Tactical Embarrassment

Shinji's POV

It was always unfair.

The moment before I end him, as Andie kneels broken before me, time seems to stretch. Not from my Time Bubble ability, but from something more primal, the sweet, lingering savouring of victory. The culmination of a journey that began long before Voluptaria.

Junior high. My glasses shattering against the bathroom floor. "Sorry, Shinji-kun, I didn't see you there." Kenji's smirk as he walked away, high-fiving Ryo. The teacher who simply said, "Be more careful with your belongings next time." Forty-two classmates who saw. Forty-two who looked away.

That was just the beginning. The lunch hour exclusions, where I'd sit alone while conversation flowed around me like I was invisible. The group projects where I'd be the last chosen, faces falling when I was assigned to their team. The cultural festival where my suggestions were ignored, my contributions minimized.

My parents never understood. "Gaman," my father would say. Endure. Persevere. "This is how boys become men." My mother would straighten my uniform collar, saying, "Focus on your studies. Friends will come later." They never did.

Senior high brought new refinements to the torment. The shoe locker emptied weekly, my indoor shoes vanishing, forcing me to wear outdoor shoes to class, a visible mark of shame. My desk graffitied with names I still remember: otaku, weakling, virgin, loser. Anonymous notes with crude drawings. The school counsellor who suggested I "try harder to fit in" and "be less sensitive."

The worst was the group chat I wasn't supposed to discover, screenshots of my awkward answers in class, zoomed-in unflattering photos, discussions about whether I'd ever been kissed. The time Kenji convinced a girl to express interest, only to laugh in my face when I responded. "Did you really think she'd like someone like you?"

The same forty-two classmates who witnessed. The same forty-two who chose silence.

The teachers noticed but did nothing meaningful. "Boys will be boys," they'd say, or "This will pass when you're older." The subtle message was clear: The problem wasn't the bullying, it was my failure to adapt, to toughen up, to conform.

When Kenji started the "Shinji Surveillance" game, documenting my embarrassing moments for class entertainment, Andie saw. He was there when they poured juice into my backpack. When they changed the name on my assignments to "Shinji-chan" before submitting them. When they created a fake confession letter supposedly from me to Nao-sensei.

Andie had opportunities, dozens, to say something. Do something. One word from him would have changed everything. The others respected him enough that his intervention might have mattered. But he chose to be a spectator, like everyone else.

"Sorry, Shinji, I've got to get to class."

"That's rough, but it'll blow over."

"Have you told a teacher?"

Meaningless platitudes. Empty gestures. The casual indifference of someone who's never experienced true isolation. The worst kind of betrayal, not active cruelty, but the passive neglect of those who could help but choose not to.

No one ever truly helped me.

Junior college. A fresh start, I'd thought. Paradise Heights. New faces, new chances. However, reality proves otherwise. The same forty-seven classmates since Junior High. Then Andie walked in, and I saw how they looked at him. The quiet loner who didn't try to fit in, yet somehow commanded respect. The gyaru queen Miyako stealing glances. The Kimochi sisters keeping their careful distance. Even the delinquents measuring their words around him.

What made him different? We were both outsiders. Both quiet. Both smart. But he was noticed. Respected. Desired. Unfairness.

I was invisible.

When the summoning circles appeared, when divine light washed over our classroom, I knew. This was my reward for enduring. My chance to reshape destiny. When we arrived in the white room, I saw opportunity. I whispered doubts to Kenji and his crew, pushing them forward in the selection line. I planted seeds of overconfidence in the studious boys. I chose near the last remaining few, taking what appeared to be a humble ability, Time Bubble, but I understood its true potential.

Time. The ultimate equalizer.

I've spent my Time Bubbles efficiently. Sixteen hours inside for every ten minutes outside. Planning. Training. Watching. Learning my classmates' weaknesses, understanding their powers, formulating the perfect strategy to claim what should have been mine from the beginning.

The first kill, Akira, was almost disappointing in its simplicity. A Time Bubble, a careful approach, a quick end. But the moment his selection flowed into me, lighting up my nerves like divine fire, I understood my purpose. The power transfer wasn't just ability, it was validation. Recognition of my worthiness.

The studious boys followed. Then the populars and then the delinquents. Each kill refined my technique. Each absorption expanded my capabilities. Each death was justice for a world that had discarded me.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Those who had caused my suffering died first, but even that felt hollow. What I truly wanted was recognition. Acknowledgment. To be seen as I truly am, not as the weak, pathetic Shinji Kato, but as someone worthy of respect. Of fear.

