Wesley blinked. "Wait... wait, wait, what?!"
He stepped back. The screen followed him like a puppy. He looked at his mop, then the screen. Then back at the mop. Then the screen again. Then back at the mop again. His brows furrowed.
"...No way," he muttered.
He raised the mop and gave the screen a cautious jab.
Schloop! It passed through like mist.
He pulled the mop back. Jabbed again. Schlick!
Pulled. Thrust. Thump! Swish! Thrust! Pull! Over and over.
After a full minute of obsessive poking and thrusting, he was convinced.
"I have a... System?" He looked around, as if the gods might appear to confirm it. "And it’s... a Janitor System?"
He paused, ntally reviewing every transmigration and system-based novel he’d ever read. Systems that made the protagonist into immortal kings, overpowered cultivators, demon emperors...
And here he was.
Wesley, the Janitor.
He exhaled through his nose. "Well. As long as it doesn’t make a girl, a femboy, a cuck, or dead, I’m good." He gave the glowing screen a side-eye. "Or soone who likes their you-know... fellow n. I better not wake up tomorrow with rainbow-colored mop skills."
The screen remained neutral.
Wesley relaxed, planting his mop on the ground. "Alright. It’s finally my ti to shine... maybe."
He scratched the back of his head. "Do I even want to be strong though? Hm."
He imagined himself leading armies, waging war, giving grand speeches from atop divine towers.
Nah.
A contented smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "I just wanna live comfortably. Eat good food. Sleep in. Watch mages blow up classrooms while I clean quietly in the corner. That’s life."
But then the screen chid again.
DING!
[Janitor System Activated]
New Mission: Clean 4 designated spots.
Ti Limit: 15 minutes
→
Tier I: Clean 4 spots within 15 minutes – 2 Bronze coins and basic buffs (Fire Resistance Lv. 1).
Tier II: Clean 4 spots within 12 minutes – 4 Bronze coins, basic buffs, and a low-level skill (Ember).
Tier III: Clean 4 spots within 8 minutes – 10 Bronze coins, basic buffs, low-level skill, and Mana of Knighthood (Beco a Mana Knight).
Tier IV: Clean 4 spots within 6 minutes – 15 Bronze coins, basic buffs, low-level skill, Mana of Knighthood, and Mana of Fla Conjurers (Beco a Fire Mage).
Failure Penalty: Arthritis for a year!
Wesley’s mouth dropped open.
"Whoa, is this real? I will have bronze coins? My highest monthly salary is a hundred bronze coins, but if I complete this, I’ll have ten or fifteen in just a few seconds?" He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "And I could beco a Mana Knight and a Mana Conjurer?"
He felt like his world was spinning, but then he saw the punishnt. "Arthritis? That’s... that’s just cruel!" he said, a playful smirk on his face.
He spotted a tir at the bottom of the screen:
Accept Mission? Yes / No
(Ti left: 10... 9... 8... 7...)
Wesley straightened his posture. His spine stiffened. A fire lit in his chest.
"Does the system an...I can say no?"
That single truth made his soul leap. The choice was his. Freedom! No tyrannical system forcing him into dungeons or marriages or eternal slavery. No threats unless he chose them.
"This system depends on my decision. I will only face punishnt if I choose to take action and fail... Haha!"
The clock ticked: 6... 5... 4...
He grinned. "Alright, legs... do your thing."
He slamd the "Yes" button.
BOOM!
The room around him shifted. The colors bled out of reality. The dull gray stone walls beca windswept cliffs. The shattered desks turned into jagged rock outcroppings. Smoke was no longer smoke—it was battle mist. A gong BOOOONG rang in the heavens.
He was back on the immortal battlefield. And so were they.
The four fire spirits erged again, more vivid, more real. Their blades howled. Their fire roared.
And Wesley’s mop glowed.
Golden runes etched themselves along the wooden shaft. Flas curled around the bristles, transforming them into a blazing spearhead. Sparks danced along the floor in anticipation.
He swung it in a wide arc. WHOOSH! The air parted.
He exhaled, eyes locked on his enemies.
"Here I go!" he roared.
The fire spirits shrieked in answer, launching forward in a furious charge.
And the janitor—no, the warrior—charged to et them, mop-spear spinning, the battlefield lit with fla and fury.
"Take this! And this! AND THIS!" Wesley roared, swinging his mop like it was forged by the heavens themselves, a legendary spear spun from celestial fla.
The fla warrior spirits lunged at him—four of them, made from fire and fury, crackling with malevolent energy.
Their blades shimred with scorching heat, slicing the air as they attacked from all directions.
