"Hey everyone, sorry about Chapter Two earlier! I accidentally forgot to translate it when I was moving it over from Microsoft Word. My bad—really sorry for the confusion!"
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That morning, I woke up like usual. I tried to forget the fact that I had been reincarnated, but my heart couldn't let it go.
I put on a thin jacket, stuffed my borrowed books into a worn-out bag. My watch showed 7:45 AM—if I didn't hurry, I'd be late for class.
I walked through the cold streets of New York. Cars passed by, pedestrians busy with their own lives. This world… kept turning, as if it didn't care that the main story was about to begin. That the future held chaos and death.
I arrived at Empire State University—the one thing that kept me sane. Even though I was poor, I had a scholarship here. Ironically, I had never felt truly alive until death took me and woke me up in this world.
That day, the lectures felt… empty. My eyes kept drifting to the window, my mind wandering to the blue screen lingering at the corner of my vision.
As I left the classroom, my shoulder accidentally brushed against someone. A grown man in a black suit and red tie—the kind businessmen usually wore.
"Sorry!" he said shortly, then walked away without waiting for my response.
I glanced at him.
His face was unmistakable to any fan of Iron Man.
"Happy Hogan," I murmured.
I knew that face. Even though his role wasn't that big in the first Iron Man movie, for some reason my friends used to talk about him a lot.
I kept watching as Happy walked away, silently wondering.
Happy looked back at me occasionally.
I froze for a moment before continuing on.
"What is Happy doing at this university?"
I considered several possibilities before giving up, realizing it didn't matter.
For now… my plan was my priority.
Second Class
The footsteps of the professor echoed softly in the empty classroom. The chalkboard covered in scribbles, the faded paint, and the smell of old paper and ink—all of it wrapped the morning in a silence that was almost calming.
I sat in the corner seat, resting my chin on my hand, my blank stare piercing the fogged window. The professor droned on about economic theory—something I couldn't swallow even in my previous life. The words went in one ear and out the other without leaving a trace.
My mind was far away.
Since the first class started, I had been studying the System. I came to one conclusion: this System… was stingy.
Gacha required real money and the prices were insane. One item gacha cost $500, and a skill gacha? $1,500. Even worse, there were cooldowns. Seriously?
I stared at the holographic screen.
$1,000.
Too little. Not enough for gacha. Not enough to survive. I needed more.
This world—this Marvel world—was full of money, power, and blood. There were billionaires like Tony Stark, mafias like Wilson Fisk, and shadowy organizations moving in the dark.
I wasn't a hero. I never dreamed of being one. But I… could become something else.
A hitman.
It was the only logical path I could think of. With Red Hood's strength in my body, with Bullet Time at my fingertips, I could move through the underworld. Do the jobs others couldn't. Silent. Efficient. Deadly.
I could make money—as much as I needed.
In the middle of my daydream, something flew straight at me.
THUD!
I caught it without thinking—a piece of chalk.
The entire class fell silent. Some were shocked, others confused.
The professor snapped out of his surprise.
"Jason!" his deep voice barked. "If you don't want to listen, at least don't daydream in my class!"
I stayed quiet for a moment, then lowered my head and gave a small nod. The professor huffed and went back to writing on the board with a new piece of chalk.
I looked at the chalk in my hand.
That reflex—that was just a glimpse of Jason Todd's power.
I clenched my fist.
The decision was made.
I would enter the dark world—a world that welcomed killers with open arms.
After the lecture, I stepped outside. The midday sun barely peeked through the skyscrapers. Inside me, calm slowly shifted… replaced by the shadow of the decision I could no longer take back.
I… would kill. To survive. To live. To gain power… and to gacha.
A few hours later.
The sky over New York darkened as I stepped out of the campus gates. Black clouds hung low, cold wind swept through narrow city alleys. Car horns, footsteps, the clatter of subways—all blended into one, the symphony of a city that never slept.
I walked along the sidewalk, my mind filled with endless plans. Every choice I made now would shape my future. I fully understood—this world wasn't a place where I could survive by being an ordinary student.
I stopped in front of an old cafe on the corner. Fogged-up windows, a rusty signboard. I stepped inside—not for coffee, but for the free Wi-Fi advertised by the door. In this world, all information started in one place: the internet.
I opened the old laptop I brought from the orphanage. My fingers moved quickly, searching for information on the black market, hitman contracts, and New York's underworld. At first, nothing. Everything was locked behind passwords and encryption.
But I wasn't me if I gave up. Bit by bit, I found cracks. Dark forums, hidden chatrooms, cryptic symbols only understood by those who lived in the shadows.
And finally, I found a name.
The Broker.
Someone unseen but known by assassins and mercenaries. The place where jobs began… and lives ended.
I typed a short message:
"I need work."
Minutes passed without reply. Then the screen blinked.
"Are you willing to get your hands dirty?"
I stared at the text for a long time, then typed:
"I'll do anything."
Silence again. Just the whispers of the cafe's customers in the background. My heart beat steadily, my mind sharp. I knew—once I stepped onto this path, there would be no turning back.
A new message appeared.
"Address. Two hours. Come alone. Bring your weapon."
I closed my eyes for a moment, then slowly stood up.
My first step… had begun.
Night.
This city never truly slept. Even when the night fell and streetlights flickered dimly, something always moved in the shadows. New York's underworld… was an ocean that never stilled.
And tonight, I dove into it.
