It started like any other normal Monday. I woke up, did my daily quest (find my missing socks—again), and grabbed some breakfast. The usual grind.
A few hours later, in the cafeteria, I opened the mystery box( with my mind of course )from my goblin exterminator quest. I was expecting a sad apple or a piece of moldy armor.
Instead, I got:
Str +15!
"Whoa, really?" I blinked. That was… actually kind of a big deal. It wasn't "rip-a-car-door-off" strength, but it was definitely more than my usual noodle-armed self. Fifteen whole stat points in Strength, basically like leveling up fifteen times without touching a single free point. My noodle arms just got promoted to spaghetti with some real bite.
I went to pick up my lunch tray, and it felt… light. Like weirdly light. I accidentally overcompensated and nearly yeeted it across the room. I caught it in time (barely), and hoped no one noticed.
Spoiler: They did.
"Dude, you okay?"
Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, uh... guess the cafeteria food's making me stronger?"
I offered weakly.
"Sure. And I'm secretly a cyborg."
I sat down carefully, trying not to bend the fork just by holding it. My hands were steady, but the raw strength buzzing under my skin was new. I didn't feel jacked, but I could probably win an arm-wrestling match against my past self. Maybe two of them.
I wasn't Superman but I was definitely not the same Kyle who struggled to open jars last week.
And honestly? It felt kind of awesome.
"If I open another mystery box and get more Strength?"
I muttered, mostly to myself but obviously the universe was listening.
Ding!
Mystery Box Opened!
+5 Strength
Bonus Loot: One tube of Goblin-Scented Deodorant.
"What the—why would goblins need deodorant? They are the stink."
I held up the deodorant, which was glowing faintly green and smelled like someone had bottled despair and wet socks.
"Okay, Strength is cool, but why does the system keep sending me cursed side prizes?" I mumbled, tossing it into my inventory before it started leaking moral consequences.
Still… STR +5. I flexed. No visible difference, but internally? I was basically half a forklift now.
...
After school, just when I thought the lectures were over—surprise! They weren't. Because it was time for my totally optional-but-totally-mandatory session at LETI: The League of Extraordinarily Troublesome Individuals. (Yes, that's the real name. No, I didn't make it up. I wish I had.)
At HQ, I sat through an extra lecture on invading demons and their mysterious minions. The lecture mostly consisted of a slideshow titled "Probably Demons?" with blurry photos and a lot of shrugging. One guy in the back swore he saw a demon disguised as a vending machine. Honestly? I believe him.
Then, at long last, I was handed my official Junior LETI License—F-rank, of course. The lowest possible. The kind of rank that says, "Congratulations, you exist."
And it was over a week late.
"Due to system backlog," the instructor said.
Yeah, sure. Probably stuck in a dungeon somewhere under a pile of goblin laundry.
Still, I held it up like it was a golden ticket. Because hey, even a late, flimsy, laminated license was proof I wasn't just imagining all this. I was now officially part of the weird.
The best part about LETI?
The cafeteria.
No joke. It's buffet-style and the food is actually good. Like, suspiciously good. Either someone sold their soul for this macaroni and cheese, or LETI has a five-star chef working undercover. My "extra lecture" happens three times a week, so I usually just eat dinner there. Bonus: dinner is totally free for members. Mom thinks I'm with Jimmy or Rhea. I can't exactly tell her I'm training to be supernatural law enforcement, right?
So there I was, mid-bite into a glorious plate of spicy chicken wings, when—
"Hey, Kyle."
I looked up, nearly choking on a wing. Rhea stood there, looking casual. Next to her was… a mountain.
Okay, not a real mountain, but close enough. It was Michael—the school's judo champion, walking muscle group, and apparently, surprise guest at my dinner table.
After my Appraisal skill (now upgraded to Level 6, thank you, grind gods) kicked in, I finally got a decent peek at the walking tank known as Michael.
Michael Stoneheart – Level 28
Violent Healer
Successor of Jade Fist
HP: 570 / MP: 280 / SP: 450
[ Your healer is also a boss fight. Good luck.]
