Chapter Eleven – The Mission Part One
Obtaining points.
This was the only thing occupying (Tokito)'s mind at this moment.
The thought was a constant, grinding pressure, like a mental toothache. Everything else—the fear, the confusion, the bizarre new world—was secondary. Points were the currency of survival, the metric of progress, the only tangible path out of this nightmare.
It was very important to obtain points.
The word "important" was laughably inadequate. It was existential.
Without these points, he will remain in Rank D forever in his current state.
The sentence held the weight of a life sentence. An eternity in this concrete box, grinding away at pathetic D-Rank missions until a villain, a training accident, or just the sheer attrition of the system finally erased him.
Of course, there are many missions from which he can obtain points.
The mission board. The promise of work, of purpose, of advancement. It was the only game in town.
Especially after he managed to recruit (Kanami Kyoto) to the team.
The alliance, forged on lies and mutual suspicion, was his first concrete asset. He was no longer completely alone in the grinder.
---
In the morning of the next day, (Tokito) went to the mission division of the International Academy.
The morning air was crisp and carried the faint, metallic tang of the academy's environmental systems. He walked through the stark, geometric pathways, his footsteps echoing in the near-silence of the early hour. Other students were moving too, a scattering of navy blue figures all flowing toward the same central hub.
That place was in the center of the academy.
It was a squat, circular building of black glass and steel, like a giant, obsidian pillbox. The Mission Hall. The heart of the academy's brutal economy.
It is the center where any student can obtain a mission.
The doors were massive, automated slabs that slid open with a soft, hydraulic hiss as he approached.
Whoosh.
He could see each student see the list of missions through the smartwatches.
The device on his wrist could display the available D-Rank missions: a scrolling list of bland, sanitized descriptions. Assist with Park Cleanup (20 pts). Document Sorting at Municipal Office (25 pts). Test Subject for Low-Impact Ability Analysis (40 pts – Medical Waiver Required).
But he cannot choose the mission unless he goes to the mission hall.
It was a bureaucratic control measure. You had to physically accept the mission slip, have it stamped by an attendant. It prevented remote hoarding or trading, and ensured you were present, accountable, ready to be dispatched.
The mission hall was filled with different students.
The interior was a vast, echoing chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. Holographic displays glowed on the walls, listing missions by rank and zone. The air was cool and smelled of ozone and the collective, nervous sweat of several hundred teenagers.
Most of them were people who wanted to undertake a mission.
The buzz of conversation was a low, anxious hum. Some students stood in clusters, discussing options. Others stared at the boards with grim determination or blank terror.
Perhaps most of them had understood the basics of this academy.
They knew the score. No points meant no life. Simple.
And some of them only wanted to carry out a mission instead of wasting time.
Action was preferable to contemplation. To sit and think was to invite despair.
There were no lessons in the academy, just different halls designated for each class.
The realization still felt bizarre. This wasn't a school; it was a mission dispatch center with dormitories attached. There were "training halls," "research libraries," "combat simulators"—but access was rank-gated. You earned the right to learn.
For the class of Rank D holders, they cannot go to the training division.
The doors to those halls were sealed, requiring a C-Rank chip in your watch to open.
But they can go to the library that has information about abilities, in addition to basic means, in addition to books pertaining to the self-defense and martial arts division.
The consolation prize. You could read about fighting, even if you couldn't practice it in a proper facility.
Of course, there will be no teacher. They will have to test their abilities and understand them separately.
Trial and error, with the error potentially fatal.
Of course, people who possess good abilities will be able to rise with ease even by depending on themselves.
The lucky ones. The naturally gifted. Their powers were intuitive, powerful, easy to monetize in the mission economy.
While people who possess abilities that are difficult to understand, or simply unable to benefit well from them, especially since they do not know about spiritual power and the amount of sufficient consumption, might make even good abilities useless for them, and they will not be able to use them well.
The great filter. Without the hidden knowledge of energy efficiency and enhancement, a potentially decent power could be a dud, a battery-hogging trick that left you exhausted and vulnerable.
(Tokito), after entering the mission hall, went and looked at the available missions.
He moved through the crowd, a pale, white-haired ghost. His red eyes scanned the holographic boards, not reading the mission descriptions, but searching for a specific, mundane code. He wasn't here for the mission's stated objective.
After that, he contacted (Kanami Kyoto) through his smartwatch.
He tapped the device, bringing up the communication function. A soft chime sounded in his ear as the call connected.
Bzzt.
