Chapter 3: The Grind That Forged a God
Three Years Earlier – Valoria City Awakening Plaza
The sun beat down on a sea of anxious sixteen-year-olds. Today was Class Awakening—the day the System embedded in the world would define their destinies. Rocky stood quietly in line, an island of calm in a storm of nervous energy.
One by one, teens touched the glowing Central Crystal.
"Mage!" "Warrior!" "Healer!" "Archer!"
Cheers erupted for each, families weeping with joy.
Then came Rocky's turn. He placed his palm on the crystal. It flickered weakly, glowed a sickly grey, and died.
[Name: Rocky]
[Class: Jobless]
[Bonus Stats per Level: +0]
[Class Skills: None]
[Note: No party benefits. Low EXP gain modifier.]
The officiating Priest stared, baffled. The square was silent for a heartbeat.
Then, the laughter started. It was a wave of cruel, relieved laughter—others were happy they weren't the bottom of the barrel.
KID FROM HIS CLASS (Pointing): "Jobless! Hahaha! Even my dog has the 'Pet' class!"
A MOTHER (To her son): "See? That's why you study. Don't end up like that."
THE PRIEST (Shaking his head): "Next."
Rocky walked home, the jeers fading behind him. His face was a mask. But inside, he was… intrigued.
That night, he researched. 'Jobless Class' was synonymous with 'failure,' 'waste,' 'trash.' But in one ancient, digital archive, he found a single line of text buried in code:
"Jobless Class: No inherent skills. No stat bonuses. EXP gain: 10% of normal. Can learn any skill from any class, provided the user achieves true comprehension of its underlying principles. A class of infinite potential and impossible difficulty."
Rocky closed the browser. A slow smile spread across his face in the dim light of his monitor.
Infinite potential.
Impossible difficulty.
Perfect.
---
The Crucible of Solitude – Year 1
His regime began at 4 AM.
· 10 km run through the industrial district, wearing weighted boots.
· 100 push-ups on knuckles atop gravel.
· 100 sit-ups with a rusted engine block on his chest.
· 100 squats while balancing a waterlogged log.
Then, the real work began: Observation.
He couldn't enter guilds or academies. So he became a ghost at their fences.
· At the Warrior's Guild, he watched trainees practice basic stances for hours. He mimicked them at home, feeling the muscle engagement, correcting his posture in a cracked mirror.
· Outside the Mage Academy, he listened to lectures on mana circulation through open windows. He practiced the finger movements for 'Arcane Bolt' with a stick until his hands cramped.
· In the library, he devoured textbooks on anatomy (for critical strikes), physics (for trajectory), chemistry (for potions and explosives), and psychology (for predicting opponents).
He was Level 1. He gained no EXP from his runs, his push-ups, or his studying. The System ignored him. But his understanding grew.
The Stealing of Skills – Year 2
He sought out masters on the fringe. He found Garro, a retired Assassin who smelled of cheap gin and regret.
GARRO: "Why should I teach a Jobless? You're a dead end."
ROCKY (Bowling): "I will clean your house, buy your gin, and ask no questions about the stains on your floor."
Garro laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "Fine. But you'll puke before you learn a thing."
Rocky learned. He puked. He learned more.
· How to walk so silently even dust didn't stir (Silent Step).
· How to see the tiny flutter of a pulse in a neck, marking a vulnerability (Killer's Instinct).
· How to disappear in a crowd not by magic, but by manipulating perception (Urban Camouflage).
Still no System notification. But he could do them.
He did odd jobs for a grizzled Ex-Ranger, learning to track by scent and sound. He volunteered at a clinic, learning pressure points and basic field medicine from a tired Field Healer.
He was assembling a patchwork quilt of skills, stitch by painful stitch, with no blueprints.
The Breakthrough – Year 3
He was in the abandoned quarry, sparring with six automated training drones he'd salvaged and reprogrammed. He had no weapon. He used footwork from a Ranger, evasion from an Assassin, and the pinpoint strikes targeting joints he'd learned from anatomy books.
He disabled all six in a fluid sequence, breathing hard. A notification, the first he'd ever received, flashed in his vision.