I squinted. "Violent Healer"? What even is that? Is he going to patch me up with a roundhouse kick and a motivational punch to the face?
And Level 28?! Dude's climbing levels like he's trying to speedrun life. I remembered seeing "Lv. 27" floating over his head during PE just one week ago. Back then, I thought he might be a literal demon in gym shorts.
Now I'm Level 16, so… progress? Sure, I'm still nowhere near his league, but at least I no longer look like a Level 1 intern next to a raid boss. That's something.
This nearly two-meter-tall juggernaut was supposed to be healing people?
"You know Michael, right?" Rhea said, sliding into the seat across from me. "He's in Class A."
"Uh, yeah. Of course. Hi, Michael."
Michael gave me a nod like we were old war buddies instead of classmates who'd barely exchanged more than five words and one dodgeball.
"Heard you're the new recruit."
"Uh, yeah," I said, trying not to choke on my rice. "Still figuring out which end of the sword goes in the monster."
He chuckled, which was oddly comforting and deeply concerning coming from a guy with "Violent Healer" as a job title.
Rhea grinned.
"Michael's our junior squad captain for the city. If there's ever a mission, he's the one calling the shots."
"Oh good," I said. "So when I inevitably mess up, at least I'll be yelled at by someone qualified."
"There's only like six or seven of us in the whole town," she added. "Small city perks."
"Perks," I repeated, nodding slowly. "Like free dinner and regular exposure to death."
Honestly though, the LETI cafeteria was amazing. Gourmet buffet. Dessert bar. All-you-can-eat. Completely free for members. If I died fighting monsters, at least I'd go out with a stomach full of cheesecake.
Michael grabbed three trays' worth of food like it was a light snack. I stared. Rhea just shrugged. "He needs the calories. He's got a double Gift—healing and punching. With double power comes double dinner."
"That's not how that saying goes," I muttered.
Michael didn't even flinch as he downed an entire chicken thigh in one bite. "You'll understand when your SP bar starts crying after a five-minute warm-up."
I poked my mashed potatoes, suddenly worried they might not be enough to sustain a life of punching goblins and dodging fireballs.
"So," I said, aiming for casual, "you've been doing this LETI gig for a while?"
Michael nodded, mid-bite. "Since last year. Got recruited after I punched a were-raccoon during a school camping trip."
Rhea raised an eyebrow.
"That wasn't a raccoon. That was a cursed janitor."
"Same difference," Michael said.
"He had claws and threw a trash can at me."
I blinked.
"You're telling me this is the normal LETI experience?"
Michael and Rhea both looked at each other and shrugged in unison.
"Honestly? You're doing pretty well," Rhea said. "You haven't exploded, turned into a frog, or accidentally summoned a dimension goat. So, you know, gold star."
"Cool cool cool," I said. "I'll add that to my resume: Has not summoned a dimension goat....yet."
Michael grinned. "Give it time."
Suddenly Michael's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, frowned, and then said in a super casual voice, "Code Blueberry Muffin."
Rhea immediately straightened. "Really? Already?"
"What does that mean?"
I asked, halfway through a pudding cup.
"Investigation mission," Michael said, already grabbing a napkin to wipe chicken grease off his hands.
"Junior rank. We've got an anomaly."
"Anomaly?" I repeated. "As in glowing rocks? Exploding vending machines? Possessed raccoons?"
"Possibly," Rhea said, standing up. "Rank E, so hopefully no exploding vending machines this time."
Michael turned to me. "It's outside town. Edge of the forest. LETI needs us to check it out."
We ditched our trays and headed to the mission control room—which was definitely not what I expected.
I thought it'd be some top-secret, high-tech chamber with glowing panels and maybe a floating orb of destiny. Instead, it looked like someone mashed together NASA, a video game arcade, and a janitor's closet. There were holograms flickering over beat-up desks, coffee mugs on every surface, and a suspicious amount of duct tape holding various monitors together.
One monitor had a label that read, DO NOT HIT AGAIN, BOB, and another screen just showed a GIF of a cat falling off a table.
