The march of the world went on without him—machines grew sharper, nations whispered of artificial minds and obedient steel, and somewhere far beyond his reach, men in clean rooms shaped the future with quiet precision. None of it concerned Jeff.
"Hmph."
He stepped out from his cramped rooftop room, the door creaking shut behind him as though reluctant to release its only occupant. The building beneath his feet was old, leaning, half-forgotten—a stack of crumbling concrete perched atop a slum that clung stubbornly to the edges of a city Jeff barely bothered to remember the name of. Something like Taipei, or maybe not. He'd stopped caring a long time ago. It was somewhere in Asia, that was enough.
There weren't many people like him here—at least, not many who looked like him—and in Jeff's mind, that alone made the place dangerous.
Because white people, as far as Jeff understood the world, were basically collectibles.
He had seen it before—people spotting someone like him and instantly reaching for their phones, eyes lighting up like they'd just encountered a rare Pokémon.
"Yo, bro, stand next to me real quick—yeah, yeah, smile—nice."
Click.
Instant clout.
Jeff was certain of it. One selfie with a pale, sleep-deprived foreigner like him and boom—seven hundred thousand followers, minimum. Maybe more if the lighting was good.
"Disgusting," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Fame leeches."
He had no proof of any of this. But that had never stopped him before.
In his head, it was a real threat—a lurking danger greater than crime, greater than poverty: the ever-present risk of being turned into someone's profile picture background.
And so he hid.
Or at least… he used to.
He paused at the edge of the rooftop, the night air brushing cold against his skin. In his hand, the small metal container rested heavy and real, its crimson contents swirling faintly as if alive. The dim glow from his eyes reflected across its surface, casting thin streaks of red into the dark.
"I already have the power for rent," Jeff said quietly.
Then, after a moment, with genuine admiration:
"…That's actually really cool."
Below him, the city stretched out in layers of light and shadow—the distant skyline blazing with color, vibrant and alive, while the slum beneath him lay sunken in darkness, silent and forgotten. Winter pressed gently against the world, and Jeff, in nothing more than a thin T-shirt and jeans, exhaled a slow breath that turned to mist.
He didn't shiver.
Not because he was strong—though he liked to think so—but because somewhere along the line, his body had simply stopped caring. Years of neglect, cheap food, colder climates, and now whatever the System had done to him… it had all blended together into something that resembled resilience.
Or maybe just numbness.
Either way, he stood there like an idiot in winter clothes meant for summer and felt absolutely fine about it.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm just built different."
The truth was less impressive.
Even after the System's so-called enhancement, his strength had barely climbed out of pathetic territory. If anything, he now possessed the raw physical might of a slightly determined child. Maybe. On a good day.
Still—progress was progress.
Jeff nodded to himself as if confirming a great truth, then turned and headed for the stairs. He didn't jump dramatically from the rooftop or do anything remotely cool. He just walked down like a normal person, one uneven step at a time.
The stairwell groaned beneath him, each step creaking in protest as though offended by his existence. The building itself seemed to resent being used at all, its walls cracked, its rails rusted, its lights either dead or flickering with a tired, dying buzz.
"Man, even this place hates me," Jeff muttered.
By the time he pushed through the shattered glass doors at the bottom, he was slightly out of breath, pausing for a moment as the night air hit him fully. The street beyond was just as broken as the building—cracks splitting the pavement like veins, old stains marking places no one bothered to clean.
Right in front of the entrance, the ground bore deeper fractures.
Jeff glanced at them, expression flat.
"Yeah… people jump here, don't they."
A beat.
"Poor bastards."
There was no sympathy in his voice—just a distant acknowledgment, like noting the weather.
He pulled out his phone, squinting at the screen.
Balance: 0.
A perfect number.
"With this," he muttered, "I couldn't even afford a candy bar."
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and started walking.
The streets were quiet—too quiet, in that way that made even someone like Jeff feel a faint prickle at the back of his neck. Buildings loomed close, their windows dark, their insides hidden. The few lights that remained cast long, uneven shadows that stretched and twisted across the ground.
Even he, who had made a hobby out of scaring others, felt it.
"…Kinda creepy," he admitted.
Still, he kept moving.
Because now, he had a goal.
Despair Points.
In Jeff's mind, that translated very simply:
Scare people → people freak out → profit.
Easy.
As he walked, he glanced toward the distant glow of the city again, its bright towers rising like something from another world entirely. For a moment—just a moment—he remembered how it all fit together.
The river.
The ocean.
The dam upstream, feeding water into everything.
He stopped walking.
"…Oh."
The idea hit him with all the subtlety of a brick.
"If I just… dump this in the dam…"
He slowly lifted the container, staring at the red liquid sloshing inside.
"…then everyone drinks it."
A grin spread across his face, wide and stupid and completely devoid of understanding.
"That's… efficient."
Not evil.
Not monstrous.
Efficient.