He asked him to come to the mission hall.
"Heading to the Mission Hall now. I have a target. Meet me at the central board." He kept his voice low, flat, trying to sound like he was issuing orders, not making a request.
He had in my mind, (Tokito), a good mission that might give them an amount of points that would qualify them to at least reach a quarter of the required amount if they could carry it out well.
The math was crude but motivating. 10,000 points needed. A "good" haul might be 2,500. It was a mountain, but even a single big score would make the climb seem possible.
---
From afar, (Jinji), the mission hall employee, was looking at the group of students.
He sat behind a long, high counter made of dark polished wood, a bastion of bureaucracy in the chaotic sea of adolescents. He was a man in his twenties, with neat black hair and tired eyes behind thin-framed glasses. He wore a simple gray suit—the uniform of the Hero Commission's administrative staff.
He does not possess an ability.
He was a "Norm," employed for his organizational skills. In this world, it made him slightly less than a person, but it gave him a stable, if boring, job away from the front lines.
He was employed by the Hero Commission for this clerical work.
His job was to process mission slips, verify identities, and stamp approvals. A cog in the machine that sent children out to fight crime.
He takes inventory of the different missions on the list of classifications and required ranks, in addition to managing the names of students and the missions that can be undertaken in the permitted rank.
It was data entry with life-or-death consequences.
While he was doing some tasks, he noticed that there was a sound approaching him.
The ambient noise of the hall shifted. The chatter nearby died down slightly. He heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming directly toward his station.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He raised his head and looked and felt some trembling.
A chill, unrelated to the hall's air conditioning, traced a path down his spine. It was an instinctive, primate response to a potential predator.
The looks that the student sent to him made him feel as if he were being looked at by a falcon.
The gaze was intense, piercing. It didn't scan; it fixed. It felt evaluative, dissecting.
The red eyes were like blood and the hair white as snow.
The contrast was shocking, unnatural. It was the kind of appearance you associated with major characters, with villains or anti-heroes, not with a random D-Rank freshman.
In addition to black clothes.
(Tokito) had opted for the standard uniform, but he wore the jacket zipped up high, the collar turned up slightly, enhancing the severe, monochromatic effect.
That student was certainly 16, yet he seemed more like an assassin than an ordinary student.
There was an aura of cold purpose about him that felt decades out of place on a teenager's shoulders.
"I want this mission."
The voice was flat, devoid of the nervous energy or false bravado Jinji usually heard. It was a statement of fact.
(Jinji) looked at the mission that the student handed to him.
The boy held out his smartwatch, displaying a mission code. Jinji took the device, his fingers brushing the cool glass. A tap on his terminal summoned the corresponding digital docket.
It was written in the form of a digital sticker manufactured by the Hero Commission so that students can take the missions they want from the mission list.
The interface was sleek, impersonal. Mission D-447: Community Outreach.
The mission that the student chose was an information-type mission.
The most boring, safest category. Usually involving surveys, paperwork, or public relations gigs.
– Mission Model: Go to the city and obtain five signatures after helping five individuals.
–Mission Reward: 100 points.
(Jinji) did not find any problem with the mission.
It was as vanilla as it got. A glorified errand. A participation trophy with points attached.
His black hair moved quietly as he lifted his head and smiled.
He forced a professional, neutral smile onto his face, though it felt stiff.
Creak. The sound of his chair as he shifted.
Even though he could only say that the boy in front of him radiated scary energy.
The thought was unbidden. The kid gave him the creeps.
"Approved. I have stamped it. When you finish, you can return to obtain the points."
He tapped a button on his console. A soft beep confirmed the mission was logged to (Tokito Kaito)'s file. A small, holographic seal—a stylized 'D' inside a circle—appeared on the mission description on the watch.
He watched the boy as he took a breath and walked away from my table.
The boy didn't say thank you. He didn't nod. He just turned and melted back into the crowd, his white hair a fading beacon.
At the same time, I couldn't help but think:
"What kind of special ability does he have that gives him such an aura?"
(Jinji) had been working in this position for only a few months since his graduation, so he did not have much experience regarding students' abilities.
He was still new, still easily impressed by surface theatrics.
But he certainly felt as if the young man in front of him possessed exceptional abilities.
The confidence, the stillness, the unsettling eyes—it all screamed "power."
Of course, if he knew that (Tokito)'s ability was just cloud formation, he would have spit blood.
The mental image was darkly amusing. The clerk, imagining some fearsome, reality-warping power, only to discover it was a glorified humidifier.
