The usual route would take an hour before reaching his apartment. Half of that time was spent walking, seeing the sights of the same old buildings and parks that completed his trek back home. The other half was spent at the gym, a short session to somewhat ease his mind from the daily grind. It was unusual for some who preferred going home and resting.

  But today broke the usual chain. Taking an Uber only took fifteen minutes to where his apartment was. It would've been shorter of a trip but the driver was too busy telling his story, words tumbling out in an endless jumble as if he'd been holding them in for years.

  How he'd immigrated from another country in order to feed his family.

  How he had to deal with the mafias to smuggle him and drop him and his family on the coast.

  To forge the papers to make it seem like he had his documents in order.

  It was a colorful story, but it only passed through Stellan's ears.

  A small tip and a gesture of thanks went by. Ending with the locking of a door and the roar of a diesel-filled vehicle. And Stellan was home. With his paygrade, he could afford living in a much more luxurious suite, one where you could see the view of the city. Where if you brought someone back from a night out, they might believe that they had a good catch before delving into the matter.

  But Stellan was a pragmatic sort. He chose a motel turned apartment that was adequately priced and near to his workplace. Added to the fact that it reminded him of where he grew up cemented his decision, the peeling wallpaper and worn carpet bringing back memories he couldn't quite shake. And not because he'd lucked out from having the only room with a basement.

  "I'm home," he called. Regardless if there was anyone to answer or not.

  A single flick on the switch and his place lit up. Everything was mostly in order, he only cooked at dinner so he didn't have any dishes to wash. The wifi router was still functional even after four years of living here. And all in all, this was his home, a warm yet modest one that sheltered him from any convolutedness from the outside.

  Throwing his bag to the sofa was a reflex. Before removing any sort of semblance of professionalism he had in his body, tie, suit, shoes, and pants. He always walked in his boxers, which for the most part was the only piece of true freedom he had.

  Resisting the urge to go to bed was a task on its own. Instead, he chose to check on his little garden underneath the kitchen. It was a repurposed wine cellar, he didn't mind spending a little bit more to have first dibs on it. It was the only room that had this feature among the others so he was eager to put it to full use, descending the narrow wooden stairs that creaked under his weight. At first he thought that it would have been a good place to turn into a mancave. But then again, it was too much effort. So he chose a much more tedious task that hurriedly took most of his free time, growing mushrooms in a damp, humid place that was naturally cold. All he needed were the right materials and the fungi would grow on its own.

  But even this little project of his wasn't enough to warrant a distraction.

  Panel

  Candidate Name: Castellan Moss/_Dandy628

  Insignia: Smoke

  Skills: [Insignia] → Smoke Touched < Passive Skill >

  Clan: None

  Deity: None

  Grade: Gray 1-Star ★

  Genus: Incorporeal

  Health: 50/50

  Mana: 25/25

  Essence: 100/100

  Experience: 2819/100 [ Promotion Available! ]

  Token: 3488

  "Fuck… Fuck… Fuck…" Stellan cursed. For a long while, he was stumped.

  He had no direction on how he should approach next. How could he explain this phenomenon when it didn't hold any semblance of logic? So he did what men who are directionless would usually do, and that was to drown himself in substance.

  Quick grinding of carefully selected mushrooms. Pairing it with premature ones while finalizing the mix with a bit more, his hands working on autopilot while his mind raced elsewhere. He was out of sorts. Stellan did not have any addiction, but he wasn't in a right state of mind either. It was due to his day-to-day routine that he managed to go home without breaking down into a mess. That made him manage to finish the day and had some control in his conversations. But here, he was alone, and that was by choice.

  The substance mixture was ground to a small pile that was as tall as his smallest toe. An amount that was inadvisable since this might lead to overdose or death, the powder forming a small mound that seemed almost innocent in its lethality. But his reasoning flew out the window the moment he removed his corporate attire. But what of it? He drowned himself in guilt. Knowing what he had done regardless of denying the truth.

  I killed somebody.

  Labeling himself as a criminal. Making him weep and break down without even the help of his prepared narcotics. He grew up too proper, not an ounce of bending from a path that his family made for him. He was willing because he was educated to believe that it was the only path to take. But now he was at a divergence. Ensuing a mental battle that challenged him whether he should share his story no matter how ridiculous it was, or keep it to himself.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  But then again, who would believe him?

  Who was crazy enough to believe that a man nearing his thirties went inside his computer? Met a coworker who was absent for a month, claiming that he was trapped there for years. Where time flowed far from logic, and killing was just an occurrence? Where he witnessed an execution, a neverending room filled with fridges and toiletries. And that he used these furniture to hide from gunshots from raiders who wielded guns just for the sake of entertainment.

  Where his knee got shot by the very same coworker who knew what his hobbies were.

  Where he shot the coworker in the heart, ending his life in a way where no man should.

  So he gave in. Gobbling the psychedelic residues and munching those that were fit enough to chew. And soon, he laughed, and cried.

  And danced, like he had never danced before.

  [3 Hours before Castellan's arrival: Original World]

  "Results are out yet?" asked the woman, her slender frame hidden beneath a lab coat that signified authority. Her eyes traced the ascending numbers on the vast arrays of monitors, fixing her short hair that was tied behind her ears as she read the pattern that described the answer she was looking for. "How did our boy do?"