"It'll be like… one of those chain pranks," he said, nodding to himself. "Like when one guy screams and then everyone starts screaming. Yeah. Same concept."
He started walking again, this time with a bit more purpose.
Toward the dam.
Toward the sleeping city.
Toward something far, far worse than anything his mind was capable of grasping.
Around him, the slum remained silent, the night pressing in from all sides. No footsteps echoed but his own, no voices broke the stillness. The streets, though connected, felt isolated—like veins cut off from the heart.
Anything could happen here.
As he drifted deeper into the slum, the narrow streets tightening into veins of shadow, Jeff turned without thinking into an alley untouched by even the mercy of a street lamp. Darkness pooled thickly there, broken only by faint reflections and the dull gleam of metal.
And there—like something ordinary, something disgustingly routine—he saw it.
A woman stood backed against the wall, her figure tense, her breathing uneven, surrounded by several young men whose clothes clung loosely in that careless, deliberate way that tried too hard to look dangerous. In their hands, small knives caught what little light there was, flashing faintly as they moved.
Jeff slowed.
Not out of caution.
Out of curiosity.
The woman looked young—too young, maybe—and her clothes, once neat and professional, had been dragged out of order, torn just enough to suggest what was coming next. She clutched at herself instinctively, trying to cover what little dignity she had left, her eyes darting between the men like a trapped animal searching for an exit that did not exist.
This wasn't robbery.
Even Jeff could tell that much.
"Ah," he muttered under his breath, head tilting slightly. "Yeah… this is one of those scenes."
For a moment, he simply stood there, watching—his gaze drifting in that unfocused, thoughtless way, lingering longer than it should have, curiosity bleeding into something less clean. He stepped a little closer without realizing it, as if drawn not by purpose, but by the vague interest of someone watching a scene unfold on a screen.
The movement caught their attention.
One of the men turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
"You—what the hell are you looking at?" he barked, stepping forward, knife glinting as he waved it lazily toward Jeff. "If you don't wanna get stabbed, get lost, pale guy."
Jeff blinked.
Ah.
Right.
Leave.
That made sense.
He had no reason to be here. No obligation. No benefit.
He shifted his weight slightly, already half-turning to go.
Then another voice cut in, sharper, louder—excited.
"Oi—hold up, hold up. Look at this dude properly."
A second man leaned forward, squinting.
"…Yo. He ain't just pale."
A pause.
Then—
"Bro, that's a white boy!"
The atmosphere changed instantly.
The knives were still there.
The woman was still there.
But suddenly, none of that mattered.
"Yo, no way," another one said, stepping closer, grinning wide. "For real? Here? In this dump?"
"Man, we gotta get pics," the first one laughed. "This is rare spawn type shit."
Jeff froze.
Of course.
Of course this would happen.
He had known it.
Predicted it.
Prepared for it, even.
This was exactly why he stayed inside.
"…Unbelievable," he muttered.
He lowered his head slightly and, instead of leaving, stepped further into the alley.
"Hey, hey!" one of them called out, laughing. "What's it gonna be, huh? You here to save her or take pics with us?"
Another chimed in, voice dripping with mock friendliness.
"Come on, white man—join the squad!"
The woman looked at him then.
Really looked.
Her eyes were wide, fearful—not hopeful, not relieved. To her, Jeff wasn't a savior.
He was just… something else.
Something unknown.
Something possibly worse.
Like a final boss walking in before the level even started.
The men noticed his lack of enthusiasm.
And just as quickly as their interest had shifted, it twisted again.
Into irritation.
Into aggression.
"Oi," the tall one said, his grin fading as he raised his knife again. "You ignoring us now?"
Another stepped forward, blade angled casually toward Jeff's chest.
"Let's bleed him a little," he said, laughing. "Teach him not to act cool."
"Yeah," someone else added. "We'll get more likes if there's blood in the pic."
Jeff stopped.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then, slowly, he raised his head.
The faint red glow in his eyes cut through the darkness—not bright, not dramatic, but wrong. Enough to make them hesitate, just for a second.
Just long enough.
"Sorry," Jeff said, his voice quiet, almost apologetic. "I… you see…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"…I hate doing physical things."
Silence.
The men stared at him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" one of them snapped, genuinely confused.
And Jeff—
Jeff smiled faintly, as though he had just come up with something incredibly clever.
Then, without warning, he lurched sideways.
Behind a dented trash container, half-hidden in shadow and grime, lay an aluminum baseball bat—forgotten, discarded, perfect. Jeff snatched it up in one smooth, desperate motion, gripping it like a man who had just discovered the concept of "range advantage."
And then—
He charged.
Not gracefully. Not skillfully.
Just… charged.
"Ugh—ah—ah!"
The men didn't even react in time. They had expected hesitation, fear, maybe a plea. What they got instead was a pale idiot sprinting at them with a bat like he'd just unlocked a new weapon class.
The first swing landed hard.
A dull, sickening thud.
Then another.