Now I stand over Andie, the final obstacle. The one who could have helped but chose not to. The one who enjoys the attention and affection I was denied. The one who, even now, thinks he's special.

I was chosen, only I know what it means to be powerless. This time, I'll make them understand.

No one saves the weak. The strong choose mercy, or vengeance.

Now I choose.

Andie's POV

I can barely see. Blood trickles into my left eye, and my right is swollen nearly shut. Every breath burns, ribs surely broken. My limbs feel impossibly heavy, disconnected from my will.

Shinji looms over me, his voice distorted as if I'm underwater. "...becoming a god."

[HEALTH: 19%]

A notification I can barely read flickers in my peripheral vision. Nineteen percent. A joke. My body feels like it's at negative fifty with change to spare.

Miyako's face flashes through my mind. Her smile the morning after. Her hand in mine as we watched the sunrise outside the sanctuary. The way her fingers trembled against mine when she placed the half-heart charm around my neck. "Don't make a girl a promise if you know you can't keep it."

The Kimochi sisters, their tentative trust rebuilt after years of distance. Miyuki's rare smile when I explained some obscure game reference. Mochi's quiet determination as she practised her healing arts. Their vulnerability. Their hope.

Hitomi, mapping escape routes with military precision. Airi, her sharp words hiding genuine concern. Hina, organizing everyone with her clipboard and quiet authority. All of them trusting me to return.

I promised.

The metal of Miyako's half-heart charm presses against my chest, warm despite everything. I can't break that promise. I can't leave them to Shinji's mercy; he's already shown there will be none.

Something stirs inside me. Not strength, I have none left. Not hope, it seems foolish now. But will. Sheer, stubborn refusal to let this be the end. The kind of bullheaded determination that makes you finish a crappy game just because you've already sunk twenty hours into it.

Shinji raises his curved blade, darkness writhing around it like living shadow. "Any last words?"

My fingers twitch at my side. Empty. Rurielle's dagger gone, buried by his Reality Manipulation. No weapons left. No tricks. No clever plan.

Except...

Seven's words echo: "This alloy represents something of what you are, Andie Ryuu. A bridge between opposing forces that should never coexist yet somehow do."

I didn't understand then. Maybe I do now.

I lunge forward, a desperate, final charge. Not strategy, just pure refusal to die on my knees. My muscles scream, joints grinding against each other like rusty gears in an abandoned factory. Each step feels like wading through concrete.

Shinji laughs, the sound cold and mocking. "Pathetic. Even at the end, you—"

"Inventory: Katana!" I roar, my voice raw and broken.

The world shifts. Space ripples in front of me as I reach into the void, fingers closing around a hilt that wasn't there a moment ago. A blade materializes, curved, single-edged, seemingly simple. But as it fully manifests, the metal catches light impossibly, simultaneously reflecting brilliance and absorbing darkness. Silver-Celestium-Umbranium, three elements that should never coexist, forged into perfect balance.

Shinji's eyes widen, his taunt dying mid-sentence. His Morphic Armour ripples, trying to adapt to this new threat.

Too late.

I bring the katana down in a desperate arc. My form is terrible, my strength nearly gone, but the blade doesn't need either. It slices through Shinji's armour like it isn't there, cutting a shallow line across his chest. Black ichor wells up from his Morphic Armour, steaming where the tri-alloy metal touched it.

"What—" Shinji stumbles back, genuine shock replacing arrogance. "That's impossible! My armour adapted to the umbranium!"

I don't waste breath explaining. The katana hums in my hand, vibrating with contradictory energies that somehow strengthen rather than destroy each other. With each movement, it feels lighter, more an extension of myself than a separate object.

[BLADE HARMONY ACTIVATED]

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The familiar calm settles over me, synchronizing my movements with the weapon. Every motion becomes efficient, deliberate, despite my injuries. I press forward, each step more stable than the last.

Shinji snarls, dropping all pretence of control. "TIME BUBBLE!"

The world outside our immediate area slows to a crawl. Inside this pocket of accelerated time, Shinji moves with blinding speed, his blade whistling through the air in complex patterns designed to overwhelm. His technique is flawless, each strike targeting a vulnerable joint, each thrust aimed at a vital organ. The culmination of multiple stolen combat skills working in perfect harmony.

