The darkness was not silent. It was a symphony of his failures.
He was falling. Not through space, but through memory, each one a sharp stone tearing at his soul. Brody's sneering face, twisted with power, loomed large. "Get up, you pathetic lowlife worm." The feeling of cold linoleum against his cheek, the heat of a hundred pitying and mocking stares. The crushing weight of being less than, of being nothing.
Then, the memory shifted. He was ten years old, sitting in a sterile, white-walled room that smelled of antiseptic and grief. A somber-faced official used words like "tragic accident" and "instantaneous." The world had lost its color, its sound, its meaning. His parents were gone. The two pillars of his universe had vanished in a single, violent moment, leaving him standing in the ruins.
The scene dissolved again. He saw Elster, her telekinetic shield shimmering between him and a thrown rock. He saw Kyle, standing defiantly with sparks at his fingertips, a fiery barrier against the bullies. He saw himself, always behind them, always in their shadow, always the one who needed protection. Their faces were kind, their intentions pure, but each rescue was another nail in the coffin of his self-worth. He was a burden, a fragile keepsake his friends felt obligated to carry.
The memories accelerated, a torrent of powerlessness. The world was a blur of motion and light around him—students flashing by with superhuman speed, others lifting impossible weights, generating flames or ice—while he remained a statue of stillness. He was trapped in a glass box, watching life happen without him, pounding on the invisible walls until his fists were bloody.
The falling sensation intensified. He was plunging into a deep, dark pit. Above him, the receding figures of his parents, his grandfather, Elster, and Kyle grew smaller and smaller, their lights fading into pinpricks against a vast, consuming blackness. He reached for them, a silent scream tearing from his throat, but they only drifted further away, leaving him alone in the infinite, cold dark.
"Ark!"
The voice cut through the nightmare, clear and firm, a lifeline thrown into the abyss. It was a voice he hadn't heard in years, yet one he would recognize anywhere. His grandfather.
He spun in the void, and there they were. At a distance that felt both infinite and intimate, stood his grandfather—the same kind, wrinkled face, the same intelligent eyes twinkling behind spectacles, his wild white hair defying gravity as always. And beside him, their features soft and loving, were his parents. They were smiling at him, their expressions filled with a warmth that seared his soul.
"Grandpa! Mom! Dad!"
He tried to run towards them, his legs pumping with a desperate, frantic energy. But the physics of this dream-realm were cruel. No matter how fast he ran, the distance between them remained unchanged. It was like running on a treadmill, expending all his strength but going nowhere. He was a mouse in a cosmic wheel, forever chasing a cheese he could never reach.
He stumbled and fell to his knees in the featureless dark. The tears came then, hot and unrestrained, tracing paths of fire down his cheeks.
"Why?" he sobbed, his voice small and broken in the immense silence. "Why did you all have to leave me? Why am I always alone?"
His grandfather's expression grew more intense. He leaned forward, as if trying to bridge the impossible gap through sheer force of will.
"Ark!" he called again, his voice echoing with a strange, metallic resonance. "Wake up! This illusion… it's not real! The world, it lies to you! Wake up from the dream, my boy! See the truth!"
Illusion? Lies? What was he talking about? The pain Ark felt was real. The loneliness was real. The world of powers and gates and heroes was brutally, undeniably real.
"Grandpa, I don't understand!" Ark cried out, confusion mingling with his grief.
But the figures were already fading, their forms becoming translucent, their light dimming. The world began to dissolve at the edges, the darkness pulling back like a tide.
"Wake up, Ark…"
The voice was a distant whisper now. A powerful, invisible force seized him, pulling him backward, up, out of the depths of his own subconscious. It was a violent, disorienting ascent.
---
He awoke with a gasp, his body jerking violently as if he had been yanked from a great height.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the disorientation. The cold, hard floor of the lab pressed against his back. He was drenched in a cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He brought a trembling hand to his face. His cheeks were wet. Dried tears had cemented themselves to his skin. He had been crying in his sleep, the anguish of the dream spilling over into the waking world.
