The sky bled into shades of gold and crimson as the sun slowly dipped behind the horizon. The last light of day stretched long shadows across the park, turning the air heavy and quiet — the kind of quiet that comes before a storm.
Ethan stood with his back slightly bent, breath steady but shallow. The woman behind him clutched the edge of his coat, her fingers trembling. Ahead, two men in dark coats spread out, their eyes cold, calculating.
The taller one stepped forward first. His muscles coiled beneath his jacket, and then —
He struck.
A straight punch, fast and sharp as a bullet.
Ethan barely had time to react. He raised both arms to block — the impact crashed into him like a hammer.
BANG!
The shock ran down his forearms and into his bones, numbing his hands instantly. His boots dug into the pavement as the force drove him backward — one, two, three… seven steps before he managed to hold his ground.
His arms ached, trembling from the vibration.
What kind of strength is that…? he thought, eyes narrowing.
The second man moved before he could recover. In a single motion, he grabbed his partner's shoulder and used it as leverage, twisting his body midair to deliver a rising kick toward Ethan's chest.
Ethan gritted his teeth and brought up his guard again.
THUD!
The kick landed, and the world seemed to shake. The sound echoed through the park like two slabs of stone smashing together.
Ethan's feet slid backward, his shoes scraping lines into the dirt. The pain bit deep into his arms, spreading up to his shoulders. He could barely feel his fingers.
He gasped once, trying to catch his breath.
They're not ordinary bodyguards… They're trained — military, maybe even mercenaries.
He looked at them properly now. Both were tall, broad-shouldered, and fast — but their movements weren't wild. Every strike had precision, as if drawn from years of drilling. Their control of balance, spacing, and rhythm was flawless.
Still, Ethan didn't back down.
The first man moved again — low stance, rotating punch aimed for Ethan's ribs. Ethan sidestepped, parrying with his left arm and countering with a jab. The man blocked easily and spun, using the motion to bring his elbow toward Ethan's head.
Ethan ducked, rolled, and came up to his feet again.
For a moment, the world felt smaller — reduced to the sound of breathing, the crunch of shoes on gravel, the rush of adrenaline pounding through his ears.
He moved on instinct, trading blows with men faster and stronger than any opponent he'd faced before. His training — the system's daily exercises — kept his body alive and responsive, but he was still outmatched in raw combat experience.
One punch grazed his jaw. Another slammed into his side, knocking the air from his lungs.
Ethan staggered, coughing, but caught the next strike with his forearm and pushed back hard.
It was like fighting shadows. Every hit he landed was answered with two in return.
Pain burned through his ribs, his arms, his back.
Still, he refused to fall.
The second man feinted, dropping low before sweeping his leg. Ethan jumped, but the first one was already there — a brutal kick smashing into his side midair.
The impact sent him flying.
He crashed through a nearby bench, the wood splintering beneath his weight. The sound echoed sharply across the empty park.
Ethan hit the ground, coughing blood. Splinters of wood dug into his arms and shoulders, his breath shallow and ragged.
"sir!"
The woman's voice broke through the haze. She ran to him, kneeling beside him. Her hands fluttered helplessly over his chest, searching for injuries she couldn't heal.
"I'm fine…" Ethan forced out between breaths.
"You're not! Please, stop — they'll kill you! I'll go with them, just—"
"Don't."
He grabbed her wrist before she could stand. His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was iron.
"Don't move."
Her eyes widened — she saw it then, the fire behind his calm expression.
Ethan pushed himself to his feet. His body protested every motion, muscles screaming in pain, blood dripping down his arm. But his eyes were clear.
The two men stopped a few meters away, watching with impassive faces. The taller one tilted his head slightly. "You should've stayed down."
Ethan smiled faintly, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
He straightened slowly, his mind sharpening. Pain could wait. Questions could wait. The only thing that mattered now was finishing this.
And if that meant pushing the system to its limit, then so be it.
He summoned the dashboard.
[Money Deck System – Status Interface]
Host: Ethan Iver
Balance: $6,000,000
System Points: 25
Card Draws Available: 6
Exchange Rate: 1 SP = $100,000
System Cards:
♣ Clubs – Grind for Strength
♦ Diamonds – Earn Real Money
♥ Hearts – Locked
♠ Spades – Locked
Attributes:
Strength – 7
Agility – 7
Endurance – 7
Intelligence – 3
Perception – 3
Exchange Rate: 1 Attribute Point = 2 System Points
Active Missions: Protect the Target
Pending Missions: Club of 6 – Repair Seth's Kitchen
System Upgrade: Version 2.0 Requires 100 System Points
He read the numbers quickly, mind racing.
Twenty-five points. Enough to make a difference — or die trying.
He'd been saving them to upgrade the system to 2.0, but right now… upgrade plans didn't matter. Survival did.
"System," he whispered, "convert twenty-four system points to attributes."
[Conversion Confirmed.]
24 System Points = 12 Attribute Points.
The air around him shimmered faintly, invisible to everyone else.
[Distribute Attribute Points?]
Available: 12
Ethan didn't hesitate. "Strength, three. Agility, three. Endurance, three. Intelligence, two. Perception, one."
[Distribution Confirmed.]
New Attributes:
Strength – 10
Agility – 10
Endurance – 10
Intelligence – 5
Perception – 4
[Limit Notice: Current System Version Cap Reached – Maximum Attribute Level: 10]
The light vanished, and Ethan gasped as something surged through him.
Heat spread from his chest outward — not fire, but raw vitality. His limbs tingled, his heart pounding like thunder. The fatigue and pain dulled beneath a rising current of strength. His muscles tightened, his senses sharpened — every heartbeat clearer, every sound amplified.
He could feel the ground beneath his feet, the faint crunch of gravel shifting under his weight, the rhythmic breathing of the two men before him.
So this was what it meant to level up in reality.
He flexed his hands, the pain from earlier fading to a low hum.
The woman looked at him, disbelief in her eyes. His posture had changed — steadier, heavier, his presence radiating something cold and controlled.
Ethan rolled his shoulders, the tension in his back easing as his muscles adapted.
The taller man noticed the shift too. His brow furrowed slightly. "You've got some fight left, huh?"
Ethan's mouth curved into a calm, dangerous smile.
"More than you think."
He stepped forward once. The movement was smooth, quiet — almost casual.
And yet, the air around him felt different. The hesitation that had marked his earlier defense was gone. Every motion was precise, deliberate, confident.
The shorter man adjusted his stance instinctively, sensing the change without understanding it.
Ethan's gaze flicked between them, his voice low and steady.
"Come at me."
The words echoed through the park, calm and sharp.
The last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the trees, and night finally claimed the sky.
The two men moved simultaneously — a blur of motion against the fading light. Their boots struck the ground, their bodies cutting through the air like drawn blades.
And Ethan… smiled, ready.
The collision came a heartbeat later — a thunderclap waiting to happen.