CHAPTER 44: PREPARATION

He arrived at Unit 3B, the Kuroda family’s cramped little apartment, and immediately knew the universe was finally cutting him a break for once.

No mom in the kitchen, no dad crashing on the couch after another graveyard shift, no sister lurking around to roast him for breathing wrong, and no brother— wait, he’s brother’s chill, so yeah.

It was just him, and the silence was perfect.

He made a beeline for his room, not bothering to drop his shoes by the door, and went straight to the closet.

Down at the bottom, under the pile of clothes he kept telling himself he’d fold someday, sat the prize: the helmet box.

The lid wasn’t even fully closed, just enough to let the matte black shell peek out, and it was lowkey tempting him to commit crimes.

Beside it was a neat little stack — black gloves, black fitted clothes, brand-new black boots, and the pièce de résistance, the all-black boxers. Because if you were going to vanish for a few days to do something questionable, you might as well look good while doing it.

His gaze flicked to the far side of the room where his backpack sat, and a grin spread across his face.

In the next blink, he was already in front of it, crouched, looking like a criminal that was about to commit backpack-related violence. And honestly, he probably would.

He unzipped it and started pulling out school supplies one by one with the delicate care of a museum curator handling ancient artifacts.

He wasn’t about to destroy his textbooks — not because of any academic pride, but because his broke ass couldn’t afford to replace them.

Once the bag was empty, he loaded it up with the gear, sliding the helmet in first, then layering the gloves, clothes, boxers, and boots on top.

By the time the bag was zipped, it looked like a completely ordinary student’s backpack — assuming the student was ordinary.

He glanced toward his desk. The cracked relic he’d picked up from that sketchy vendor weeks ago was still sitting there, glowing faintly in a way that was definitely not normal.

His eyes slid to the left side of the table, where a pen and scrap of paper were waiting.

He walked over, picked up the pen, and scrawled a note in handwriting so awful it could be classified as a war crime.

[imma be back in 4 or 5 days. don’t look for me ;) — Lanz]

He stared at it for a second, head tilted.

In his mind, it was peak handwriting, perfectly functional, despite looking like someone had tried to write while being chased by bees.

It was still readable, and that counted... right?

"Yeah, no," he muttered, tapping the pen against the table. "I’m just gonna text them too, just in case."

Pulling out his phone, he opened the group chat.

His thumbs hovered over the screen for a moment before typing out something vague enough to avoid questions but obvious enough to warn them he won’t around.

After hitting send, he locked the phone, shoved it in his pocket, and then — just to really commit — powered it off entirely.

"Now for the food!" he announced to absolutely no one, already hyping himself up.

Before his brain could suggest walking like a normal human, his legs decided he was doing this the dramatic way.

He bolted toward the window, vaulted out, and stuck the landing head-first down.

He held the pose for half a second, chest heaving from the rush, before glancing up and realizing there wasn’t a single witness in sight. Not even a stray cat. "You’ve got to be sh*tting me. That was so cool, and nobody saw it? C’mon man..." he muttered, annoyed at the sheer disrespect the universe had just shown him. It was a perfect move wasted on empty pavement.

Dusting himself off, he started walking toward the nearest convenience store, a tiny place that proudly called itself "Convenient Store." Which was lowkey convenient.

The automatic door slid open, and he was hit with the faint chill of overworked air-conditioning.

He grabbed a small basket and headed straight for the shelves he actually cared about.

First stop, canned goods. He scanned the options, immediately locking onto the holy grail — Century Tuna, flakes in oil. He didn’t even hesitate, stacking multiple cans into the basket.

Next was water. Yeah, just plain bottled water, because he wasn’t about to risk weird sugar crashes in the middle of whatever he was about to do for the next few days.

He tossed a couple into the basket and did a quick mental tally of how much he was spending.

The leftover credits from the prize money had been stretched thinner than he’d like to admit, but he still had enough to stock up without feeling broke-broke.

At the counter, the cashier scanned each item with zero enthusiasm, not even glancing up once.

The final total blinked on the screen. He handed over the leftover credits, received his bag, and checked his balance on the small handheld reader he kept in his pocket.

Sixty-nine credits left.

He stared at the number for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Noice," he said quietly, because there were certain things in life you just had to acknowledge.

He got back to the apartment, dropped the grocery bag on the bed, and started packing the food into his backpack.

The cans went in first, lined up neatly beside the gear, and the water bottles slid into the side pockets without any problem.

