I reached into my System one more time, past the jobs, past the skills, to the special abilities I'd been granted. The ones that had elevated me beyond normal limitations.

Temporal Job Ttitle Copy.

Twenty-four hours to use any job title I'd encountered. And I knew exactly which one I needed.

Camille's job title. The one she got after being experimented on when we got captured in Europe.

Job Maxer.

I activated the copy, and felt something new slot into place alongside Full Profession Sync.

[TEMPORAL JOB TITLE COPIED: JOB MAXER]

[DURATION: 24 HOURS]

[EFFECT: ALL SKILLS CAN BE TEMPORARILY ELEVATED TO LEVEL 10]

The change was instantaneous and overwhelming.

Every skill I possessed—dozens of them across multiple jobs—suddenly reached their theoretical maximum. Level 10. Absolute perfect mastery. The pinnacle of what each skill could possibly achieve.

Superior Endurance at level 10 didn't just resist fatigue—it made me feel like I could fight for days without stopping.

Observation at level 10 didn't just see details—it quite literally perceived everything around me. Every micro-movement, every intention, every possible outcome mapped out in my awareness like a three-dimensional tactical display.

Hand-to-Hand Combat at level 10 didn't just know techniques—it understood combat at a level that bordered on precognition. My body knew what Hugo would do before he fully committed to doing it and it was moving in ways that I felt automatic rather than me actually doing anything.

Every skill. Every capability. Every fragment of knowledge pushed to absolute perfection.

Combined with Full Profession Sync—which made all those skills flow together seamlessly, naturally, without conscious thought—I felt something beyond powerful.

I felt like I was some sort of…god. A true deity in this very moment.

Hugo saw the change in my expression. Saw whatever had appeared in my eyes.

"What did you—" he started.

I moved.

Not running. Not dashing. Just moving, my body executing with such perfect efficiency that the distance between us disappeared in what felt like a single step.

My fist caught him in the ribs with devastating precision. Not just hitting—striking with perfect angle, perfect timing, perfect force distribution to maximize damage while minimizing wasted energy.

Hugo tried to block the follow-up. His arms came up in textbook defensive positioning.

My strike went through his guard like it wasn't there. Not because I overpowered it, but because I found the microscopic gap in his defense and exploited it with surgical precision.

He stumbled back, trying to create distance. Trying to reset.

I didn't let him.

My footwork carried me forward with explosive bursts that were somehow also perfectly controlled. Every step optimal. Every position calculated to give me maximum advantage while denying him any options.

I struck again—a combination that flowed like water, each hit setting up the next with mathematical perfection. Hugo blocked some. Dodged others.

But enough landed. And each one that did caused exactly the damage I intended it to.

Hugo tried to counter. Tried to use his own enhanced capabilities to match mine.

But he couldn't. Whatever he'd activated to match my earlier surge wasn't enough against this. Against skills pushed to absolute maximum while operating in perfect synchronization.

He was fighting a losing battle and we both knew it.

"This is for Mom," I said, my fist catching his jaw with a hook that had every ounce of perfect technique behind it. His head snapped to the side, blood spraying.

I didn't give him time to recover. Pressed forward with relentless aggression.

"This is for Subject 3840," I continued, driving my knee into his stomach with force that folded him over.

He tried to speak—tried to say something that probably would have been another dismissive comment or analytical observation.

I hit him again before words could form. And again. And again.

"This is for Bruce Walsh and everyone on those ships," I said, each strike punctuating my words. "For every person you experimented on. For every life you destroyed. For every family you tore apart."

Hugo was on the defensive now—purely, completely defensive. All his skill, all his experience, all his supposed superiority reduced to desperately trying to survive my assault.

He couldn't even speak anymore. Could barely maintain his guard as I systematically dismantled it.

"For Subject 3811," I said. Another strike. "For Subject 3829 and 3830." Another. "For Mark." Another. "For every single person whose name I don't even know because you erased them from history."