What was that? he thought, the dream's imagery seared into his mind. The feeling of falling, the unreachable faces of his family, his grandfather's cryptic warning… Wake up from the illusion of the world? What did that mean? The world of Gates and monsters and Heroes was the only world he had ever known. What other truth was there?
Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The events before his blackout came rushing back—the hidden hatch, the key, the laboratory, the star-chart screen, the torrent of agony as data flooded his brain.
His eyes, still blurry with sleep and tears, scanned the room. He was still in his grandfather's secret lab. The workbenches were still littered with strange artifacts, the blueprints still hung on the walls. The large central screen was now dark and dead, a few sporadic electric sparks fizzing weakly around its edges, providing the only faint, stuttering illumination in the otherwise profound darkness.
He reached up to adjust his glasses, which had sat crookedly on his nose. But as he looked through them, something was wrong. Everything was… fuzzy. His prescription, which he'd had for years, suddenly felt too strong. It was giving him a headache.
Frowning, he took them off.
And the world exploded into a clarity he had never, ever experienced.
He could see every single rivet on the metal workbench five feet away. He could count the individual threads in a discarded cloth rag draped over a chair. In the near-total darkness, his eyes drank in the ambient light from the sparks, resolving details he should have needed a flashlight to see. The fine grain of the concrete floor, the microscopic scratches on a beaker, the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny diamonds—it was all rendered in hyper-realistic, stunning detail.
His breath hitched. This was impossible. He had needed glasses since he was eight years old. Without them, the world was a soft-focused mess. Now, it was sharper than it had ever been, even with his best prescription.
What is happening to me?
Then, it happened.
A soft, mechanical beep sounded directly in his ears, though there was no source for the sound. Simultaneously, a semi-transparent, blue-hued screen materialized directly in his line of sight, floating in mid-air as if projected onto his very retinas.
[System Initialization Complete.]
Ark yelped, scrambling backward on the floor, his back hitting a leg of a heavy workbench with a thud. He swiped a frantic hand through the air where the screen hovered. His fingers passed through it without resistance, the text undisturbed. It wasn't a physical projection. It was in his mind.
He shut his eyes tightly, hoping it was a trick of the light, a remnant of his strange dream. But when he opened them again, the screen was still there, persistent and alien.
Terror and a wild, unbelievable hope warred within him. This was… this was like something out of the virtual reality games he'd sometimes lose himself in. A user interface. A system.
The text on the screen shifted.
[Welcome, User/Host.]
[The Assassin System is now online.]
[Synchronization with host biology: 100%.]
Assassin System? The words sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the lab. Assassin. It was a word of shadows and death, the absolute antithesis of the bright, public heroism embodied by the graduates of Hero High. Why would his grandfather, a man who built things, leave him a system with a name like that?
His eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and fascination, were drawn downward as a new set of data populated the screen, arranged in a neat, brutalist font.
---
USER STATISTICS
Name: Ark Greystone
Title:Null
Level:1
System Designation:Assassin
Core Attributes:
· Strength: 4 (Below Average Human)
· Agility: 5 (Average Human)
· Constitution: 3 (Below Average Human)
· Intelligence: 15 (Genius-Level Human)
· Perception: 12 (Enhanced Human)
· Luck: 1 (Cursed)
Derived Stats:
· Health (HP): 30/30
· Stamina (SP): 25/25
· Mental Energy (MP): 150/150
Skills:
· [None]
Abilities:
· [None]
Inventory:
· [Empty]
Active Quests:
· [None]
---
For a long, suspended moment, Ark could only stare. The numbers were a cold, clinical assessment of his entire existence.
Strength: 4. No wonder Brody could shove him around so easily.
Constitution: 3.He got sick easily, bruised like a peach. It was all there.
Intelligence: 15.A small, grim smile touched his lips. At least that part was true. It was the only thing he had.
Perception: 12.That explained the vision. His hearing felt sharper too; he could hear the faint hum of the broken power core from across the room.
Luck: 1. Cursed.
A hollow laugh escaped him. Cursed. Was there any better word for it? Orphaned. Powerless. Bullied. It was so fitting it was almost poetic. The system hadn't given him this stat; it had simply acknowledged a pre-existing condition.