Unfortunately, he did not know that, so he thought those thoughts.
In the end, he had not worked for a long time in delivering missions.
He was still naive. He hadn't yet seen enough broken, terrified kids return from "simple" missions, or fail to return at all.
---
(Tokito) had left and went to the garden, waiting for Kanami.
The garden was quiet at this hour. He sat on the same cold stone bench, watching the pathways for a glimpse of sky-blue hair.
The mission he had obtained was simply to help five individuals in the city and obtain their signatures.
On its face, it was insultingly trivial. Help old ladies cross the street. Give directions to tourists. Hold a door open. Get a signature as proof.
This is a method used by the institution to ensure that students do the work requested of them.
A basic accountability measure. The signature was a receipt.
A simple mission that any student of Rank D can do.
It was the bottom of the barrel. The kind of mission you gave to the utterly hopeless, to keep them busy and out of the way.
One might ask: how can enough points be collected by carrying out only a mission like this?
The question was logical. 100 points was a pittance. At that rate, you'd need 100 such missions to rank up. It was a treadmill to nowhere.
Of course, (Tokito) did not just want to help five people to earn only 100 points that would suffice for just some simple things.
The mission reward was a joke. It might cover a week of frugal food, or a single basic first-aid kit.
And it is impossible to rise only by collecting only 100 points only.
The repetition underscored the absurdity. The system was designed to keep D-Ranks grinding indefinitely unless they found another way.
Rather, he was pursuing the mission itself.
The physical permission slip. The official authorization. That was the real prize.
The mission allows the student to leave for one day to carry out this mission.
That was the key. A day pass. A temporary visa out of the academy's oppressive walls.
Of course, the smartwatches are GPS devices that allow the academy to know the location of the students.
The band on his wrist felt heavier, like a leash with a digital tracker. They were always watching.
In addition, they can also make others track the student if he tries to escape.
A built-in homing beacon for truants. The system anticipated desertion.
Not that every student tries to escape, but in the end, there are some students who try to exploit their abilities, and sometimes they can do bad things.
The academy's PR was at stake. They couldn't have their "hero trainees" running amok in the city using powers for personal gain or petty crime.
Of course, (Tokito) was sure that would happen anyway with students who possess strong abilities.
Temptation was human nature. Power corrupted. He had no doubt some of the more arrogant or desperate students would try to use their day pass for something other than helping little old ladies.
And certainly, they will try to use it in a bad way.
The mission system was a pressure valve, but it also created new problems.
The job of these smartwatches is to monitor those students and ensure they do not do things that could tarnish the academy's reputation.
Big Brother, in wristwatch form.
---
Returning to the original mission, the desire was to obtain more of its points, the desire that overwhelms me at this moment.
The 100 points were irrelevant. They were cover.
Therefore, to obtain points, I need to use the hidden points present in the system, which are only known by people who are of a rank…
He was thinking of the loopholes, the Easter eggs in the brutal game.
What I am talking about is the hidden points: a set of points that can be obtained by carrying out more dangerous missions, and sometimes by chance a student can discover something. If it is reported successfully to the authorities and it turns out that this information is important, the student can obtain a larger amount of points.
Bonus objectives. Side quests. Whistleblower rewards.
(Tokito), with his knowledge of the manga, remembered that there is a villain called (The First Hand).
The memory surfaced from the early chapters. A minor antagonist, a speed bump for the protagonist in his first foray into the city.
This villain is a villain that (Sasuke) caught at the beginning of the manga while collecting points when he was of Rank D.
It was the protagonist's first "real" victory, his first taste of significant points outside the grind.
He caught (The First Hand), who was a criminal possessing a strong ability called (Stasis).
The ability name flashed in his mind. Useful, not overwhelming.
This ability allows the user to make any target still for seconds.
A paralysis effect. Short-range, time-limited, but devastating in the right moment.
This villain was of Rank C.
A rank above them. A more valuable target, worth more points.
Thanks to this matter, (Sasuke) obtained additional possible points, enough to obtain 3000 points.
The number was staggering. A single capture worth thirty standard D-Rank missions. A game-changer.
And this amount was very large.
It was a quarter of the way to C-Rank from a single action. The system did reward ambition and risk, if you had the power to back it up.
And it confirms these points on the importance of obtaining opportunities.
Luck favored the prepared, and the protagonist was always prepared.
(Sasuke) was lucky to catch such a criminal and possessed the sufficient strength to defeat him.