Jeff didn't aim. He didn't calculate. He just swung—wide, clumsy, and fast—his bat cracking into stomachs, ribs, shoulders, whatever it hit first. The length alone gave him an advantage, the metal striking before their knives could even come close.
One went down.
Then another.
The alley filled with sharp cries and the sound of bodies slamming into concrete, men folding in on themselves as pain exploded through them faster than their brains could process.
Jeff kept going.
"Ugh—stop—what the—!"
Crack.
A head snapped sideways.
Another body dropped.
The force—however unrefined—was enough. Enough to send them sprawling, groaning, limbs failing them as they hit the wall and slid to the ground.
"You brat—!" the tallest bald man roared, the only one still standing, rage cutting through his shock. He moved fast—faster than Jeff expected—knife flashing as he lunged straight for Jeff's head.
For a split second—
Jeff froze.
The blade came too close.
Too real.
"Holy shit—you almost killed me, man!" Jeff blurted, stumbling back, eyes wide before narrowing again, his lips peeling back to reveal those sharp, unnatural teeth. "I don't appreciate being the target of stabbing!"
He swung.
Hard.
The bat collided with the man's side, a heavy, crushing impact that sent him slamming into the wall. Before he could recover—before he could even breathe—another hit followed.
And another.
And another.
Each strike more frantic than the last.
Jeff didn't stop until the man stopped moving.
Silence returned to the alley, broken only by ragged breathing and low, pained groans.
Jeff stood there for a moment, bat hanging loosely in his hand, chest rising and falling.
"…Okay," he muttered. "That was… cardio."
He turned.
The woman was still there, pressed against the wall, her body trembling, her clothes hastily pulled back into place. The fear hadn't left her face—it had only changed shape.
When the moonlight caught Jeff's face, she froze.
Not relief.
Not gratitude.
Something else.
Something colder.
He stepped toward her.
Up close, she was… yeah. Pretty. The kind of pretty Jeff had only seen on screens, filtered through pixels and distance. Her expression—wide-eyed, shaken, fragile—only made it worse.
Or better.
Depending on how you looked at it.
"Th-thank you for saving me," she said, voice unsteady, forcing the words out as she straightened herself. "If… if you need any reward…"
"Of course I do."
Jeff's voice cut through the air, low and certain.
Her body stiffened instantly.
Because the way he said it—
Was worse than the men before.
His eyes glowed faintly, that strange red light flickering in his pupils as he reached into his pocket.
The woman's breath caught.
Her mind raced.
This man—
This thing—
Under her terrified gaze, Jeff pulled something out.
Not a weapon.
Not anything dangerous.
Just—
His phone.
He held it out toward her.
Flat.
Expectant.
"…Number?" he said.
There was a moment.
A single, frozen moment—
And then—
"AAAAAH—!"
Her scream tore through the alley.
Not soft.
Not restrained.
Pure, unfiltered panic.
Before Jeff could even process it, she swung her handbag with surprising force, the heavy leather slamming directly into his face.
WHACK.
Jeff's world went sideways.
His grip loosened, his body tipping backward as she shoved past him, heels clacking violently against the pavement as she ran—ran like something was chasing her, like stopping meant death.
Jeff hit the ground hard.
Trash crunched beneath him.
Something metallic clattered nearby.
For a while—
There was nothing.
Then—
A soft, annoyed sound.
"Tch."
Jeff blinked his eyes open, staring up at the night sky as if he had just taken a nap in the worst possible place. Slowly, he pushed himself up, wincing slightly as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
"That was…" he muttered, frowning, "…really unappetizing."
He rubbed his cheek, still sore.
"I guess asking for her number was too ambitious."
He said it like he'd misjudged a social cue.
Like that was the problem.
With a small grunt, he got to his feet, glancing briefly at the men still sprawled across the ground. They were breathing—barely—but none of them were getting up anytime soon.
Jeff didn't care.
He turned and continued walking.
'Gained 1 Despair Point.'
The System's voice echoed softly in his mind.
Jeff paused.
"…One?"
He sniffed the air.
There was a faint, unpleasant smell now.
"…Did someone piss themselves?"
He glanced back at the unconscious men, then forward, toward the direction the woman had fled.
Her face flashed in his mind—those wide eyes, the tears, the sheer, overwhelming terror that had driven her to run without looking back.
"…Oh."
Jeff tilted his head.
"So that's what it is."
Not pain.
Not getting hit.
Not losing.
Fear.
Real fear.
The kind that didn't stop when the danger was gone.
The kind that stayed.
"That's despair, huh…"
He nodded slowly, as if he had just solved something profound.
"If everyone felt like that…"
He trailed off, the thought not fully forming, not fully understood—only the vague sense that it would lead to something good.
Something useful.
Something… profitable.
"Yeah," Jeff said, a small grin returning to his face. "That works."
And with that, he resumed his walk.
Toward the dam.
Toward the sleeping city.
Toward a future he still believed, with absolute stupidity—
Would solve all his problems.