The bathroom steamed with silence.
Hot water ran down Aiden's frame, washing off the blood, sweat, and grime like it could erase memory. The stinging warmth over his grazed wound burned like hell. He didn't flinch.
He'd felt worse.
He stepped out, wiped the mirror, and stared at himself.
No scars.
None.
His chest, arms, stomach — clean. Smooth. Young.
Fresh canvas.
And he hated it.
He touched the skin above his ribs — the place where, in the old world, a jagged shrapnel scar used to run like a crooked smile. Gone now. So were the bullet holes across his shoulder, the knife wound near his hip, the slash from a demon's claw just above his collarbone.
All gone.
"It's like I never lived at all."
[System Notification]
▸ High God of Youthful Flesh has donated 800 Celestial Coins.▸ "ABS LIKE MARBLE. YES."▸ The Pale Prince of Aesthetics applauds your smooth regeneration.▸ The Goddess of Battle Scars scoffs in disgust.▸ Smile Points +42 (for symmetry)
▸ System Remark: Sorry for the clean slate. Some gods have weird taste.▸ Also… your old scars were kinda badass.
He dried off, grabbed the medkit, and sat on the closed toilet lid. No hospitals. No clinics. No whining.
He took out a bent needle, sterilized it with flame, bit down on a rag, and began to stitch.
The wire pierced flesh.
The pain? Blinding.
But his hands didn't tremble.
One loop. One pull. Tighten. Repeat.
Every knot was a reminder: you're not new. You're rebuilt.
When it was done, he wrapped the wound tight and sighed.
"Good as temporary."
Dressed in an old black tee and gray lowers, Aiden stepped out.
The shirt barely fit. Clung tight at the chest. The sleeves strained. The hem barely reached his belt. The lowers? He might as well have been in a compression suit. A casual stretch and the thigh seam gave a soft pop.
He looked down at the tear. Then up at the ceiling.
"Fucking puberty 2.0."
[System Notification]
▸ You have grown 2.6 cm in the past 24 hours.▸ Muscle Density increased by 17.4% (Stat Realignment)▸ The Seamstress Goddess weeps for your wardrobe.▸ A Merchant God offers a Starter Pack: "Clothes that Won't Rip When You Blink" – 500 Celestial Coins
▸ System Remark: Lookin' tight, champ. Literally.▸ Also, put on some damn pants that fit.
He ignored it and sat on his bed, cracked fingers hovering over the lootbox icon on his system interface.
The chest glowed. Shimmered. The classic luck rates glared back at him:
🟨 Rare: 65%
🟪 Epic: 25%
🟥 Legendary: 9%
🟦 Mythical: 1%
🖤 ???: <0.1%
"Here goes nothing."
He tapped Open.
The chest groaned.
A surge of silver light burst up.
And then—
[Lootbox Opened!]
▸ You have obtained:
▸ [Reinforced Combat Boots – Rare]
Impact absorption, steel toes, silent movement bonus.
▸ [Hunter's Mark Band – Epic]
Reveals enemy weak points for 3 seconds after successful hit. 12s cooldown.
▸ Smile Points +200 (Loot tax from sponsors.)
▸ System Remark: Hey, not bad. Now you can stomp and snipe in style.▸ Reminder: You still look like a roided-up freshman in tight pajamas.
Aiden leaned back on the bed, boots resting on the edge, eyes scanning the glowing band in his hand.
He let out a long breath.
Three years to prepare.
Gods watching. Quests dropping.
Infected crawling back through cracks.
And him?
Just a stitched-up, pissed-off kid with a Glock, no scars, and a war coming.
End of Chapter 12