The city lay behind a sea of silent lights that stretched endlessly beneath the chilly sky, and the night was calm. As I turned, my muscles tensed reflexively at the sight of him, and the wind rustled through my garments with a slight shiver.
His face was partially in shade as he stood a few meters away, just out of the faint streetlamp's reach. Seeing him here, on this bridge—this location of endings—had an unsettling quality. It was impossible to determine whether he was amused or dead serious because of the same unreadable expression on his face.
My stance remained neutral, but my mind raced. Why now? Why here?
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out steady, calm.
Mark took a slow step forward, hands in his pockets. "I told you, didn't I? That I'd find you."
I stayed silent, watching him closely. There was something off about this—something deliberate. He wasn't here by coincidence.
He must have noticed the way my posture subtly shifted, because he exhaled, shaking his head. "Relax, Reynard. If you don't trust me, Scan me."
My eyes narrowed. How does he know I have Scan?
It shouldn't have surprised me—Mark had always been one step ahead. But even knowing that, I couldn't help but wonder: how much did he really know?
Mark saw my hesitation and, almost lazily, pulled up his interface. "Go ahead. See for yourself. I even switched my job to cashier, just for you." A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but there was something tired in his expression. Like he had something to prove.
I activated Scan. The familiar interface shimmered before me, breaking down his information.
Job: Cashier (B-Rank)
Transaction Efficiency (Lv. 4) – Enhances speed and accuracy when processing payments, refunds, and financial exchanges.
Customer Interaction (Lv. 6) – Improves communication skills for engaging with customers and addressing their needs effectively.
Inventory Management (Lv. 4) – Increases ability to track, organize, and restock products efficiently.
Basic Mathematics (Lv. 5) – Strengthens proficiency in calculations, measurements, and numerical problem-solving for everyday tasks.
Not only had he switched jobs, but he'd dropped his previous ones entirely. No combat skills, no deception skills—just the mundane list of abilities one would expect from someone working a register.
"Satisfied?" Mark asked, watching my reaction.
I deactivated the interface and folded my arms. "That depends. Why did you come all this way just to prove a point?"
Mark's expression shifted, something darker flashing in his eyes. "Because we need to talk. And you need to listen."
"You and I... we're not like the others," he started, pacing slightly as if his thoughts were too restless to stay still. "Everyone else is bound by their jobs. They get one job, one set of skills, one life path dictated by this system we're all trapped in. But us? We're different. You can create jobs. I can switch between them. We are the only two people in the world who can do this."
His voice was filled with something raw—an intensity that bordered on obsession.
"And what exactly does that mean to you?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
Mark's lips curled into something almost resembling a grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It means we're the only two that matter."
I frowned. "That's a bold statement."
"Is it?" He scoffed. "Think about it, Reynard. Everyone beneath us—" he gestured vaguely toward the city, "—acts like they're important. Like they control their own destinies. But they don't. They're bound by their system, their jobs, their preordained paths. And those above us? The ones who think they control everything? They don't deserve to sit on that throne."
I exhaled slowly. "You talk like you want to burn the world down."
"No," Mark said, voice eerily soft. "I want us to take it."
A long silence stretched between us. The wind howled through the steel bars of the bridge.
"Join me, Reynard," Mark said. "With our abilities, we don't have to kneel to anyone. We could shape the world however we see fit. No more rules. No more restrictions."
His words were heavy with conviction, laced with something deeper—something I couldn't quite place. Passion. Sadness. Vengeance.
I let out a slow breath, trying to process everything. In all honesty, when I first had gotten Jobmaster (SSS-Rank), I probably would have accepted it, but now...I had people I cared for. I then remembered something more important.
"You tried to kill me."
Mark's brow furrowed slightly.
"Mars. The mission. The failure. That was you, wasn't it?"
He shook his head. "No. That wasn't my call. Someone above the ladder made that decision. I was just a piece in their game."
"Then why didn't you stop it?"
Mark's expression darkened. "Because, at the time, I thought it was necessary."
I clenched my jaw. "And now?"
"Now I know better." His voice was quieter, more solemn. "And if I were really your enemy, why haven't I exposed you?"
"I know who you are," he said. "The Masked Syndicate. The one who shouldn't exist. If I were against you, Reynard, the world would already know. But I haven't said a word. Ask yourself why."
I hated to admit it, but he had a point. If he truly wanted to take me down, he had every opportunity to do so. But that didn't mean I trusted him.
"I don't believe you," I said bluntly.
Mark exhaled through his nose, as if expecting that answer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. "Then don't. But if you ever decide to see the truth, call me."
I chose to not take it immediately, so he set it on the railing between us. "One day, you'll understand, Reynard. The more you learn, the more you'll realize the world isn't what you think it is. And when that day comes, you'll want to join me."
He turned, beginning to walk away, but I wasn't done yet.
"Hold on, one last thing," I called out. "Why don't you have a name?"
Mark slowed to a stop. He didn't turn around, but I saw the faintest tilt of his head-the faintest hint of sadness-as he answered.
"Because if I had a name... that would mean they consider me human."
And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving only the slip of paper fluttering in the wind.