absolute victory. "You're goddamn right."
Security staff, including several C-Rank Wardens, and Noah's sister, Mina, an imposing, furious figure even in casual gear, arrived, shocked by the carnage. Mina, the Pyromancer, rushed forward, visibly relieved to see Casey was alive, but absolutely livid.
"Oh no. Fuck!" Mina muttered as she approached. She quickly wrapped an arm around Noah, pulling him away from the screaming Player. She said to the panicked staff, "Just take him to the infirmary and seal the scene. I'll deal with this."
Mina turned to Noah. "What the fuck did you do? You could've killed a senator's only son!
Noah, still smirking with that blank, chilling expression, let her pull him away. "Why? That's a good thing, right? I mean, no one would piss me off anymore. I did my job. I cleaned the trash."
Casey watched him, now entirely pale, understanding with bone-deep terror that Noah had genuinely intended to kill him. Mina's eyes widened, frustrated, as she felt the true depth of her brother's nihilistic calm.
"Fuck! Here we go again," she muttered under her breath, already calculating the political fallout of a shooting in the UNPA lobby.