Derek leaned back in his chair, still getting used to the feeling of his slightly enhanced body. The System's usual sarcasm was grating, but the results were undeniable—he was stronger, faster, and his reflexes felt sharper.
Then, another notification appeared.
[System Notice: Core Functions Unlocked!]
As the host has reached Level 2, the following system functions are now available:
1. Inventory (F-Rank)
A small, dinsional storage space.
Can store non-living items.
Items must be physically touched to be stored.
2. Mission Log
Tracks active and completed missions.
Displays progress bars for objectives.
So hidden missions may now appear when conditions are t.
3. Lottery Draw (F-Rank)
One free draw per level-up. Each subsequent draw require 20 system points.
Can reward items, skills, or stat boosts.
Chance-based system—prizes range from trash to rare rewards.
System Disclair: Luck stat affects outcos, but since the host's Luck is "???", results may vary.
[System Hint: Brace yourself for disappointnt.]
4. Shop (Locked)
Unavailable until Level 5. Content presented by *.
[System Hint: The host is too broke to afford anything useful yet.]
5. Skill Fusion (Locked)
Unavailable until Level 10.
[System Hint: The host must first collect more than two skills to understand the concept of "fusion."]
Derek's eyes skimd the new functions, his curiosity piqued. "A Lottery Draw?" he muttered. "This better not be rigged."
The System responded imdiately.
[Affirmative. The host's probability of receiving trash is rely… extrely high.]
Derek exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine. Let's get this over with. How do I use it?"
[Acknowledged. Initiating Lottery Draw…]
A glowing roulette wheel appeared before him, covered in hundreds of tiny symbols. So were weapons, others looked like potions, books, or even weirdly shaped trinkets. The wheel began spinning rapidly, glowing with an eerie light.
Then it slowed… and slowed… until the marker finally landed on a glowing blue icon.
[Congratulations! The host has obtained: Low-Tier Healing Salve.]
Derek blinked. "…Seriously?"
A small glass vial materialized in his palm. Inside was a thick, greenish paste. The label on the side read: "Minor Wound Healer – Stops bleeding, disinfects, and speeds up minor recovery."
Not useless… but definitely underwhelming.
[Evaluation: Considering your tendency to get injured, this is the most appropriate reward for you.]
Derek rolled his eyes and tossed the salve into his newly unlocked Inventory, watching as it disappeared into the System's dinsional space. "Whatever. I'll take it."
He now had two things in his Inventory, the other one was the Novice Health Potion, he had received as part of the Novice Package.
" Should I pull another lottery, " he had 25 System Points so far, it was enough to pull another lottery, but he was not sure that he would pull any proper thing.
He rubbed his temples in worry, the apocalypse was just a week away, and his personal strength was nothing to write ho about.
Just as Derek was about to close the interface, another notification popped up.
[New Mission Unlocked: A Broke Hunter Can't Survive]
Mission Type: FinancialObjective: Earn at least $1,000 within the next 48 hours.Rewards: 5 Free Attribute Points, 1 Bonus Lottery Draw, and a Special Reward.Penalty: Shop access delayed until Level 10.
[System Hint: Money makes the world go round… and keeps you alive. Figure it out.]
Derek scowled. "What kind of mission is this? I'm barely figuring out how to survive, and now you're telling I need to make a grand?"
[Affirmative. The host is currently broke, which is a severe disadvantage in both survival and social status. Consider this a reality check.]
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "And if I don't do it?"
[System Penalty: Enjoy your Shop access… at Level 10. Think of it as delayed gratification. Very delayed.]
Derek groaned. "You're really out to get , huh?"
[Incorrect. The System only wishes for the host to thrive. Preferably before starving to death in a ditch.]
Derek sighed. "Fine. Any suggestions on how I'm supposed to make this money?"
[Processing… Potential inco sources include:]
Bounty Hunting – The local underworld always has targets with a price on their heads. May or may not include psycho killers who will fight back.
Odd Jobs – Manual labor, delivery runs, or security gigs. Honest work. Boring. Not recomnded.
Betting/Gambling – High risk, high reward. (Warning: Luck stat remains "???". The System will not be held responsible for bad decisions
Street Fights – Combat arenas exist. So pay well. So don't. So end with broken bones. Choose wisely.
[System Hint: "Risk equals reward." Also, hospitals are expensive.]
Derek leaned back, rubbing his chin. The options weren't exactly comforting, but at least he had a few paths to explore.