But then, his gaze fell on the titles. Title: Null. The word was a brand, a confirmation of everything he was supposed to be. But right beside it… System Designation: Assassin.
The Null and the Assassin. The zero and the killer. They were impossible contradictions, and yet they were both him.
"This is real," he whispered to the silent, dark lab. His voice was shaky, but held a new, firm core of belief. "This is power."
It wasn't the flashy, elemental power of Kyle or the elegant, psychic power of Elster. It was something else entirely. Something hidden. Something that operated in the spaces between the light.
As if in response to his realization, the screen flickered. The stat sheet minimized, and a new, pulsating notification appeared.
[New Quest Received!]
His heart thumped. A quest? Like in a game?
He focused on the notification, and it expanded.
Quest: [A Foundation of Strength]
Type:[System Tutorial]
Objective:Improve your physical form. A weapon must be honed. Reach Level 2 by increasing Core Attributes.
Sub-Objective 1:Perform 100 push-ups. (0/100)
Sub-Objective 2:Perform 100 sit-ups. (0/100)
Sub-Objective 3:Run 5 kilometers. (0/5 km)
Rewards:100 EXP, +1 to Strength or Agility (Host's choice).
Failure:System functionality will remain locked at its current basic capacity.
A tutorial. It made a strange kind of sense. The system was grooming him, training him. And the promise of a level-up, of tangible growth, was a siren's call he couldn't ignore. The threat of stagnation was equally motivating.
Without a second thought, his body thrumming with a nervous energy he hadn't felt in years, Ark got to his feet. He found a clear space on the lab floor and dropped into a push-up position.
He was weak. Pathetically so. His first ten push-ups were a struggle, his arms trembling with the effort. By the twentieth, his muscles were screaming, and his form was collapsing. He was the boy with a Strength stat of 4, after all.
But then, a small, transparent counter appeared in the corner of his vision, calmly ticking up with each agonizing repetition. [Push-ups: 21/100]. It was a goal. A measurable, achievable goal. It was no longer about abstract "getting stronger"; it was about filling a progress bar.
He grunted, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping onto the cold floor. 28... 29... 30...
The pain was immense, but for the first time, it felt purposeful. This wasn't pain inflicted upon him by a bully. This was pain he was choosing, pain he was wielding as a tool to reshape himself.
His arms gave out at thirty-seven. He collapsed onto his chest, gasping for air. The counter stopped. But it didn't reset. It waited.
After a minute of rest, his Stamina bar, which had dropped to 12/25, began to slowly refill. He pushed himself up again. 38... 39...
The cycle repeated for what felt like hours. Failure, rest, and trying again. Each time he pushed past his previous limit, even if only by one or two more repetitions. The system provided no encouragement, no motivational speeches. Only the silent, unwavering presence of the counter. It was the most honest teacher he had ever had.
When he finally completed the one-hundredth push-up, his entire upper body was a single, unified ache. A chime sounded in his mind, soft and pleasing.
[Sub-Objective 1 Complete: 100/100 Push-ups.]
A wave of pure, unadulterated triumph washed over him, so potent it made him lightheaded. He had done it. He, Ark Greystone, the Null, had pushed his body to a limit he never thought possible.
He moved on to the sit-ups, then, when his Stamina allowed, he ventured upstairs into the pre-dawn darkness and began his run. The world was still asleep, the streets empty and silent. With his enhanced perception, every detail of the sleeping city was vivid. He could hear the rustle of leaves a block away, see the individual bricks on distant buildings.
The run was pure agony. His Constitution of 3 was a brutal bottleneck. His lungs burned, and his legs felt like lead. But the floating counter in his vision [Distance: 3.7/5 km] pushed him forward. He wasn't running from something anymore. He was running towards something.
As the first rays of the sun painted the horizon in hues of orange and pink, Ark staggered back into the lab, drenched in sweat and trembling with exhaustion. He collapsed onto the floor, his chest heaving.
[Sub-Objective 3 Complete: 5/5 km Run.]
[Quest Complete: A Foundation of Strength.]
[Rewards: 100 EXP awarded. Please select your attribute point: Strength or Agility.]
