II

We ate, we joked, and we talked. Charlie was always good at filling the silence, keeping the conversation light with stories about his overbearing father, absurd office gossip, and the occasional rant about Level 4s who thought they were better than everyone else.

Between bites of curry, I nodded and laughed at all the right moments. It wasn’t hard—Charlie’s energy was infectious. But just as I thought we’d settle into the usual rhythm, he dropped something unexpected.

“Dad wants to talk to you,” Charlie said, his tone suddenly serious. “Look for him in his office after work.”

I froze mid-bite, the spoon hovering awkwardly near my mouth. “Copy that,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Charlie placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm, almost uncomfortably so, and his bright blue eyes met mine. For a moment, they weren’t the eyes of a friend—they were sharp, cold, calculating.

“I’m your friend, Owen,” Charlie said, his voice low and deliberate.

“Yeah,” I replied cautiously, “you are.”

“Friends do everything for each other, right?”

“As long as you don’t get me killed over it,” I joked, hoping to break the tension.

Charlie laughed and patted my back, his cheerful demeanor snapping back into place as if nothing had happened. “You’re such a joker.”

He reached for his smartwatch. “Here, show me your QR.”

I took out my smartphone and opened my QR code. Charlie aimed the lens on the side of his watch at my screen, tapping a few times as it scanned.

A notification popped up on my phone, and I glanced at my e-wallet. My balance had jumped—an extra zero at the end.

That was nice.

I kept my face neutral, but internally I was already planning to deposit half of it into my bank account before anyone—or anything—could take it back.

Charlie stood up, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “I’ll go first. Enjoy the rest of your meal!”

“Okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

When he was gone, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Confession: I’m a parasite.

It should be pretty obvious by now.

I scraped the last of the curry off my tray, savoring the rich, simulated flavor. Then I disposed of the steel-like tray in the trash bin. As I walked back toward the vending machines, I felt the weight of my new balance burning in my pocket.

Screw it.

I tapped through the menu, scrolling past the usual options until I found something extravagant: sushi. It was the kind I’d seen on social media—delicately arranged rolls with shimmering fish and just the right amount of garnish.

The price? Astronomical.

But I could afford it now, at least for today.

I swiped my phone and watched as 1,200 bytes disappeared from my account. The machine hummed as it prepared my order, and a few seconds later, the tray slid out.

I carried the sushi to a nearby table, ignoring the questioning looks from a few Level 2s. They probably thought I was some upstart trying to look important. Maybe I was.

I popped the first piece into my mouth, letting the flavors melt on my tongue. It was everything the ads promised—fresh, vibrant, perfect.

For once, it didn’t matter that I was just a Level 1.

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By the time I finished eating, it was already 12:43 PM. My break was nearly over, so I grabbed my tray and disposed of it in the bin. I should’ve headed straight back to work. Instead, something—or rather, someone—stopped me before I could make it far.

An arm casually draped itself over my shoulder, and I froze. It was the janitor, the one I’d seen earlier in the cafeteria. I’d assumed he was a Level 1, just like me, but now that I was closer, something felt off.

He had dark gray hair streaked with white, cold eyes that seemed to pierce right through me, and a face lined with a few wrinkles that suggested old age. But it wasn’t his appearance that sent a chill down my spine.

It was his Level display.

[Level 45]

I gulped hard, the sound audible even to me. That was the highest Level I’d ever seen in my entire life. Levels above 20 were rare enough, usually reserved for executives or major players in the Weave. But 45? That was practically mythical.

This person... he couldn’t just be a janitor.

He had to be a player.

“H-how may I help you, good sir?” I stammered, my voice shaky.

I noticed for the first time how eerily empty the hallway was. It had been bustling with people just moments ago, but now it was silent, as if the entire space had been swallowed by a void.

This wasn’t natural. It had to be the work of a SKILL.

I had one too—[Appraisal]—but whatever this janitor was using was far beyond my comprehension.

A SKILL, or Systemized Kinetic Integrated Leveling Logic, was an ability granted by the Weave’s system. The higher your Level, the stronger your SKILL became, allowing superhuman feats that defied logic. SKILLs could enhance physical or mental abilities, manipulate the environment, or even alter the perception of reality itself.

My SKILL, [Appraisal], allowed me heightened observation, which was useful for my job and let me see others’ Levels. It wasn’t a rare SKILL, but it was uncommon for someone like me—a Level 1—to have it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t perfect.

It was rumored that people with higher Levels had access to certain SKILLs that could fake their Level or even manipulate their information entirely. If that were true, the janitor could’ve easily masked his true Level, appearing as someone far lower than he actually was. The fact that he chose not to conceal it anymore was even more terrifying.

“Excellent work,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable weight. “Keep working for the company.”

And then, just like that, he vanished.

One second he was there, his arm around my shoulder, and the next he was gone, leaving no trace.

I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. The hallway slowly returned to normal, people trickling back in as if nothing had happened.

What the hell was that?

I forced myself to walk, blending into the throng of employees returning to their desks. My mind raced, replaying the encounter over and over. Who was that man? Why had he approached me? And more importantly... what did he mean by “excellent work”?

Shaking off the questions for now, I made my way back to my cubicle. I couldn’t afford to lose focus, not with my job on the line. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like this was only the beginning of something much bigger than I could comprehend.

I returned to my cubicle, trying to act as if nothing had happened. The encounter with the janitor lingered in my mind, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Work was my best excuse for ignoring the storm of questions swirling inside me.

Still, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that the janitor might have been Charlie’s dad. I’d never met the man, but the timeline fit perfectly. The thought of being under the scrutiny of the CEO of Works Amway made my stomach churn.

Was I being called out for freeloading off Charlie all this time?

I glanced at the extra bytes Charlie had gifted me earlier. Guilt gnawed at me. Maybe today was the day I’d get fired. That would explain the cryptic warning and terrifying SKILL display.

The fear lit a fire under me. I worked harder than I had in months, typing reports with unprecedented eloquence and using [Appraisal] on every ITEM to squeeze out even the smallest details. Perhaps, in some naive hope, I thought my performance today would somehow redeem me in the eyes of whoever was watching.

But my mind kept wandering back to the janitor.

More specifically, the SKILL he performed. It was terrifying and... magical.

Knowledge about SKILLs was scarce, and what little existed felt suspiciously censored. Most denizens of the Weave had no idea how SKILLs were acquired. In my case, I had simply awakened [Appraisal] one day, seemingly at random. There had been no explanation, no guide, just the sudden awareness of its existence.

People in the Weave often believed in reincarnation. Since this place was as close as anyone would get to an afterlife, there was no need for concepts like Heaven, Elysium, or the Field of Reeds. It was widely believed that the SKILL you awakened was tied to your past life—a lingering echo of who you once were.

If that was true, maybe in my past life, I’d been a parasite too.

The thought wasn’t comforting.

I pushed through the rest of my day, working diligently. When the clock hit 5:00 PM, I saved my progress, closed the Holo-Simulator, and prepared to face whatever awaited me.

I wanted to ask Charlie about the janitor, about his dad, about anything, but he wasn’t in the office.

“Hey, Jasmine,” I asked, leaning over the cubicle divider. Jasmine sat next to Charlie and usually knew what he was up to. “Have you seen Charlie this afternoon?”

She shook her head, barely looking up from her screen. “He didn’t come back after lunch. Weird, right? He never skips.”

My worry deepened. Charlie was the kind of guy who never left without saying goodbye. Something wasn’t adding up, and the gnawing unease I felt since lunch wasn’t going away.

I braced myself, taking a deep breath. Whatever was happening, I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be an ordinary evening.