"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my weapon still trained on Hugo's chest. My mind was racing, trying to reconcile the man who'd abandoned his family with the figure standing calmly in this laboratory during a military raid.

Hugo chuckled—a dry, clinical sound that held no real humor. "Oh, Reynard. You already know the answer to that question. Don't insult both our intelligences by pretending otherwise."

Deduction was working overtime, piecing together fragments. Hugo Vale. Lead researcher for NovaCore. Present in this laboratory during the World President's operations. Not evacuating despite the raid.

But I didn't want to believe the conclusion forming in my mind.

"You're working for them," I said, my finger tightening on the trigger. "The World President. You're one of their researchers."

"Am I?" Hugo asked, tilting his head slightly. That analytical expression I remembered from childhood, the one he'd wear when watching me struggle with homework or fail at something he thought should be easy.

I stepped forward, Anthony moving with me, covering angles. "This is going to be easy, Hugo. Tell me the identity of the World President, and maybe— just maybe—I'll let you walk out of here alive."

Hugo's expression shifted then. Not fear. Not concern.

Disappointment.

Deep, profound disappointment that made his face harden and his eyes go cold. For a moment, my focus broke. It was like staring into the abyss.

"Reynard," he said, his voice dropping into something more serious. More dangerous. "Even with your job title—even with everything you've accomplished—you're still as weak and useless as you were when you were a child."

The words hit harder than they should have. Old wounds, never fully healed.

"That's rich coming from the man who ran away from his family to play mad scientist," I shot back.

"Mad scientist," Hugo repeated, tasting the words. "Is that what you think I am? How… pedestrian…or rather savage maybe even primal of you." He took a step forward, completely unconcerned about the weapons pointed at him. "Let me clarify something for you, son. I didn't run away. I transcended. I evolved beyond the limitations of ordinary existence and ordinary morality. I saw what humanity could become and decided to make it happen. I am no different from the heroes of fairytales and the greatest legends to ever exist. Every person before me had helped humanity push forwards just like I am doing now."

"By torturing people?" Anthony interjected. "By turning them into lab rats for your protocols?"

Hugo glanced at Anthony like he was an insect that had made an unexpectedly loud noise. "By advancing human evolution. By creating tools that could reshape civilization itself. The Cain Protocol. System manipulation. Job title engineering. All of it leading toward a singular goal that they should all be honored to be part of it."

"The World President's goal," I said.

"My goal," Hugo corrected.

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate.

I stared at him, my brain refusing to process what he'd just said. "What?"

Hugo smiled then—a real smile this time, filled with satisfaction and superiority. "I am the World President, Reynard. I always have been."

The gun in my hand wavered slightly. Anthony made a sound of disbelief beside me.

"That's impossible," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, Deduction was screaming that it made perfect sense. In fact it was the conclusion that I had reached earlier, but the one I had refused to believe. The NovaCore experiments. The systematic manipulation of governments. The Cain Protocol targeting me specifically. Hugo's presence here. All of it connecting like puzzle pieces snapping into place.

"You can't have that job," I said, my voice harder now. "You should be a Researcher. That's what you are. The other world leaders said that they follow you because you have the World President as your System's job. Which is something that you simply don't have—"

"Unless you engineer them yourself," Hugo interrupted smoothly. "Really, Reynard. Did you think that I wouldn't reap the benefits of my research in any way? That I would simply give people job titles without also giving myself them? Do you also think that you're the only one who understood that job titles aren't fixed, aren't sacred? They're just code. Variables that can be altered with sufficient knowledge and resources."

"That's not how the System works," I insisted, but doubt was creeping in.

"Isn't it?" Hugo's smile widened. "Tell me, didn't Evelyn receive artificial jobs and skills when she was experimented on during the Cain Protocol? Didn't we prove that the System can be rewritten, reprogrammed, forced to accept parameters it would normally reject?"