Once it was zipped, he gave the bag a quick look-over, making sure nothing was sticking out that would make it obvious he was carrying enough supplies to disappear for days.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he checked the group chat. His family had replied exactly how he expected — just a row of thumbs-up emojis and a couple of "be careful" messages.

"Great. Now I can leave without worrying them," he said, smiling faintly as he slid the phone back into his pocket.

He walked over to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a sheet of paper. With quick strokes, he wrote down the location of the gate:

[south east district — near the residential block by the tree line thingy]

Looking at the words for a moment, he exhaled slowly. "A tier two, huh?" The thought lingered in his head, but his hand didn’t hesitate as he folded the paper and tucked it into his bag. "Well, no going back now."

"Next," he muttered, swiping open his system window.

The faint lines linking his skills came into view, each thread giving off a soft pulse.

Two glowing prompts floated at the center of his vision.

__________________

[Parry Timing + Combat Awareness] → Fusion Available

[Reflex Sync + Blade Control] → Fusion Available

__________________

He tilted his head, smirking like a man who thought he was about to make genius-level decisions despite having absolutely no idea if they’d backfire.

"Why not both," he said, wearing the kind of expression that would make anyone question if he was okay.

Without bothering to calculate the risks, he tapped on the first pairing.

The moment his finger connected, the system pulsed with a clean, efficient glow, the lines tightening before branching out again.

A fresh window appeared in front of him:

__________________

[Fusion Confirmed]

Parry Timing + Combat Awareness → Predictive Guard Lv.1 Unlocked

(Passive Skill – Anticipate enemy movements with heightened precision. Grants a brief reaction window before incoming attacks land, enabling perfect parries and preemptive counters. Successful parries may stagger or slow attackers. Awareness now bleeds into instinct.)

__________________

He couldn’t help the small huff of satisfaction that escaped him. It was the kind of skill that sounded like it could save his life, which was great considering he tended to put himself in situations where his life needed saving.

He tapped the second pairing. Same instant response, same silent efficiency from the system.

__________________

[Fusion Confirmed]

Reflex Sync + Blade Control → Instinctive Blade Lv.1 Unlocked

(Passive Skill – Your blade moves like a limb—fast, fluid, and reactive. Enhances real-time reflex syncing with weapon control, enabling emergency deflections, adaptive slashes, and smoother execution during combat pressure. Precision meets instinct in motion.)

__________________

His eyes scanned over the details twice, partly to understand the descriptions and partly to admire the fact that they made him sound far more competent than he actually felt.

"Let’s f*cking go," he said under his breath, the grin stretching wider. If this went badly later, at least he could say he went all-in from the start. Besides, if he was going to get beaten half to death in a dungeon, he might as well look like someone who knew what they were doing while it happened.

"Now I only need to do one last thing before going in," he said, scrolling through his equipment list like he was expecting to find a miracle in there.

"Time to throw sht out," he muttered, tapping on the first useless item. A spikedboar tusk shard materialized in his hand, still carrying that faint roughness from the last time he almost got himself killed by that b*tch-ass hongoblin.

He turned it over once, then nodded. "Imma keep this sht." He set it down on the table like it was some kind of trophy.

Everything else that didn’t serve a purpose was gone within minutes.

He dumped the junk into the trash bin outside the apartment, the system quietly confirming each deletion as if it was politely judging his past decisions.

When the cleanup was done, his inventory finally looked like it belonged to someone who might survive a fight, not a hoarder with commitment issues.

Back inside, he picked up his bag, slid the broken relic into it, and placed the folded letter on the table where it would be impossible to miss.

He took one last look around the apartment — more out of habit than sentiment — then locked the door behind him.

"Now that all this sht is done," he said, letting the bag vanish into his inventory, "I guess it’s time to raid that f*cker."

End of Chapter 44.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO

Level: 13

EXP: 64 / 130

Next Reward: +10 Stat Points to a chosen stat

Global System Tracking: DISABLED

World Rank Association: UNLINKED

Stats:

STR: 10 | AGI: 10 (Affinity) | VIT: 5 | DEX: 5 | INT: 11 | WIS: 5

[Available Stat Points: 0]

[Derived Stat — MANA: 55 / 55]

Skills:

[Crimson Slash Lv. 1]

[Phantom Stride Lv. 2]

[Instinctive Blade Lv.1] (NEW)

[Predictive Guard Lv.1] (NEW)

[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]

[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]

[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]

[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]

Equipment:

Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)

Training Ring (+1 VIT)

Bag :)