A new screen appeared, showing two simple icons: a flexing muscle for Strength and a stylized wing for Agility.
He thought about it. Agility would help him avoid hits, to be faster. But he was so tired of being weak. So tired of being pushed around. He needed a foundation. He needed to be able to stand his ground.
He focused on the flexing muscle icon.
[+1 Strength allocated.]
A warm, tingling sensation flowed through his limbs, concentrating in his muscles. It wasn't a dramatic transformation, but the deep, bone-weary ache from his exertions lessened noticeably. He felt… denser. More solid. When he clenched his fist, there was a new sense of potential power there.
Then, the most important notification of all appeared.
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 2!]
[+5 Stat Points allocated automatically to base attributes for biological optimization.]
[You have 1 Unallocated Stat Point.]
He quickly pulled up his stat sheet.
---
USER STATISTICS
Name: Ark Greystone
Title:Null
Level:2 (EXP: 15/200)
System Designation:Assassin
Core Attributes:
· Strength: 5 -> 6 (Average Human)
· Agility: 5 -> 6 (Average Human)
· Constitution: 3 -> 4 (Below Average Human)
· Intelligence: 15
· Perception: 12
· Luck: 1 (Cursed)
Derived Stats:
· Health (HP): 40/40
· Stamina (SP): 35/35
· Mental Energy (MP): 150/150
---
He had done it. In a single night, he had gone from a Strength of 4 to 6. He was, by the system's own definition, officially of average human strength. It was a small step for anyone else, but for him, it was a leap across a canyon. The automatic points had rounded him out, pushing his weakest stats toward a baseline of survivability.
He was no longer the same boy who had crawled down these stairs. The grief, the despair, the helplessness—they were still there, a part of him, but they were now buried under a layer of hardened resolve.
He looked at the floating interface, this gift and curse from his grandfather. The "Assassin System." His grandfather's words echoed in his mind. "Wake up from the illusion of the world."
Was this what he meant? That true power didn't come from a flashy power core, but from something like this? Something cold, efficient, and hidden in the shadows?
A new, more complex notification suddenly pushed all others aside. This one was bordered in a faint, ominous red.
[New Primary Quest Received!]
Quest: [The Crucible of Heroes]
Type:[World Event / Infiltration]
Objective:Successfully enroll in Hero High. Pass the entrance examination.
Time Limit:12 Hours.
Rewards:500 EXP, Title: [Wolf in Sheep's Clothing], Unlocks [Skill Acquisition Module].
Failure:Permanent designation as [Null]. System will enter dormancy.
Ark's blood ran cold. The Hero High entrance exam. It was today. In just a few hours, he would have to walk into the lion's den, a place designed for gods, while hiding this… this demon inside him.
The rewards were incredible. A new title, a massive EXP boost, and most importantly, skills. Real, usable abilities. But the failure condition was a fate worse than death. To have this power, this hope, dangled before him and then snatched away, to be cast back into the void of being a Null forever… he wouldn't survive it.
He looked at his hands. They were still slender, but no longer soft. He could feel the new strength coiling in his forearms.
He had spent his entire life watching heroes from the sidelines, dreaming of a power that would never come. Now he had one, but it was a power that operated in the dark, a power with a name that spoke of murder, not salvation.
He stood up, his body sore but steady. He climbed the stairs out of the lab, leaving the secret world of his grandfather behind for now. The sun was fully up, casting long shadows across his quiet living room.
He had a choice to make. He could throw the exam, live a normal, powerless life, and let the system sleep. Or he could walk into the light of Hero High, a place of heroes and legends, with a shadow clinging to his soul.
He walked to the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. The face that stared back was his, but the eyes were different. The hesitation, the perpetual fear, was still there, but it was now underpinned by a glint of cold, hard steel. The eyes of someone who had stared into an abyss and found something staring back.
He thought of Elster's kindness, Kyle's loyalty, and the bright, heroic future they deserved. He thought of Brody's sneer and the crushing weight of being left behind.
Then he thought of the system, his inheritance, his key to never being powerless again.
There was no choice.
He was going to the exam. He was going to walk the razor's edge between the hero and the weapon.
The Null was dead. Long live the Assassin.