A tired-looking agent handed us our mission briefing. "Anomaly spike just outside town. Unstable readings. Go check. Don't die."
Reassuring.
Since this was my first official field mission, they handed me gear. Real gear. Not cardboard-box armor. Actual stuff.
You have received:
Agent-Issue Helmet (DEF +7)
Padded Body Armor – Light Class (DEF +15)
Junior Agent Action Uniform (DEF +2)
Sturdy Boots of Minor Awesomeness (DEF +5, Stealth +1)
[System Remark: You now look 27% more heroic and 93% more punchable.]
Rhea smirked as I adjusted my helmet. "You look like a baby SWAT team member."
"I feel like an overprepared mailman," I muttered. "One with deep existential concerns."
"Don't worry," Michael said, patting my back (ow), "this'll be easy. Probably. Hopefully."
We were off.
---
LETI Headquarters was, of course, located in the Museum of Hoaxes and Urban Legends. Because where else would a secret government organization hide? The building literally had a giant fiberglass Bigfoot on the roof and a gift shop that sold tinfoil hats in three sizes.
So when the three of us walked out the front doors in full gear, we didn't look like secret agents.
We looked like overenthusiastic cosplayers who'd gotten lost on their way to Comic-Con.
Well, I did. Rhea too, maybe, though she carried it off like a pro. But Michael?
Michael looked like the final boss of a SWAT game. His gear fit like it was tailored by a team of military angels. With those muscles, that level 28 glow, and the fact that he probably bench-pressed trucks for breakfast, he was the real cosplay killer.
Waiting at the curb was our ride: a black, modern off-road monster that looked like a lovechild of a Humvee and a tank.
Then the driver stepped out.
And by stepped out, I mean unfolded himself from the vehicle like a transformer. The guy was easily over two meters tall, his muscles had muscles, and his arms looked like they could bench-press a mountain.
He was bald, brown-skinned, and terrifying, until he smiled.
Then he was... still terrifying, but like, politely terrifying.
Appraisal Skill Activated:
Bruno Castillo (Lv. 12)
Occupation: Ex-Marine, Current "Security Consultant," Full-Time Brick Wall
Background: Ex-Marine. Survived two wars, three werewolf attacks, and a week without coffee.
System Note: "He once glared a haunted mirror into apologizing. Proceed with respect and maybe snacks."
"Hi," he said in a warm, deep voice that made my bones rattle. He extended a giant hand toward me. "I'm Bruno. Your driver and backup assault specialist. That is, if anything needs to be shot, exploded, or generally obliterated."
I shook his hand. Or rather, he shook me. I think I briefly left the ground.
Strapped across his back was an assault rifle that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. His belt was loaded with enough ammo to start a small war, and there was a knife on his thigh that could double as a canoe paddle.
"Don't worry," he said cheerfully.
"We don't usually need backup on E-rank missions. Just here in case the trees decide to rebel."
"Cool," I said, still slightly breathless. "Love that for us."
We climbed into the vehicle—Michael took shotgun, because of course he did. Rhea and I slid into the back. The inside of the vehicle was surprisingly comfy. Leather seats, faint scent of coffee and danger.
As we pulled out of town, I watched the suburbs blur by. Trees, shops, suspiciously overpriced gas stations.
Rhea was checking something on her LETI-issued tablet. Michael was quietly humming a tune that sounded like the boss music from an RPG.
And me? I was trying not to think too hard.
This was my first real mission. I had my shiny new armor, my stat boosts, my emergency potions. But now we were heading into an actual anomaly. An actual mission.
And the universe had already thrown skeleton dungeons, goblin beatdowns, and chaos energy at me.
So naturally, my brain decided now was the time for deep thoughts.
What if the anomaly is a portal to an alternate universe? What if it's a cursed tree? What if it's ...
"Hey," Rhea said, glancing back at me. "You okay?"
"Yup," I said.
"Just mentally preparing for every possible scenario, including alien duck invasions."
She smirked. "That's fair."
Bruno chuckled from the front. "You're gonna do fine, rookie. Just don't touch anything glowing without permission."
Noted.