The katana meets each strike, guiding my movements more than I guide it. Silver negates his magic. Celestium counters his shadow-infused attacks. Umbranium disrupts his adaptive defences. Each clash sends vibrations up my arm, but I hold firm.

"You can't beat me with a single weapon!" Shinji roars, frustration evident. "I've mastered every combat form, absorbed the skills of fourteen students!"

He launches into a blistering combination, a feint high followed by a low sweep, transitioning seamlessly into an overhead slash. I barely parry the first two, the third slicing across my forearm.

[HEALTH REDUCED: 17%]

Fresh blood flows from the wound, but I grit my teeth and maintain my stance. The katana seems to grow lighter with each exchange, compensating for my failing strength.

"REALITY MANIPULATION!" Shinji howls.

The ground beneath me liquefies, then solidifies in jagged spikes. The air thickens, resisting my movements. Gravity intensifies, pulling at my limbs. Trees around us bend at impossible angles, branches reaching like grasping hands.

But the katana cuts through it all, not just physical matter, but the fabric of his altered reality itself. Each swing restores normalcy in its wake, a bubble of true physics expanding from the blade.

Shinji's confidence crumbles visibly. Fear flashes across his face, perhaps the first time he's felt it since arriving in Voluptaria. He retreats, putting distance between us, then slams his palms together.

"ELEMENTAL SYNTHESIS!"

The air around him churns as opposing elements combine, fire and water, earth and air, creating unnatural hybrid forces. A wave of flaming ice shards hurtles toward me. Stone spears wrapped in lightning follow. The clearing becomes a maelstrom of elemental chaos.

I plant my feet; katana held before me. The tri-alloy blade slices through the elemental barrage, dissolving each attack into harmless energy that dissipates against my skin. The metal glows with increasing intensity, absorbing and neutralizing the magical energies Shinji unleashes.

"MORPHIC ARMOUR: MAXIMUM DENSITY!" Shinji shouts, desperation creeping into his voice.

His armour thickens visibly, becoming a carapace of overlapping plates. The black ichor-like substance flows and hardens, creating a shell that transforms him into something barely human. His movements slow under the weight, but when he steps forward, the ground cracks beneath his feet.

"You can't penetrate this," he pants, confidence returning. "Not even your fancy sword can cut through armour at maximum density."

I say nothing, conserving what little energy remains. Instead, I shift the katana to a high guard position, both hands gripping the hilt. The blade pulses with energy, responding to my intent.

Shinji charges, now relying on brute force rather than technique. His armour-enhanced fist crashes toward my head with enough force to shatter stone.

I step inside his guard, the katana slicing upward in a perfect arc. For a moment, there's resistance, the blade meeting his maximally dense armour, then the tri-alloy metal simply passes through, as if the ultimate defence is no more substantial than mist.

A deep gash opens across Shinji's chest, the armour parting like water. He staggers backward; disbelief etched on his features.

"FLOW STATE COMBAT!" he shrieks, abandoning defence for offense.

His movements become inhumanly precise, finding the smallest openings in my guard. His blade slips past, opening new wounds across my shoulder, thigh, side. Each strike is perfectly calculated, targeting nerve clusters, major blood vessels, vulnerable joints.

[HEALTH REDUCED: 14%]

Blood flows freely, my vision narrowing further. Each breath comes harder than the last. But I don't stop. Can't stop. The katana responds to my weakening grip, becoming almost weightless in my hands, guiding my parries when my own reflexes fail.

"You can't win!" Shinji screams, desperation edging his voice. "I've accounted for every possibility! I've planned for everything!"

He unleashes a storm of shadow blades from his palms, spectral weapons that phase through physical matter. I instinctively raise the katana, and the umbranium component flares. The shadow blades dissolve upon contact, their energy feeding into the tri-alloy rather than harming me.

"BATTLE OMNISCIENCE!" Shinji's eyes glow with unnatural light as he perceives every variable in the battlefield. "I can see your every move before you make it!"

He adjusts his stance, anticipating my attack pattern. When I feint left, he's already moving to counter my true strike from the right. When I shift my weight for a low slash, he's prepared to leap over it.

But the katana doesn't follow conventional patterns. Its movements transcend predictability, guided by the contradictory energies within it. When I strike high, the blade curves mid-swing. When I thrust forward, the metal seems to extend beyond its physical length.