[Through profound comprehension, you have unlocked the passive skill:
[Your unique will has forced your Class to evolve a unique trait.]
[Trait Acquired:
[Effect: You can now deconstruct, replicate, and assimilate techniques you witness, provided you understand their core mechanics. Learning speed is based on intelligence and comprehension, not System permission.]
Rocky stood still, the quarry silent around him. He wasn't happy. He was validated.
The System hadn't given him anything. It had finally acknowledged what he had already taken.
He looked at his status.
[Level: 2] (It had taken three years).
[Unofficial Skills Catalogued: 127]
He was no longer just a Jobless. He was a Proteus. A shapeshifter of skill.
The Calm Before the Storm – The Day Before the Exam
Rocky stood at the forest's edge. A Frenzied Boar (Level 10) charged him. He held a kitchen knife.
He didn't meet its charge. He sidestepped, his free hand striking a precise point behind its ear. The boar collapsed, paralyzed but alive. A perfect, non-lethal Monk technique.
He butchered it with a Hunter's skill, tanned the hide with a Crafter's knowledge, and cooked the meat with a Chef's technique.
An old trapper saw him. "You fight well, boy. What's your class?"
ROCKY: "Jobless."
The trapper laughed until he cried, then walked away, shaking his head. The story of the "Jobless boy who took down a Frenzied Boar with his hands" became a local tall tale. Few believed it.
Back to the Present – After the Arena
As Rocky walked away from the stunned arena, the whispers were different now.
"Did you see his eyes during the boss fight? They glowed."
"He's not human. He's a monster in a pretty shell."
"The Association is scared. Did you see the Elder's face?"
Rika caught up to him at the gate, her courage mustered.
RIKA: "Rocky! How… how is any of that possible?"
ROCKY (Stopping, his gaze gentle but distant): "The System gives you skills, Rika. It makes you a photocopy of a warrior, a mage. My class… it doesn't give. It only allows. I had to become the warrior. I had to understand the magic. Every skill I used today, I didn't find in a menu. I built it in here." He tapped his temple.
RIKA: "But… why keep it a secret? Why let everyone mock you?"
A shadow of his past-life regret, the "Unfinished Champion," flashed in his eyes. "Mocks are just noise. Letting your enemy underestimate you is the first, and cheapest, tactical advantage." He gave her a real smile, softer than his flirty ones. "Tell Bolas to save his energy. The path he's on only leads to a humiliating defeat."
He walked away, leaving her more confused and fascinated than ever.
That night, in his sparse room, Rocky cleaned his weapons. The System screen glowed before him.
[Name: Rocky]
[Class: Jobless (Proteus Variant)]
[Level: 3]
[Trait: Proteus Mind – Comprehension is the only key.]
[Unofficial Skill Library: 1,503 entries]
[Warning: Class Evolution available at Level 10. Requirements Unknown.]
He dismissed the screen. The numbers didn't matter. The understanding did.
Far away, in the high-tech headquarters of the Hunter Association Council, Elder Thorne re-watched the dungeon footage frame-by-frame.
"He didn't use a single 'Skill' as the System defines it," a tech analyst reported. "He used… fundamentals. Perfected basics from a dozen disciplines, combined in real-time."
ELDER THORNE: "He's not cheating the System. He's operating outside it. This 'Jobless'… he might be the most dangerous thing to happen to our structured world since the Gates appeared."
And in the deepest, most encrypted server, connected to a long-shut-down virtual world called Genesis, a single line of debug code activated:
[Legacy Player Signature Detected: Username – 'Rocky'. Title – 'Master of All Skills'. Status: Reincarnated. Location: Prime Reality. Threat Level: **CATASTROPHIC**. Initiating Protocol: **FINAL TRIAL**.]
Rocky, sharpening a dagger by his window, felt a faint, familiar ping in the back of his mind—like an old friend tapping on reality's door. He paused, looked out at the neon-lit city, and smiled. A sharp, hungry smile.
"Took you long enough," he whispered to the night. "I've been waiting to finish our game."
[Chapter 3 End]