"Guess I'll have to get creative… and hopefully not end up in the hospital.
"Anyway, the mission did not specifically have a tiline, but he knew he had to be fast as his ti was running out.
Gambling and Bounty Hunting were out, he did not have that much money to gamble anyway, with his abilities, he did not consider himself strong enough to deal with professional killers. It was too risky.
Doing odd jobs was both honest and safe, but it was too slow, and currently he was running on ti.
That left him with Street Fights, it was a faster way of making money and he would not die either way...plus with his new abilities he was sure he would not loose that easily.
He grabbed a hood and walked out, having lived in these streets for a long while...he knew where all the street fights joints were.
Derek pulled his hood over his head as he walked through the dimly lit streets. The cool night air carried the scent of oil and cheap alcohol, the unmistakable aroma of Paleview City's underbelly.
As he neared the warehouse, the air grew thick with the scent of saltwater, rust, and sweat, mixing into an oppressive stench that clung to his clothes. The distant crash of waves against the docks echoed through the empty streets, broken only by the occasional honk of a truck moving cargo in the distance.
The warehouse itself lood ahead like a beast waiting in the dark—its towering tal walls covered in graffiti, old shipping labels peeling from its rusted surface. The dim yellow glow of flickering streetlights barely reached the building, leaving most of it shrouded in shadows. The massive sliding door at the front was slightly ajar, letting out the distant roar of a crowd and the rhythmic thump of fists against flesh.
Derek exhaled, steadying himself. He pulled his hood lower over his face and slipped inside.
The inside was a different world. Dim, buzzing lights dangled from chains above, casting an eerie glow over the makeshift ring in the center—just a roped-off section of cracked concrete stained with blood both old and fresh. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes choked the air, mingling with the pungent tallic tang of blood.
Rough-looking n crowded around the ring, so yelling, others exchanging cash in grimy hands. The walls were lined with old, dented shipping containers turned into makeshift lockers, where fighters prepped for their matches. A few bruised and battered n sat against the walls, so icing their wounds, others just staring blankly, waiting for their next fight—or their next chance to make money.
A particularly loud crack echoed through the space as a fighter hit the ground, his opponent standing over him with blood dripping from his knuckles. The crowd erupted, half of them cheering, the other half cursing their lost bets.
Derek clenched his fists. This place wasn't just dangerous—it was a feeding ground for desperation and violence. But if he wanted to make money fast, this was where he had to be.
He took a breath and stepped forward.
his heartbeat quickened. He wasn't scared of a fight. Not exactly. But there was a difference between fighting to survive and fighting for sport. One was instinct, the other was entertainnt. And here? They didn't care about skill, only about who could still stand when it was over.
The System chid in.
[System Notice: The host is showing signs of hesitation. Would you like a motivational quote?]
Derek sighed. "No."
[System Hint: Fear is the enemy. Also, the host may wish to check his stats before getting his face punched in.]
Derek opened his status screen, scanning over his stats. He was undeniably stronger than before—his reflexes sharper, his movents lighter. The idea of getting into a fight no longer seed like sheer suicide. But knowing that and proving that were two different things.
He exhaled sharply. "Guess we'll find out."
Pushing open the heavy tal door, he was hit with a wave of noise—shouting, cursing, the sound of fists hitting flesh. The warehouse was packed with people, most gathered around a makeshift ring in the center, ford by stacked shipping crates. The floor was stained with sweat, beer, and possibly blood. n placed bets with crumpled bills, their eyes hungry for violence.
A broad-shouldered man with a scar down his cheek, clearly one of the organizers, looked him up and down. "New guy?" His tone carried skepticism. "You got cash to bet or fists to throw?"
"Fists," Derek said firmly, keeping his voice steady.
The man grinned. "Brave. Stupid, but brave. Buy-in's fifty bucks. Win and you get a cut of the bets. Lose and, well... you get nothing but bruises. You in?"
Derek hesitated for only a second before pulling out his last bit of cash and slapping it onto the table. "I'm in."
[System Notice: The host has chosen violence. Excellent decision.]
Derek clenched his fists as his na was scribbled down. A part of him still feared what was coming, but another part—the one fueled by his growing power—was ready to embrace it. This wasn't just about money anymore.
It was ti to prove to himself that he had truly changed.
As he stepped toward the ring, the crowd roared. The fight was about to begin
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