Cross rubbed his eyes, thinking back to his hastily scribbled outline of how to become overpowered. He’d written it down when he first got to this world, mapping out his steps to becoming the strongest. Step One: Become a Ranker. He’d underlined it about a dozen times in red ink, as if the future him would somehow forget. It wasn’t exactly a novel idea, but it was the only path forward.

The World Ranker Organization, or W.R.O., was the governing body for all Rankers worldwide. Anyone who wanted to dive into Towers, hunt Fiends, or even use their Source powers in public had to be registered with them. Becoming a Ranker wasn’t just about power—it was about legitimacy. Without an official identification card from the W.R.O., he wouldn’t even be allowed near a Tower, let alone inside one. And as for Fiends? Any unlicensed fighting with them was grounds for heavy penalties. Even if you managed to survive, if the W.R.O. caught you fighting a Fiend without their authorization, you were as good as blacklisted.

Cross leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen against his notebook. The thought of challenging Towers and killing Fiends on his own was tempting, but the reality was far harsher. The Towers were unpredictable. Life wasn’t like some game where you could just grind low-level monsters, level up, and become a god. No, even the weakest Towers could kill you. The environments within the Towers were known to change without warning, from scorching deserts to freezing tundras. And Fiends? They were even worse. They were cunning, chaotic creatures, not bound by the same rules of reality that Cross had grown used to. The weakest Fiends could easily bait you into a trap and then tear you apart with their chaos-spawned allies.

Going in unprepared was suicide.

And then there was the matter of his strength—or lack thereof. Cross might have his Heavenly Eyes, but he was still far from ready to take on Towers or Fiends. His body was weak, his control over Source was minimal at best, and without official Ranker training, he’d be a sitting duck. The more he thought about it, the more it became clear: he couldn’t grind in secret and hope to get anywhere. He needed the backing of the W.R.O.

That meant one thing: He had to sign up to become a Ranker.

“Ugh,” Cross groaned, dropping his face into his hands. He really didn’t want to deal with all the bureaucracy, but there was no way around it. Becoming a Ranker wasn’t just about power—it was about the resources that came with it. The W.R.O. controlled access to Towers, Fiends, and all the training and equipment a person could need. Without their stamp of approval, Cross was essentially a nobody with a fancy pair of eyes.

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He sat up, flipping through his notebook. His outline for becoming overpowered was filled with random scribbles and half-baked plans, but becoming a Ranker had always been the centerpiece. It wasn’t that he couldn’t become strong on his own; it was just that the W.R.O. offered too many advantages to pass up. Resources, training, access to Fiends and Towers—all of it was crucial if he wanted to have any chance of reaching his goal.

Cross sighed and grabbed his phone. He quickly searched for the nearest W.R.O. branch, pulling up the details. He was in luck. There was a registration event happening tomorrow. Perfect timing.

He placed the phone down and glanced at the clock on his desk. It was late, and he still hadn’t figured out how he was going to handle Mrs. Cho or the damage to his bathroom, but at least he had a plan now. Tomorrow, he would register with the W.R.O. He’d become an official Ranker, get some much-needed training, and then, with any luck, he’d start earning some real money.

Cross stood and stretched, feeling the weight of the day starting to catch up with him. His thoughts drifted back to the absurd number that had sparked his frustration earlier—one million Fiend Cores. It was still an impossible goal, but at least now he had a path forward. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d reach that number, but he’d figure it out. He always did.

*

Before Cross could think of getting one million Fiend Cores though, he needed to get himself stronger first. Cross wasn't anywhere near Stage One of Body or Domain, and that was becoming more obvious as the hours wore on. His Heavenly Eyes could perceive the Source particles in the air, but even with that incredible power, there was no getting around a simple fact: there just weren’t enough particles in the area to absorb. The dense city air might’ve been filled with the normal hustle and bustle of people and pollution, but when it came to Source, the energy necessary to cultivate, it was almost barren.

It frustrated him, but he understood the limitations. Even the greatest tool in the world was useless if there wasn’t anything for it to manipulate. Sure, his Heavenly Eyes let him absorb Source particles more efficiently than most—so efficiently, in fact, that none of the energy was wasted—but if there was barely any energy to begin with, what was the point?

That brought him back to the crux of the problem: he needed to get into a Tower. Towers were where the real wealth of Source particles was found, thick and abundant in every corner. Cultivating in one of those places, even for a short time, would propel him forward faster than a year of scraping up whatever energy he could find in this city.

And to enter a Tower, he needed to become a Ranker.

Cross grinned to himself. It wasn’t a grin of amusement, but one of determination. He had already decided his path, and nothing would stop him now. He would become a Ranker. But he wasn’t just going to follow the herd like everyone else. Even if the system was designed to funnel people down the same route, he had other plans. There were ways to abuse that system, ways to use the very rules of this world to propel himself into a position of power.

Cross had never been the type to follow the conventional route. Why start now?