  "You mean the 'Homeowner'?" answered the young trainee who was recently assigned to his post. His throat itching from the tenseness his position gave him.

  "James, don't address me casually. I got a reputation to keep."

  The substitute flustered himself, slouching to a curve when his eyes drifted towards his peers who chuckled behind their conversation.

  "Sorry Ma'am," he commented, straightening his posture before continuing. "He's doing pretty well. Just finished off a couple of blue grades."

  "Raiders?"

  "I like to believe so…"

  The woman ordered, flicking her fingers on the number-filled monitor while issuing the command. "It doesn't matter. Keep track of his movements. Higher-ups want to contact him as soon as the trial's finished."

  "Will do!" the trainee answered, posturing himself to continue his monitoring by slouching intensely over the glowing screens.

  "Is that the yellow grade everyone was making a fuss about?"

  A voice intervened. It held a playful tone, almost too much for a professional setting. But no one batted an eye except for the one the question was aimed at, making him return back to his initial posture and gulp once more from nervousness.

  "YES MA'AM!" the trainee yelped. His nerves got the better of him, making the questioner snicker as she approached his senior who was unamused by her arrival.

  "Ryn…" the woman hissed, hand on her hips that trapped her lab coat.

  "Zena… still tight I see," responded the red-haired woman. Her sleek black bodysuit accentuated her curves, making eyes dart at her figure whenever she passed by. Although none dared to start a conversation, they knew better than to try themselves against one of the 'Adjudicators.'

  "It's uptight, and yes, this is a workplace," Zena's eyes lowered, scanning the curvy woman with contempt. "Something you are not dressed for, apparently."

  Ryn mocked her with a cheeky grin, holding her fingers to cover her mocking expression as an attempt to incite a reaction.

  "I said what I said… Anywhoooo."

  She approached the chair where the trainee was trying his best to fix his eyes on the monitor. Resisting the urge to turn his neck.

  "New kid?"

  "Yeah, just stationed here," Zena answered, advancing forward to serve as a barrier for any untoward attempt by the red-haired woman. "He's a hard worker, unlike someone I know. Try not to tease him so much."

  Ryn seductively strutted before leaning onto one of the machineries that whirred from the countless data that flooded in. Gaining stares to her curves that demanded attention. "Me? Tease? I would never."

  "Just let him work," Zena added with a sigh, her tone carrying the weight of someone who'd had this conversation before. "We need to monitor this guy. He's already blacklisted, and upstairs wants a trophy."

  "Why not just let me handle it? He's just a yellow grade."

  "No, remember the last time you did?"

  "I didn't know the target was a Dominator. Why is that my fault?" Ryn answered, winking at the trainee who was glancing at his sides from time to time.

  Zena saw this and glared at the seductress. Who in response shrugged the matter like she had no choice but to accept.

  "That's why you should attend the briefings," Zena added, slamming a hand on the steel top of the monitor. The sound made the trainee flinch.

  "Well I know this guy's a one-trick pony. Besides… the world restricts our mana. I doubt a Manifestor could do much damage back here even if he wanted to."

  "That is why we don't assign you anyone above blue. You're far too lenie–"

  The conversation was interrupted by a nervous voice that was still unsure where he was placed. Garnering the attention of the two women who were still deep in the conversation.

  "Pardon me Ma'am!"

  "What is it?" Zena was the one who questioned first, leaning too closely behind the nape of the trainee who was far too occupied with the event to notice. "Did he kill another candidate?"

  "No, based on the readings…" The trainee built the suspense, squinting his eyes to translate the numbers flashing across multiple screens. "Another candidate arrived."

  "Grade?" Zena inquired further.

  "Gray, single star. Seems to be… a rookie."

  Ryn broke the exchange with a sigh, looking down on the metallic floor with deep dissatisfaction. "Poor guy. Had to die the moment he arrived."

  Everyone in the room knew what she was insinuating. "The Homeowner" was a name linked with notoriety, a candidate who waits for his prey to enter his territory. One of the main reasons why he gained such infamy was due to the fact that he was one of the 'Rising Stars', a list of candidates who increased their grade in such a short time.

  But when most would complete trials for the sake of objectives or acquire treasures that would increase their abilities, he would settle inside a chosen location for a long amount of time and kill candidates without hesitation. Giving him the moniker of "Homeowner" due to a play on words, a man who was insistent on keeping his lands free from any trespassers.

  But with all the cluttered conundrum, something else took the Vice-Captain of the Scouting Department. "Wait… what is he doing?" Zena questioned, focusing her eyes on the flashes of data that showed an unlikely event.

  "I think… they're… conversing?" the trainee answered based on his deductions.

  Zena was hesitant with his findings. She had been tracking this target for a couple of months, even making contact with him once, here in the original world. She knew what kind of person her target was, marking his affinity. "The Homeowner kills anyone that goes inside his territory. I find that hard to believe."

  A silence ensued. For a moment, everyone's eyes scanned the room to search for anyone who had an answer. But no one held any kind of opinion due to the lack of information that they had. Until Ryn, who glanced at the monitor, spoke up.

  "He knows him…" she commented, right before she pranced towards the exit.