Not physically. Not visually. But fundamentally, on a level deeper than sight or sensation.
Every skill I possessed—every technique, every ability, every fragment of knowledge from dozens of jobs—stopped being separate tools I had to consciously activate. They became extensions of myself. Parts of my body as natural as breathing.
I didn't think about moving efficiently anymore. I just moved, and my body executed with perfect combat efficiency, positioning optimized without conscious thought.
I didn't activate reflexes or observation. My eyes simply saw everything—Hugo's micro-expressions, the subtle weight shifts that telegraphed his intentions, the environmental factors I could exploit.
I didn't call upon striking techniques. My hands simply knew how to hit, where to hit, when to hit.
Full Profession Sync truly felt amazing to use.Though I knew that I would lose my System for the next 12 hours after using this ability and if the fight wasn't done by then…I would be dead.
But for now, every job, every skill, every capability were flowing together into something greater than the sum of its parts.
Hugo's eyes widened slightly—the first genuine surprise I'd seen from him. Maybe he also had skills to analyze my body or maybe he felt himself in danger with a skill similar to Instinct. Either way there was a moment where he tried to take a step back.
Then I attacked not letting him even finish his step fully.
My footwork carried me forward in explosive bursts, creating angles faster than Hugo could fully track. My strikes came from positions that shouldn't have been possible, my body flowing between stances with liquid grace.
A combination—jab, cross, hook, uppercut—each one flowing into the next without conscious direction. Hugo blocked the first three, but the fourth caught his chin. His head snapped back.
I didn't stop. Pressed forward with aggressive precision, mixing strikes and grappling attempts in ways that forced him to constantly adjust. Every time he tried to create distance, my movement efficiency closed it. Every time he attempted a counter, my defensive positioning neutralized it before it could land clean.
For the first time since this fight began, Hugo was on the defensive.
I caught his wrist during a strike attempt, redirected his momentum, and used his own force to throw him. He rolled with it professionally, coming up in a crouch, but I was already there. My knee drove toward his head.
He blocked with both arms, but I could tell that the impact solid enough to hurt even through his guard.
We separated, circling. Hugo's breathing had increased—not labored, but no longer the casual calm he'd maintained before. Even with whatever endurance skill he likely had, he was starting to feel the damage and he was actually getting tired.
"Full integration," he said, studying me with new intensity. "You've synchronized every job simultaneously. That's… that shouldn't be possible. At least not for someone who's never had a job or skill. You…you don't even have a frame of reference to know what this feels like. The cognitive load alone—"
I didn't let him finish. Attacked again, this time mixing techniques in ways that defied traditional combat logic. A boxer's footwork combined with a grappler's entry. A soldier's tactical positioning merged with a firefighter's environmental awareness.
Hugo adapted, but slower now. I was pushing him harder than anyone probably had in years.
My fist caught his ribs—the same spot I'd hit earlier. He grunted, genuine pain flickering across his features. It's clear that unlike me, he didn't have a skill like Pain Resistance. Though, that much was always obvious. As if a coward like him would ever hurt himself to gain anything in life.
I followed up immediately, transitioning into a grapple. My body knew how to control the clinch, how to off-balance him, how to create opportunities for strikes or takedowns.
Hugo broke free with a technique I didn't recognize—some exotic martial art I'd never encountered. But I adapted mid-flow, my combat instincts reading the pattern and adjusting.
We traded positions across the office again, but this time I was winning. Every exchange left Hugo more damaged, more pressed, more forced to actually work for survival.
Then something shifted.
Hugo's movements changed. Not slower—smoother. Like he'd been fighting with weights on and suddenly removed them.
His counter caught me in the solar plexus with devastating force. I stumbled back, and suddenly we were even again.
His attacks came with new precision, new integration. Like he'd accessed something similar to what I was using.
Of course. He had Jobmaster too. He'd had it longer. Whatever emergency abilities I possessed, he probably had equivalents. I had to hope that his weren't better, but he definitely had some abilities up his sleeve in case of emergencies.
We collided in the center of the office, trading blows too fast for normal perception. My enhanced awareness tracked everything—his positioning, his intent, the micro-adjustments in his stance—but he was tracking mine just as well.
Neither of us dominated now. We were matched, both operating at levels beyond what we'd shown before.
A strike from me. A counter from him. A grapple attempt. A reversal. Movement so fluid and precise it looked choreographed, but every action was genuine combat, genuine intent to destroy the other.
I caught glimpses of Anthony against the wall, still conscious, watching with wide eyes. Not entering. Not able to enter. The fight had evolved beyond his ability to participate—every opening was an illusion, every apparent gap a trap, every moment of seeming vulnerability actually perfectly defended. Even if he started shooting, it would likely amount to nothing in this scenario.
Hugo was simply that impressive. I hated admitting it, but he was. He had the same years of experience with the Jobmaster title, but he had a better environment and support to train himself in.
Despite that…I was improving faster.
Every exchange taught me something new. Every technique he used became data I processed and adapted to. My combat evolution was happening in real-time, each second making me more efficient, more dangerous, more complete.
Hugo noticed. I could see it in his eyes—not fear exactly, but acknowledgment. Recognition that the student might actually surpass the teacher given enough time.
"Remarkable," he said during a brief separation, both of us breathing harder now, though I was mostly doing it out of reflex than actually feeling super tired. Blood on both our faces from various impacts. "You're adapting faster than I thought possible. Using the Jobmaster title instinctively rather than mechanically. I genuinely didn't expect this level of integration."
"Shut up and fight," I said, already moving forward again. Thɪs chapter is updated by NovelHub(.)net
Our hands met in a grapple, both of us fighting for position. His strength matched mine—probably using his own muscle enhancement skills. We strained against each other, neither gaining advantage.
Then I shifted tactics mid-grapple, using his resistance against him. Redirected his force while simultaneously striking with my knee. He blocked but had to release the grapple to do it.
I used the opening to land a solid combination—three strikes that all connected clean. Hugo's head rocked back, blood streaming from his nose.
But he recovered instantly, his own counter catching me across the temple. My vision blurred momentarily before clearing.
We separated again, circling. Both damaged now. Both pushed beyond casual effort into genuine combat intensity.
And I felt it—the first warning. Full Profession Sync couldn't last forever. Eventually my System would need recovery time. Twelve hours without access to any jobs, any skills, any System functionality.
Against Hugo, that would be a death sentence.
I had to end this fast. Had to push harder, fight smarter, find the edge that would let me finish this before my advantage disappeared.
"You're slowing down Reynard," Hugo observed, his tone analytical despite the blood on his face. "Don't tell me you're conserving energy. Are you that worried about your sustainability?"
He smiled, that superior expression returning despite his injuries. "You are smart and competent…I'll give you that much. But you're also predictable. You're thinking tactically instead of—"
I punched him in the face mid-sentence.
This wasn't a technique. Nor was it some skill-enhanced strike. In fact it was just a straightforward punch delivered with all my remaining strength.
Hugo's head snapped to the side, more blood spattering across his white lab coat. I definitely saw a tooth fall onto the ground from that punch and in fact it's likely one of the hardest punches I've ever given.
"I wasn't slowing down," I said, stepping forward as he recovered. "I was just thinking."
Hugo wiped blood from his mouth as he tried to feel for any broken bones on his face, his eyes hardening as I approached. "About what?"
I settled into stance, my entire existence being aligned towards a single purpose. My body felt perfect—damaged but functional, tired but capable, pushed beyond limits but still operational.
"About how you're going to die in the next five minutes," I said.
Then I opened my System because I still had one final trump card that I can use.