Shinji's precognition can't account for a weapon that defies the laws of physics. Turns out even Omniscience has blind spots, just like those pesky rear-view mirrors.

The katana flashes, catching his blade mid-strike. The metals meet, and his shatters, fragments scattering across the clearing.

Shinji stares at his broken weapon, disbelief etched into his features. His Morphic Armour flickers, struggling to maintain cohesion as the tri-alloy's contradictory energies disrupt its adaptation process.

"PROBABILITY NUDGE!" he cries, trying to alter fate itself. "REALITY MANIPULATION! TIME BUBBLE!"

He throws everything at me, every stolen power, every acquired skill. The world around us becomes a nightmare kaleidoscope of warped physics and temporal distortions. Trees age a century in seconds then revert to saplings. The ground becomes liquid, then gas, then solid again. Gravity reverses, then multiplies tenfold.

Through it all, the katana cuts a path of normalcy, a singular point of cosmic balance in a sea of chaos.

"You made one mistake," I gasp, each word like fire in my lungs. "You thought this was about power. About who has the most selections, the strongest abilities."

I drive forward, the katana leading. Shinji raises his arms, Reality Manipulation creating barriers of solidified air, Elemental Mastery conjuring walls of flame.

The blade cuts through it all.

"But it was never about what we were given," I continue, voice stronger despite the pain. "It was about what we earned. What we built."

Shinji's eyes dart wildly, his composure completely shattered. The confident killer replaced by a terrified boy facing something he can't control. In desperation, he activates every defensive ability simultaneously, Morphic Armour, Reality Manipulation, Time Bubble, Shadow Melding, trying to become untouchable.

One final lunge. The katana slides through Shinji's chest as if his defences aren't even there. His eyes widen, mouth working silently as black ichor from his failing Morphic Armour spills around the blade.

"It was about who we chose to become."

Shinji falls to his knees, armour dissolving into mist. For a moment, I see him as he was before, the quiet, bullied boy at the back of the class. The one who flinched at loud noises. The one who sat alone at lunch.

"It's still not fair," he whispers, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes meet mine, and I see something I never expected, not just hatred or fear, but a question. Could things have been different? If I had stepped in? If anyone had?

I withdraw the blade, its surface unmarred by the black ichor. "Strength isn't about power. It's about what you do with it. You might have thought of everything... Every calculation, every permutation, but in this world, one plus one may not equal two."

Shinji's eyes dim as understanding floods them. A final, rattling breath escapes his lips, and he slumps forward. The forest falls silent, as if holding its breath.

I stand over him, katana trembling in my grip. Victory feels hollow. So many dead. So much lost. And for what? This isn't the satisfying final boss fight where triumphant music plays and credits roll. This is just... sad.

Then pain explodes through my body.

It starts at my fingertips, where they grip the katana's hilt. A burning sensation that rapidly spreads up my arms, across my chest, consuming my entire being. I drop to my knees, the blade clattering beside me.

System notifications cascade across my vision, too fast to read, blurring into a stream of light and text:

[SYSTEM NOTICE: Target "Shinji" eliminated.]

[UNIQUE EFFECT TRIGGERED: Skill Transference]

[Acquiring 61 Selections (including all stolen abilities) ...]

[WARNING: Acquiring in process... Please do not sleep, standby, or die.]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: TIME BUBBLE]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: MIND OVER MATTER]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: REALITY MANIPULATION]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: ELEMENTAL MASTERY]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: SHADOW MELDING]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: SUBJUGATION]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: MESMERIZE]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: PROBABILITY NUDGE]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: SONIC PROJECTION]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: MEMORY MANIPULATION]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: FLOW STATE COMBAT]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: BATTLE OMNISCIENCE]

[SKILL ACQUIRED: BLOOD FURY]

[EQUIPMENT ACQUIRED: MORPHIC ARMOUR]

The notifications continue, flooding my consciousness. Each acquisition sends fresh agony through my nervous system. This isn't the gentle integration of a divine selection, it's an invasion, a hostile takeover of my very being.

My wounds, already severe, begin to bleed more profusely. Blood pools beneath me as my body struggles to process the influx of new abilities and powers. I try to access my inventory for healing items, but the interface is scrambled, commands refusing to execute.

[WARNING: SYSTEM INSTABILITY DETECTED]

[FOREIGN SELECTION INTEGRATION IN PROGRESS]

[CRITICAL OVERLOAD IMMINENT]

I collapse onto my side, body convulsing. It feels like being torn apart from the inside, cells rejecting and accepting the foreign abilities simultaneously. Every stolen selection Shinji acquired is now flooding into me, powers taken through violence, gained too quickly for my system to process.

