Masks, Myths, and Marathon Mistakes

The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the hospital room as I sat on the edge of the bed, stretching my legs for the first time in days. My ribs ached with each breath, the gauze still wrapped tightly around my torso, but the pain had dulled into a background hum. Alexis tapped on her tablet while casting curious glances my way.

"You're clear to go, Mr. Dust," she said, setting the device aside. "Vitals are stable, no signs of internal damage, and, well…" She gestured vaguely at me. "You're officially a walking medical anomaly, so I doubt a few extra steps will kill you."

"Good to know," I said, forcing a smile beneath the fractured remains of my Dust Mask. I adjusted it slightly to cover more of my face. The damage from Logan's punch made the edges jagged, but it still did the job.

"You're keeping the mask, huh?" Alexis asked.

"Helps with breathing," I lied. "Dust particles."

She snorted. "Sure. Or maybe it's because you're famous now."

I froze. "Famous?"

Alexis' eyes widened. "Wait…you haven't seen the news?" She pulled out her tablet, tapped a few times, and then held it up to me.

A news feed flickered to life: "Cipher Captured — Thanks to Mystery Detective 'Mr. Dust'". My masked face dominated the screen, blurred slightly, but the broken edge of the mask was unmistakable. Below the headline were sub-articles:

"Who is Mr. Dust? The Detective Who Brought Cipher Down"

"Fire, Smoke, and Justice — Connections to A-Rank Firefighter Mr. Fox"

"Could 'Mr. Dust' Be Rising Through the Ranks?"

My stomach dropped.

"Great," I muttered, standing. My legs wobbled from disuse, but I steadied myself. "Just what I needed."

"Hey, if you want to avoid fans, maybe don't wear the mask," Alexis suggested.

I gave her a flat look. "Yeah, that's not happening."

She grinned. "Suit yourself. Good luck out there, Detective."

The hospital doors slid open, and sunlight stabbed into my eyes. The city hummed with midday energy — aircars overhead, footsteps on the sidewalks, conversations blending into a distant murmur. My legs felt stiff, muscles protesting the sudden activity after days of inactivity. I forced myself to walk down the steps, focusing on each step to wake up dormant muscles.

Sienna and Camille couldn't pick me up — both trapped at work — so walking it was. My apartment wasn't far, maybe a few kilometers. Good way to warm up.

I tugged the hood of my jacket over my head and started moving.

The streets weren't as familiar as usual. Maybe it was the S-Rank perception, or maybe just paranoia, but everything felt sharper. A flicker of a security camera across the street caught my attention immediately. The scuff marks near the bus stop told me someone had paced there for a while. The faint scent of asphalt mixed with the aroma of street vendors selling skewers nearby.

The more I walked, the more the city shifted into patterns. People moved in predictable clusters — office workers in tight-knit groups, construction crews spread out instinctively to maintain awareness. I could almost anticipate which pedestrian would dodge a pothole or glance at their phone next. It was dizzying.

The stares started two blocks from the hospital.

A teenager whispered to his friend, pointing in my direction. A woman across the street held her phone up, subtly filming me. A man passing by squinted beneath his cap, recognition dawning before he quickly averted his gaze.

My grip tightened on the mask's edge. Mr. Dust. An overnight celebrity. Great.

I quickened my pace, forcing my legs to stretch into a more natural stride. The muscles warmed with each step, loosening from days of stillness. Two more blocks, then three. The whispering faded behind me as I turned down less populated streets.

By the time I reached my apartment complex, I was practically jogging. My legs burned pleasantly, and the stiffness was gone. I glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then ducked inside.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I slumped against it with a sigh.

The mask clattered onto the kitchen counter with a metallic thunk. I ran a hand through my hair and collapsed onto the couch. The system hovered at the edge of my vision, faint and unobtrusive. The Database icon blinked softly, almost inviting me to dig deeper.

Thirty minutes, I promised myself. Just enough to get a sense of its scope.

Database: Open.

The black void from before unfolded before me, crisp lines of text scrolling as the system awaited my query.

Search: Recent geopolitical patterns.

Information flooded in. Trade routes shifting after the Andes Accord. Increased security presence around certain research facilities. Subtle alliances forming between previously hostile nations. 

Thirty minutes passed in what felt like seconds.

I leaned back, rubbing my temples. The Database was a goldmine, but my mind drifted elsewhere. Back to the list of high-level skill users.

Search: Known Level 10 Skill Users.

Access Denied.

Of course. Level 10 skills were practically myths. Skills got exponentially harder to level as they progressed, but this also meant they were exponentially better. Even my Level 9 Endurance Boost was owned by Nathan who would of become pretty famous internationally, if I hadn't used Destroy on him.

Wait.

I did have those Skill Level-Ups.

My heart raced. Was I really going to do this? Level 10 skills were legendary for a reason. And if I wanted to take down the 'World President,' I needed every edge I could get.

Apply Skill Level-Up: Endurance Boost (Lv. 9 → 10).

The interface flashed gold. The text shimmered, then solidified.

Endurance Boost (Lv. 10)

I waited for a massive revelation. An epiphany. Something.