The mention of Evelyn—of what had been done to her—ignited something primal in my chest.

I didn't think. Didn't plan. Just moved.

Hand-to-Hand Combat and Reflex Calibration guided my movement as I closed the distance, my weapon coming up to fire point-blank while my other hand reached for his throat.

The shot never landed.

Hugo moved—faster than should have been possible—his hand deflecting my weapon arm while simultaneously striking my wrist. My gun clattered to the floor.

Anthony fired, three precise shots aimed at center mass.

Hugo pivoted, somehow reading the trajectory, his body moving just enough that the bullets passed through empty air. Then he was moving forward, inside Anthony's guard, his palm striking Anthony's chest with devastating force.

Anthony flew backward, hitting the wall hard enough to crack it.

I recovered, launching a combination—Jab, Hook, Precision Strikes all flowing together in a sequence that should have overwhelmed any opponent.

Hugo blocked every single strike.

No, he didn't just block these blows, but he was countering them. His movements were economical, efficient, wasting no energy while my attacks hit nothing but air or his perfectly positioned defensive guards. It was overwhelming, I wasn't even standing a chance and I couldn't understand why. Logically I should be the strongest human alive, I have multiple skills related to combat, my physical body is optimized and I have immense support skills and resistances. Yet facing this man, why was it all meaningless?

Instinct was screaming constantly now, that loud and eery warning system firing alerts with every move I made. Every attack I launched felt wrong. Every angle I tried felt like a trap. It was like fighting someone who could read my intentions before I even fully formed them.

I switched tactics, using all of my muscles and willpower to alter my spatial orientation, attacking from unexpected angles. Hugo adapted instantly, his footwork perfect, his positioning always optimal.

Anthony had recovered, coming in from the side with a tactical knife. Between the two of us, we should have been able to overwhelm him. I had combat skills from multiple jobs. Anthony was an A-Rank spy with years of field experience.

But Hugo fought us both simultaneously, and he was winning.

What's worse is that it was all with what looked like minimal effort.

A spinning kick caught Anthony in the ribs, sending him stumbling. Hugo's elbow found my solar plexus, driving the air from my lungs. I tried to grapple, using Muscle Reinforcement to power through, but he reversed the hold with casual expertise, throwing me toward the desk.

I rolled, coming up in a crouch, and watched as Hugo kicked Anthony's knife away and delivered a palm strike that put my bodyguard on the ground, gasping.

Then Hugo just… stood there. Not even breathing hard. His lab coat was slightly disheveled but otherwise he looked like he'd just finished a light workout. Like it was nothing more than fighting training dummies.

I pushed myself up, my ribs screaming where his elbow had connected. Biometric Insight assessed the damage automatically—bruised, not broken, but definitely hurt. It wasn't an injury that needed something like Advanced Trauma Care, but I have no doubt that if this fight prolongs then I would either die or I'd capture for whatever he has planned.

"How?" I demanded, my voice rough. "How the hell are you this strong?"

Hugo adjusted his lab coat with casual precision. "You're confused because you have skills. Combat skills from multiple jobs. You've fought countless people, trained yourself to near-perfection in some martial arts disciplines. And yet I'm still overwhelming you."

"Answer the question," I growled.

"It's simple, really," Hugo said, his tone professorial now. Like he was lecturing a student. "You have skills. I have mastery. You've copied jobs and absorbed their capabilities. I've engineered them. Optimized them. Combined them in ways the System was never meant to allow. My connection to them is far greater than yours."

He took a step forward, and Instinct screamed so loudly I almost flinched back.

"But more importantly," Hugo continued, his cold eyes meeting mine, "you made a fundamental error in your assumptions, Reynard."

"What assumption?" I asked, though part of me didn't want to hear the answer.

Hugo's smile returned, colder than before. More predatory.

"Didn't I tell you that I would reap the fruits of my labour during my research? Why would you assume you were the only one with the SSS-Rank Jobmaster job title?"