SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery Chapter 297: The Law Between the Lines

The silence after Alexis’s question stretched—not awkward, not heavy. Just... deep.

Like standing on the edge of sothing massive.

"What do you think are the origins of the System?" she had asked.

And I didn’t know how to answer.

So I didn’t.

She didn’t seem to mind. Alexis leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin, glasses still fogged, though she didn’t seem to notice anymore. The light from her monitors frad her like a surgeon prepping for an operation—cold, precise, focused.

"There are historians," she said quietly, "who have dedicated their entire lives trying to answer that question. To understand where the System ca from, how it began. The earliest written records we have link it to sopotamia. Back then, jobs weren’t digital or assigned through evaluation centers—they were roles. Hunter. Farr. Priest. Midwife. That sort of thing."

I nodded. That much I knew. Everyone who went through school learned the basics. But the way Alexis spoke—it wasn’t recitation. It was personal.

She tapped a hologram beside her, bringing up a tiline etched with red flags. "Around that ti, sothing started being recorded in drawings and symbols. Personal strength being tied to roles. Sudden bursts of ability. There are scrolls that describe individuals being able to dig better, run without getting tired, think clearer—depending on what ’role’ they embodied."

"Sounds like the earliest traces of System integration," I said.

"Exactly," she replied. "Which is why I doubt this thing is digital or artificial in origin. sopotamians didn’t have code, Rey. They had reeds and clay."

I raised a brow. "And yet here we are."

"Right. And that’s where it gets strange." Her tone sharpened, voice gaining montum. "There’s a second theory. One that started surfacing during the last century, mostly from biologists and neurologists. That genetics play a role."

I tilted my head. "In how the System assigns jobs?"

"Yes, but also in how it’s accessed. There’s enough data to suggest a trend. High-level individuals tend to give birth to high-level children. Not always, but often enough to raise questions."

"Sounds... logical," I said. "But also not conclusive."

"Exactly," she snapped her fingers. "Because there are just as many cases where it doesn’t hold. A child born to a pair of B-Rank Specialists ends up with a low-tier cashier job. anwhile, a factory line worker’s daughter becos an A-Rank Strategist overnight. So the genetic argunt falls apart under large-scale analysis."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "So we have one group saying it’s ancient. One saying it’s biological. Both wrong and right in different ways."

"And that’s why I’m not convinced it’s AI. It behaves like one sotis—responds to queries, follows protocols, adapts—but the deeper you dig, the more organic it feels. And that delay you told about?" She turned toward her notebook, flipping to a page filled with dense glyphs and chemical symbols. "That’s not just code catching up. That’s a behavior. A decision."

I hesitated, then asked, "What about that vial you made for ? The one that stopped the overheating. It’s ingredients probably have sothing to do with the System since it prevented it from killing ."

Alexis smiled faintly. "Did I ever tell you what it was made of?"

"Nope. You just have a black and sticky liquid to drink."

"Bitun."

I blinked. "Bitun? Like... the asphalt stuff?"

She nodded. "A naturally occurring hydrocarbon. Thick, sticky, black. Found in ancient sopotamian construction. Used to waterproof structures, seal boats, even embalm the dead."

I stared. "You made drink oil."

"There were other components," she said, rolling her eyes. "It wasn’t just straight-up tar. But the bitun was key. It acted as a stabilizing base. Sothing ancient enough to resonate with the System’s roots, but malleable enough to bond with your unique cell structure."

"That doesn’t make it better."

She smirked. "But it worked."

I sighed. "So what—you’re saying the System responds to historical materials?"

"I’m saying," she said carefully, "that the System seems to have responded to Bitun, a material that was present around the ti of it’s discovery."

That made pause.

Was the System so cold machine handing out jobs and skills based on stats alone? But it was responding to more than just numbers.

"Think about it," she continued, now standing again, pacing with a growing fire in her voice. "The System links to our minds. It grants skills based on roles. Usually, people cannot be physically enhanced by it only ntally. Unless they have a job title from what I’ve seen."

"Because there is a separate ’role’ that allows physical enhancents I.E job titles."

"Yes!" Her fist tapped the table. "And then you add in anomalies—like people awakening jobs out of nowhere, or certain talents triggering rare skillsets—and it becos clear the System doesn’t just assign based on need. It responds to intention."

I crossed my arms. "That’s what the governnt was trying to force, wasn’t it? Back in the lab. When we were strapped to those machines."

Her eyes darkened. "Yeah. The helt they used—it triggered specific zones of the brain. Mixed with chemical injections. Sensory deprivation. All of it was designed to simulate purpose. To make the System respond."

"And it did."

"To so of us." She t my eyes. "The rest... didn’t survive."

Silence fell again.

This ti it wasn’t deep.

It was heavy.

I let it sit. Let it pass.

Then: "So what does it all lead to, Alexis? Where are you going with this?"

She took a breath, eyes distant, then walked back toward her desk and sat down.

"This is a personal theory, but I think," she said slowly, "that the System has always existed. Not as an invention. Not as a tool. But as a law."

"A law?"

"Like gravity. Or thermodynamics. Sothing fundantal to the universe. An invisible frawork that only beca visible once humans evolved enough to perceive it. Once we created structure. Purpose. Jobs."

She tapped her temple.

"And the only way to perceive it... is through our brain."

I stared at her, pulse quiet.

"So when we see the System," I murmured, "we’re seeing it in the only way we can process it."

She nodded. "So see windows. So receive notification that are sentences. So feel pressure. So don’t even get updates when their skill or job level up. It adapts to your perception—but it’s the sa law underneath."

"And now... it’s being bent?"

"Exactly." She leaned forward. "Just like gravity warps near a black hole. I think we’re reaching a point where the System is being warped by the outliers. The Job Titles. The anomalies. It’s being stretched—maybe even learning from us."

I looked down at my hands.

Potentially unlimited jobs. Copy. Full Sync. Title. Rewards.

Yeah. I was definitely an outlier.

"And you think it’s conscious?" I asked.

She hesitated.

Then: "To a degree. But not like a mind. More like... a response function. A reflex. It acts like a neural net with a will. But only within the bounds of its structure."

I stood in silence.

Took it all in.

Every word.

Every possibility.

None of it felt provable.

It simply felt right to so degree.

The room fell quiet again, and Alexis finally exhaled.

"But," she added lightly, "that’s just my theory. Don’t take it as objective truth."

I barked a soft laugh. "Could’ve started with that."

She gave a tired smile, brushing fog from her glasses. "You needed the full context."

"Yeah," I said, stepping back toward the door. "I guess I did."

"Let know if the System starts talking to you."

I raised a brow. "Like... with a mouth?"

She shrugged. "You never know."

I opened the door. "Thanks, Alexis."

She didn’t reply.

Just turned back to her desk, already scribbling.

The hallway was quiet again.

Still warm. Still bright.

And yet my thoughts felt cold. Heavy.

What if she was right?

What if the System wasn’t a program or invention—but a rule? A fundantal force?

And what if I was one of the exceptions that were slowly pushing this law to the brink?

I walked for a bit, thoughts spiraling—before stopping.

In front of Camille’s door.

I blinked.

When had I gotten here?

Didn’t matter.

I raised my knuckles.

Knocked once.

"What is it?" ca Camille’s voice, muffled and annoyed.

I took a breath.

Then smiled faintly.

"Just checking in."