Protagonist luck and protagonist power. A winning combination.
In addition, the ability (Skillful Replicator) helped him greatly in the capture process, where he used several abilities he had copied a long time ago.
He had a toolbox of stolen powers to draw on, giving him flexibility and the element of surprise.
Therefore, for (Tokito), he had to use this knowledge to catch this criminal and obtain the points that (Sasuke) was supposed to obtain.
The plan was clear, ruthless, and deeply parasitic. I would leech off the protagonist's destined plot points.
Of course, stealing the hero's opportunity might be a bad thing and might change events.
The butterfly effect. Messing with canon was dangerous. Who knew what ripples killing or capturing a minor villain early might cause?
But for (Tokito), who does not care about anything except leaving this academy and obtaining comfort and freedom…
My priorities were brutally simple. My survival trumped narrative consistency. The protagonist's journey was his problem.
The hero's problems do not concern him at all, and stealing opportunities he would be happy to do at any moment.
I felt no guilt. In a world this cruel, sentimentality was a luxury I couldn't afford.
These points will be mine, certainly.
The thought was a vow, cold and hard.
---
(Kanami) arrived and looked at (Tokito), and after that said:
"So, did you pick a good mission?"
Kanami was expecting a high-level mission, especially after hearing (Tokito)'s thoughts.
He had taken the talk of a "righteous organization" and "eliminating villains" somewhat seriously, or at least saw it as a cover for profitable, high-risk work.
At this moment, he had stored most of the weapons he could obtain.
His bag, a sleek, ordinary-looking backpack, now contained a small arsenal. A few knives of various sizes. Smoke grenades. Flashbangs. All acquired through his underground connections or "liberated" from less vigilant individuals.
Clink. Rustle.
He placed them in his bag. He was ready for a difficult fight.
His expression was serious, focused. The green eyes held a sharp, anticipatory glint.
In the end, the other party promised him obtaining the revenge he wanted, so he was prepared to exert effort.
The promise of information on the Phantom Organization was the ultimate motivator. For that, he was willing to get his hands dirty.
But after that, (Tokito) handed the mission to Kanami, who grabbed it seriously and began reading it.
(Tokito) held out his smartwatch, showing the approved mission slip.
Kanami took it, his fingers deft. He read the description, his eyes scanning the lines.
But his expression, which was serious during the reading, became confused.
The focused intensity drained from his face, replaced by blank bewilderment. His brows drew together.
Then he looked at the white-haired, red-eyed young man and said:
"What does this mean? Isn't our goal to rise in rank now? How can a simple mission like this help us?"
The disconnect was jarring. He had geared up for a shadow war, and he was being handed a community service worksheet.
Of course, Kanami did not realize that (Tokito) used this mission only to leave the academy so they could go to another mission.
The day pass. The freedom of movement. That was the true objective of Mission D-447.
And at the same time, he couldn't say anything because he wanted to maintain the aura of mystery he was building and the aura that he knows a lot of information that ordinary people cannot know.
My entire persona relied on being an inscrutable font of secrets. I couldn't just say, "Oh, this is just a cover so we can go hunt a C-Rank villain I read about in a comic."
Therefore, (Tokito) said:
"Don't worry. The real mission is bigger than this. All you have to do is carry out what I ask of you."
The words were delivered with calm certainty, the same tone I'd used when revealing his deepest secrets. It was a command wrapped in enigma.
I met his confused green gaze with my own steady, lying red one, and gave a slight, knowing nod.
The unspoken message: Trust the plan. The puzzle has more pieces.
Kanami stared at the mission slip again, then back at me. The confusion in his eyes didn't fully vanish, but it was joined by a flicker of reluctant acceptance. He had, after all, agreed to follow based on my purported knowledge.
He sighed, a soft sound of capitulation.
Fffh.
"Fine. Where do we start? Helping five people seems straightforward enough."
"The first one," I said, standing up from the bench, the stone cold against my thighs, "is just the excuse. Follow me. The real work begins once we're through the gates."
The first step of my parasitic, point-stealing plan was underway. We had our ticket out. Now we just had to find a villain before the hero did, and capture him with a power that made clouds and a power that stole small objects.
What could possibly go wrong?
---
──────────────────────
End of Chapter.
──────────────────────
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading as(Tokito) leverages bureaucratic mundanity to embark on his first act of narrative theft. Your readership is the 100-point mission that keeps this story going. ❤️ :)
──────────────────────