I stood in front of an old antique shop in Hell's Kitchen. From the outside, it looked abandoned—peeling paint, weathered doors, and no light inside.
But I knew the truth.
This place wasn't just an antique shop. It was one of the doors to the world that never made the news. A world where lives were bought and sold, and money flowed faster than the law.
Behind that door, someone was waiting for me.
The Broker.
I knocked three times. Silence. Then two quick knocks. A pattern I got from The Broker.
The door creaked open. The scent of old wood and stale smoke hit me immediately.
Inside, a man sat behind a wooden desk, wearing a black suit without a tie, dark glasses he never removed even in the dim light. His face was calm, but his eyes—even unseen—felt like they pierced through my chest.
"I don't know you," he said in a low, flat voice. "And I don't like strangers."
I said nothing. I placed a silver bullet on his desk—one from my Silverballer.
Then I spoke softly, "I'm not here to kiss up. I'm here to work."
Silence.
Then he chuckled—not warmly, but with cold calculation.
"I like your attitude."
He opened a drawer and pulled out an old tablet. The screen showed a photo—a fat man with a mustache, expensive clothes, and gold rings on every finger.
Target Name: Benny Russo
Task: Silent elimination. No traces.
Reward: $15,000 (cash).
"He betrayed someone you don't want to know," The Broker said. "Now he's a thorn. Remove him. Any way you like."
I took the tablet and tucked it into my jacket. No questions. No hesitation.
I knew—this would be my first blood.
The rain still fell as I crouched in the shadow of a building, my eyes fixed on a luxury apartment that wasn't too big. Streetlights glowed softly on puddles, reflections trembling under the cold night wind. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with icy air, then exhaled silently.
I was no longer Jason. Tonight, I was Red Hood.
I tightened the black gloves on my fingers. No traces. No fingerprints. Every tiny detail could mean life or death.
I wore all black: a lightweight jacket, tactical pants with no excess ornaments, and soundless running shoes I obtained from the item gacha. Beneath the fabric, two Silverballers gleamed coldly—like the fangs of a predator.
For now, I only wore a black cap and a simple mask to cover my face. Enough to blur my identity. Enough to be anyone and no one at once.
The system in the corner of my vision displayed the data:
Target: Benny Russo
Location: Apartment, 5th floor, Room 506
Status: Guarded
The screen had appeared the moment I accepted the contract.
I checked my gear one last time. Magazines, a small knife strapped to my ankle, a silent-mode watch. Nothing missing. Nothing excessive.
I moved silently into the building's corridors. Every step measured. Every breath controlled. I couldn't afford nerves. I couldn't afford doubt.
Emergency door. Narrow stairwell creaking softly. I climbed the steps without a sound, my heartbeat steady thanks to the instant combat training embedded by the system.
Fifth floor.
I stopped in the shadows of the fifth-floor hallway. The guards' footsteps were heavy, lazy. Four men in front of the target's apartment. Big bodies, black suits, vacant stares from too many years in the dirt.
"Did he hire a whole floor of protection?"
My mind spun. No way in without conflict. No time to wait for weakness.
I exhaled slowly.
I moved.
My steps were silent, nearly invisible. With the stealth granted by Red Hood's template, I crept to the side of the hallway.
One guard turned, hearing the soft creak I deliberately made with a bathroom door.
They were trained—but still human.
He stepped closer, pistol at his side. Hesitant. He touched the door handle, pushing it open while scanning the room.
That was his mistake.
I emerged from the darkness like a nightmare. My knife flashed—cutting his throat in one smooth motion.
Blood poured silently. His eyes went wide. I caught his body before it hit the ground, lowering him quietly.
One down.
I moved again. Deep breath. Every step, every breath, a perfect silence. My body felt light… like the shadow itself.
The second guard heard something and turned. Too late. I pounced, slamming him into the wall. My elbow crushed his throat, knee slammed his gut, one silenced shot from the Silverballer pierced his temple.
Two down.
A gunshot rang out. The third guard raised his weapon toward me.
Bullet Time—activated.
The world slowed.
I sidestepped, the bullet crawling through the air. My Silverballer lifted. One shot. Then another.
Both bullets hit—chest and skull. His body collapsed before he could react.
Three down.
The fourth tried to run. His breath ragged, his face pale with terror. But I didn't give him the chance. One shot to the knee dropped him, his scream cut off by my second bullet—right in the back of his skull.
Four down.
I stood in the hallway, breathing steady. Blood stained the floor. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. The world slowly returned to normal.
I stepped in front of the target's apartment door. No alarms. No witnesses.
And tonight—no survivors.
I took a slow breath. My fingers reached for the doorknob.
Locked.
I shot the lock with the Silverballer and gently pushed the door open.
The door swung fully. Inside, the man sat in a chair, gazing at the window—at the city lights beyond. He turned slightly.
I stepped forward, gun raised to his head.
"I knew this day would come... but I didn't think it'd be so soon," he muttered.
"Try to bribe me and I'll put a hole in your skull," I said coldly. I hated bribes. I was someone who had suffered because of corruption.
He exhaled. His voice small.
"What's your name?"
I paused.
"Red Hood," I answered.
I pulled the trigger.
Two shots. One to the chest. One to the head. No sound. No screams.
Mission complete.
I stood still, watching the result of my work. Then I moved quickly: checking his pockets, erasing footsteps, ensuring no cameras or witnesses. All clean.
I left like a shadow. As silently as I had arrived.
That night, I left my first blood in this city. No name. No face.