My perfect perception showed me exactly how damaged he was. How close to complete failure his body was getting. How much more punishment he could take before systems started shutting down permanently.

I could end him right now. One more strike in exactly the right place with exactly the right force.

But I wanted him to feel it. Wanted him to understand what he'd done. Wanted every second of pain to be a reminder of every person he'd hurt.

"This is for me," I said finally, my voice dropping to something colder. "For the son you abandoned. For the experiment you created. For all of us who suffered and got tortured because you wanted to play the role of a sick god."

I hit him with everything I had left—a strike that combined perfect technique, perfect positioning, and years of rage into a single devastating blow.

Hugo flew backward, crashing through what remained of his desk and hitting the wall hard enough to crack it.

He slumped to the floor, barely conscious, blood streaming from multiple wounds.

And then I felt it—both abilities reaching their limit simultaneously.

Full Profession Sync collapsed first, all those perfectly synchronized skills suddenly becoming separate again, requiring conscious thought and activation that I no longer had the energy for.

Job Maxer followed immediately after, every skill dropping from level 10 back to whatever they'd been before. The loss of power was like having my legs cut out from under me.

I collapsed to my hands and knees, gasping. My body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. Every muscle screaming. Every nerve ending reporting damage that Pain Resistance had been blocking but was now flooding through without the System to filter it.

My System interface was gone. Completely gone. Twelve hours of being normal. Of being vulnerable.

I was tired. So incredibly tired. Hungry. Dehydrated. My body had burned through every reserve it had to maintain those abilities, and now it was demanding payment.

But it didn't matter.

Hugo was on the ground across the office, his back against the cracked wall, barely breathing. His white lab coat was stained red, his face a mess of blood and swelling. He looked broken. Finished.

He was muttering something—I could see his lips moving even though I couldn't hear the words over my own loud and restless breathing.

But I did want to hear was he wanted to say. Maybe it was curiosity or maybe it was mercy. I just wanted to know what the 'World President' was going to say after he got brutally beaten by his son who only became this strong due to his own experiments. And so, I crawled closer, forcing my exhausted body to move until I could just about hear him.

"…fool…" Hugo's voice was barely a whisper, wet with blood. "…doomed us both… doomed humanity…"

I reached him, kneeling beside his broken form I could hear just slightly better.

"You…always were… a failure…" he continued, his eyes unfocused. "…always… will be…"

Even now. Even defeated and dying, he couldn't stop. Couldn't acknowledge what I'd done. Couldn't see me as anything other than his disappointing son. And what was he talking about with his 'humanity's doomed'?

These words weren't want I wanted. Not because I needed validation from him, but more because I wanted to hear him suffer…it sounds sadistic now that I'm admitting it, but regardless that's the satisfaction that I wanted.

I felt Anthony's hand on my shoulder, helping me up. Strong, steady—my bodyguard had recovered enough to function again. He couldn't intervene the fight, but atleast he could help me stand up slowly.

"Boss," he said quietly. "It's over. You won."

I nodded, unable to form words. Just letting Anthony support my weight as we stood over Hugo's broken body.

I'd won. Gotten my revenge. Defeated the World President. Stopped the man who'd orchestrated so much suffering.

All that was left now was to get Samuel and his military personnel to carry Hugo's body. With that he can be taken to an international court and it shouldn't take long before he gets declared guilty. Our coalition wins and I go back to the girls living with them peacefully.

It was over.

And then I heard it.

A gunshot.

Sharp and clear, cutting through the post-battle exhaustion.

Not from Anthony's weapon—his gun was on the floor after Hugo beat him and it wasn't from Hugo—he didn't have one.

It was someone else.

My System was offline. No Instinct to warn me. No Observation to track the trajectory. No enhanced awareness to identify the threat.

Just a gunshot, somewhere in the office.

And the last thing I saw my blood splatter across the peripherals of my vision.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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