Nothing.

I stood, frowning. Maybe the change was more subtle. My eyes landed on the TV — a massive flatscreen mounted on the wall. I walked over, gripped the sides, and lifted.

The TV floated upward as if it were made of foam. My arms didn't ache. My breath didn't quicken. The familiar strain of holding something heavy never arrived.

In fact, the sensation was so liberating that I couldn't help myself. I darted around the apartment with the TV in my hands like it weighed nothing — sprinting from room to room, twisting through the narrow hallway, and even doing a few laps around the couch just for fun. My legs didn't burn. My breathing didn't hitch. I felt unstoppable.

Lost in the euphoria, I rounded the corner toward the front door…and nearly collided with Camille and Sienna.

They stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. Camille's mouth hung open in shock. Sienna squinted like she couldn't quite process the scene: me, in hospital sweats, carrying a flatscreen TV like it was a throw pillow, sweatless after who-knows-how-long of sprinting.

I skidded to a halt, heart plummeting with sudden embarrassment. My gaze flicked toward the wall clock.

Five hours.

I'd been running around like a lunatic for five hours.

"Uh...hi?" I said, forcing a sheepish smile as I set the TV back onto its stand with exaggerated care.

Camille broke into laughter, her voice bright and disbelieving. "What the hell were you doing, Rey?"

Sienna, on the other hand, tilted her head. "Are you still injured in the head Rey?" she asked, voice full of concern.

I rubbed the back of my neck, heat creeping up my ears. "I was...experimenting. With a new skill. A level 10 one."

Camille's laughter cut off like a record scratch. Her eyes sharpened with sudden focus.

"Level 10?" she echoed.

Sienna made a soft, confused noise. Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

I lunged forward, but Camille caught her with ease, lowering her gently to the floor. We exchanged glances — hers shocked, mine mortified.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Probably should've eased into that news a bit more."

The three of us sat on the couch later, Sienna curled against my side, Camille perched on my other. The TV was back in place, though Camille kept shooting it suspicious glances.

"So," Camille said, breaking the silence. "Level 10 skill, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, sheepish. "Endurance Boost hit Level 10 after I used one of the rewards I got from the Event Quest."

Camille whistled. "That's…insane. Do you know how many Event Quests and/or traumatic events people have to go for something like that?"

Sienna leaned forward, curiosity shining in her eyes. "How many skills do you even have now, Rey?"

I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck. "Uh...somewhere around twenty. Maybe a bit more. Across four jobs."

The room went silent.

Camille's eyebrows shot up, and Sienna's mouth dropped open. They both knew I had the ability to gain more jobs and skills, but hearing the number out loud hit differently. Twenty-plus skills. Four distinct jobs.

I wasn't just versatile — I was the equivalent of four or five specialists crammed into a single person.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. The heightened awareness from my S-Rank detective job strained at the edges of my focus, picking up too many details at once — the faint crack in the coffee table, the subtle shift in Camille's expression, the exact rhythm of Sienna's breathing. My vision blurred slightly. I needed to focus on controlling it.

"Rey?" Sienna asked, voice soft with concern.

I exhaled slowly. "It's just my S-Rank job acting up."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Camille froze mid-blink. Sienna gasped audibly. I realized too late what I'd said.

S-Rank.

Sienna's eyes rolled back, and she crumpled sideways into the cushions.

"Damn," I muttered, lunging to steady her.

Camille's hand covered her mouth as she stared at me, genuinely speechless for once. Her reaction wasn't surprising. If A-Rank professionals were celebrated like celebrities, S-Rank individuals were regarded as living legends. Even Camille, as an A-Rank fashion designer, rarely dared to dream of reaching that pinnacle. Only a handful of S-Rank designers had ever existed — masters who defined eras.

And here I was, sitting on the couch, casually mentioning I'd hit S-Rank on my job like it was just another Tuesday.

The weight of it settled in her gaze. Izzy Einstein. Moe Smith. Sherlock Holmes. Detective whose names were etched into history. I was, technically, part of their ranks now.

Of course, we knew there was a tier even beyond S-Rank. My Jobmaster title was listed as SSS-Rank. But saying that out loud would've been like tossing a grenade into the conversation. I wasn't about to drop that bombshell. Not right now.

Camille finally exhaled, voice shaky. "You're an S-Rank detective."

I gave a weak nod. "Yeah."

Her eyes flicked to Sienna's unconscious form. "I think you broke her brain."

"Yeah," I repeated, guilt churning in my stomach. "I think I broke mine too."

I squeezed her hand gently until she sat up. The panic gradually left her face.

Camille sat up suddenly. "Oh, right — I almost forgot why we came by."

"Why?" I asked.

She grinned, tilting her head. "I'm moving in."

"What?" I blinked.

"You go through my masks like they're disposable," she said, tone playful. "And it's not fair if Sienna gets you all to herself."

I opened my mouth to respond, then paused. "Do you have everything you need for that?"

Camille smirked. "No."

"Then—"

"That's why the apartment's upgrading," she said, eyes twinkling. "To an A-Rank unit."