"Back off, you flaming bastards!" Wesley shouted, twisting his body into a wild spiral, the mop-spear spinning like a blazing hurricane.
He ducked low, narrowly evading a fire blade aid at his neck—though in the real world, it was just a wet clump of blackened dust flying through the air, narrowly missing his temple.
Another fla warrior lunged forward. Wesley countered. "Too slow!" he yelled, jabbing his mop forward in a powerful thrust, the wooden pole bouncing off a sticky patch of gum stuck to the floor.
In his mind, the gum exploded like a fire spirit’s core. In reality, it just sared across the tiles with a squelch.
He stomped forward, each movent was exaggerated, theatrical even, with his boots squeaking across the polished tiles.
"You think you can defeat with that crusty corner of doom?! Wrong! I’ve cleaned tougher sses from a boys’ dormitory toilet bowl during flu season!"
One fla warrior raised a flaming scimitar overhead—Wesley gasped and spun to dodge.
A bottle of dried ink that had been knocked over earlier slid from a desk and burst beside him, splashing his leg with dark goo.
"Agh! I’ve been grazed!" he bellowed, hopping dramatically on one foot as if pierced by molten steel.
"You dare spill cursed liquid on my armor?!" he accused the fla warrior, while in reality, he frantically wiped the ink off with his pant leg.
Another fire spirit lunged at his back, twin swords blazing.
Wesley saw it just in ti—he dove and rolled, flinging his mop ahead of him. It clattered into the edge of a gum-crusted chair, the tip glancing off and spinning lazily. "You’re fast... but not fast enough!" Wesley yelled, scrambling to his feet. "Taste divine judgnt!"
In one smooth motion, he dipped his mop into the bucket, twisting it with fervor. Water splashed, suds fizzled, and the mop began to spin again—this ti faster, louder, more dangerous.
The spear of legends reborn! In the world of mortals, the mop head had slowed earlier, dragging on grit, but now it danced again with montum, spinning slick and clean like a turbine of justice.
The fla warriors hissed and circled him, readying for their final assault.
The clock was ticking—he could feel the pressure pounding in his chest. His real-world hand was numb, every tendon tight, every joint screaming.
"Co on!" he muttered under his breath, breaking a sweat that trickled down the bridge of his nose. He struck left, right, down, diagonally.
He leapt over a pool of ink. He swiped under a chair. He thrust his mop under a desk, knocking loose a colony of dust bunnies he was sure had been plotting his assassination.
In his mind, they were lesser fire minions—gnashing their teeth, clawing at his legs. "Not today!" he shouted, stabbing into them with his mop-spear, flipping a pile of paper scraps into the air. "You shall not tarnish these sacred tiles!"
One fire warrior swung low.
Wesley jumped, twisting his body mid-air with a spin only an ani protagonist should’ve been capable of. His foot caught the edge of a bucket, water sloshing over the rim.
In the real world, it soaked his shoe. In his world, it was blessed with water spilling from the divine chalice of Saint Janitros, cleansing the battlefield.
"Holy water acquired!" he said dramatically. "Your flas weaken!"
The spirits hissed, their forms flickering.
Ten minutes left.
Wesley gritted his teeth. His back ached. His palms stung with friction burns. His breath ca in short gasps.
But the classroom—no, the battlefield—was nearly clean.
The ancient curse of ss and chaos had been pushed back. He could see light shining from the floor.
The sll of burnt parchnt and bitter mana had faded.
Now there was only the sharp scent of disinfectant and sweat.
"Take this! Final strike!"
Wesley scread, as he raised his mop high, bringing it down with the force of a thousand janitors past. He scrubbed with fury, polishing the last gri-ridden tile beneath the blackboard.
In his imagination, the final fla warrior scread as Wesley’s spear pierced its core, its fiery body cracking into shards of ash and sparks.
In reality, he dropped to his knees and gave the floor one last hard scrub with a mop soaked in lemon-scented floor cleaner.
Then—silence.
The classroom glead.
Desks were back in rows.
The waste bin had been emptied.
Crumpled paper balls had vanished.
Even the windows looked a little less dusty, though he hadn’t touched them.
Perhaps it was his aura.
Wesley collapsed backward, panting. His arm throbbed. His fingers twitched. His clothes were speckled with dried ink, dust, and suspicious crumbs.
His mop leaned against a desk like a warrior’s spear returning to rest.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, flicking droplets onto the now-pristine floor. "That was... the fastest and most intense cleaning session of my life."
Then—Ding!
A golden glow radiated from the system screen that hovered in front of him.
Mission Completed
Mission: Clean 4 designated spots
Ti Limit: 15 minutes
Ti Used: 5 minutes, 45 seconds
Tier IV Reward Earned
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