Through the haze of agony, more notifications appear:

[JOB EVOLUTION DETECTED]

[ANALYSING COMPATIBLE CONFIGURATIONS...]

[SAMURAI LEVEL 18 → EVOLUTION AVAILABLE]

[EVOLUTION PATH SELECTED: RŌNIN]

[JOB EVOLUTION COMPLETE: SAMURAI → RŌNIN LEVEL 30]

[RŌNIN: A masterless blade-saint who walks the boundary between society and wilderness, embodying the perfect fusion of disciplined technique and untamed survival instinct. Neither truly alone nor bound by convention, the Rōnin brings deadly precision from shadows that even darkness fears.]

[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: SHADOW IAIDO - Temporarily phase into a spirit-realm for up to 30 seconds, becoming undetectable and leaving afterimages that confuse enemies. Upon re-emerging, deliver a dimension-cutting strike that deals 500% damage (guaranteed crit), bypasses 100% of target's defences, and paralyses for 5 seconds. Usable once per hour. Focus of the Forgotten/Last Stand: When the only conscious party member, gain +200% all stats for 30 seconds.]

[PASSIVE EFFECT: Adaptive Combat Stance: Gain +150% to all stats when alone OR +75% when with allies; all sword attacks +100%; Meditation regenerates 8% HP/MP per minute (even while moving); immune to fear, charm, and social manipulation; each consecutive strike against the same target increases damage by 12% (max +60%); detect hostile intent and weaknesses within 40m; parries have 55% chance to counter; can craft weapons from natural materials that bypass 30% physical defence; immune to morale penalties from isolation or betrayal.]

The evolution should feel like an achievement, a moment of growth. Instead, it's agony. My entire skill tree reshaping, configurations I've mastered suddenly shifting into unfamiliar patterns. The foundation of my combat abilities crumbling and rebuilding in alien configurations.

I can't move. Can't think. My identity seems to dissolve under the assault of foreign abilities, each carrying echoes of its original owner. Their deaths, their pain, their stolen potential all pouring into me, overwhelming my system.

The system continues its merciless integration:

[WARNING: CRITICAL ATTRIBUTE COLLISION]

[SELECTION CONFLICTS DETECTED]

[EMERGENCY RECONFIGURATION IN PROGRESS]

[FOREIGN SELECTION ELEMENTS OVERWRITING EXISTING PARAMETERS]

My vision fractures, reality splitting into overlapping images. I see Miyako waiting at the Golden Hearth, pacing anxiously. The Kimochi sisters sitting together, hands clasped. Airi arguing with Hitomi about search parties. Noel consulting with scouts. Ruri preparing to depart.

All counting on me to return.

All about to be disappointed.

I try to focus, to maintain some core of self against the tide of foreign abilities. But it's like trying to hold sand in a hurricane. Each stolen selection carries fragments of its original owner, forcing its way into my consciousness, rewriting, overriding, reshaping.

[ERROR: ATTRIBUTE OVERFLOW]

[ATTEMPTING POWER REDISTRIBUTION]

[CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS FAILING]

[SYSTEM INTEGRITY COMPROMISED]

Blood leaks from my eyes, my nose, my ears. My body can't contain the power being forced into it. Selections were meant to be granted gradually, by divine choice, tailored to the recipient. This violent transfer, this theft of theft, violates the natural order.

I try to reach for the katana, hoping its balanced nature might stabilize me, but my muscles won't respond. My vision tunnels, darkness encroaching from all sides.

I failed. Failed to stop Shinji before he killed so many. Failed to protect my classmates. Failed to keep my promise to return.

My last coherent thoughts drift to those waiting for me. Those I've let down.

"I am sorry... I am unable to fulfill my promise... Noel... Ruri... Mochi... Miyuki... Ruri...elle... Mi...ya...ko..."

The system notifications continue their relentless cascade, but I can no longer read them. Reality and hallucination blend as consciousness slips away. In the distance, or perhaps only in my mind, I hear a sharp metallic crack, not blade or bone, but something more intimate, more irretrievable.

The world falls away, darkness rushing in to claim me.

My last sensation is of falling, endlessly falling, into an abyss with no bottom.

Everything faded to nothing.