By the time Maya got home, it was not yet four in the afternoon. She put Old Huang's poached chicken in the refrigerator, then looked around for baby James to practice dancing with—only to find that Jennifer and James were both out. Jack had been leaving early and coming home late all week, buried in production work with some French film crew.
Alone in the apartment, Maya had no interest in watching television. She'd read the Bugle on the way home and already had a clear picture of the situation.
The papers had dug Frank Gardes up thoroughly—his criminal history laid bare, every dirty detail on the record. He'd been crowned the most incompetent and pitiful crime boss in the history of New York's underworld. George Stacy, the officer who'd killed him, faced no charges and in fact had a promotion and raise waiting for him in a few days.
Maya went to her room and pulled up her system.
She'd made her decision: she was going to become a street-level hero. It was time to spend some of those saved Influence Points.
First she checked her balance. 350 points. The previous day alone had added over 1,000. Solid. But that was the last burst she could expect—Frank's story had fully saturated the public consciousness. Everyone who was going to contribute points already had. That particular well was dry.
With this many points available, it was time to spin the wheel. The system still had her rated as a Special-Grade Genin—the lowest of the low. To make it a full rank-up, she still needed to master the Three Body Techniques. With a Transformation Jutsu card and an experience pack, she could derive a working version adapted for the Marvel world on her own.
No more hesitation. Maya triggered the Silver Roulette—ten consecutive pulls.
The system generated a silver-white spinning wheel inside her mind. Its surface was engraved with images: a hand-sealing ninja, a flying celestial spirit, a Death God with a zanpakutō, a warlord standing on a ship's prow. Many of the entries were incomplete—some practically empty.
Ding! Congratulations—player has obtained: Bronze-tier Naruto flak jacket ×1!
Ding! Congratulations—player has obtained: Bronze 7 Chōji clan heirloom soldier pills ×10!
Ding! Congratulations—player has obtained: Unranked explosive tag ×2!
Ding! Congratulations—player has obtained: Bronze 5 Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu skill card ×1!
Maya's expression darkened with each notification.
The system continued:
Ding! Ninja forehead protectors ×2.
Ding! Silver-tier Water Style: Hiding in Mist Jutsu skill card ×1.
Ding! Ninja-grade tasteless purple nail polish ×1.
Ding! C-rank mission scroll ×1.
Ding! Icha Icha Paradise by Jiraiya ×1.
And then—nothing.
Nothing.
Maya stared at the results. Her eyes had gone spiraling.
"Spending is a disaster. Spending is a disaster. My 9,500 Influence Points are gone. Gone. Nine thousand, five hundred. Gone."
A single tear tracked down her cheek. Her heart was bleeding.
She was furious enough to slam her smooth forehead against the bedpost—and then, mid-tantrum, a new notification chimed in her skull:
Ding! Player has reached cumulative spending of 50,000 Influence Points. The Black Market has unlocked a new feature. Please review the details. We hope you enjoy your gameplay experience!
Maya froze. Then she scrambled to open the Black Market.
One look at the new feature, and she unleashed a torrent of creative profanity that would have made a sailor blush. She cursed the system's designer to a lifetime of romantic failure. She wished him cuckolded, swindled, and bankrupted. She consigned his next life to a destiny of perpetual bad luck.
The "new feature" was: refresh the Black Market for 100 Influence Points per attempt.
The original Black Market refreshed its inventory once per natural day for free. There was also a paid refresh option—but that one required battle points, a currency Maya, as a solo player, had absolutely no way to obtain.
The Bronze Roulette cost only 10 points per spin and rarely produced anything worthwhile, but at least it produced something. The new Black Market refresh cost 100 Influence Points—and that was just to see new inventory. Actually buying anything from those refreshed listings would cost more points on top.
Unlike the gacha, where winning an item meant keeping it outright, the Black Market required a separate purchase after the refresh. You paid to look, then paid again to buy.
Most weeks Maya barely scraped together 100 Influence Points total. Spending that on a refresh—rather than waiting for the free daily refresh—was throwing money into a hole.
Hence the profanity.
After venting for a minute, Maya paused.
Then frowned.
She was fairly certain she'd never designed this feature herself. The old paid-refresh system ran on battle points precisely because she hadn't wanted to add a duplicate mechanism. This "Influence Points refresh" served no purpose she would have built in intentionally—she would have known it was redundant.
The Black Market had been designed for grind-heavy players in the first place—a pressure valve so the game wasn't purely pay-to-win. Without enough ordinary players grinding alongside them, who would the whales have to show off to? That had been the logic.
And the Black Market was a feature she'd designed alone. The studio head had been cheap and hands-off; Maya had done all the design work herself on a 4,000-yuan monthly salary. No one else had touched this system.
So if she hadn't designed this feature—and the system wasn't simply following its original code—Either the system had mutated in transit.
Or someone else had their hands on it.
The thought sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Could there be someone pulling strings behind my transmigration?
Then, as if on cue—a chime.
"Host, please remain calm. During the transmigration process, the system did experience a spontaneous mutation."
Maya grew even more panicked and afraid.
"System—who's behind you?!"
"Are you seeing someone else behind my back?!"
"Come on, just tell me—have you been modified?!"
"Tell me the truth and I'll give you ten thousand points. Not enough? Twenty thousand—final offer!"
"If you don't start talking, I made you and I can unmake you! You think those gangsters were scary? I took out several burly men like they were nothing! Are you scared yet?!"
"You're being unfilial! I made you and you're betraying me—waaaah! I don't want to live anymore! Waaaaaah!"
The system said nothing. No matter how much Maya threatened, bargained, or deployed the full emotional spectrum from cold intimidation to tearful guilt-tripping, it stayed silent.
She eventually collapsed onto her bed, entirely spent, staring at the ceiling with the hollow expression of someone who had completely run out of ideas. Her legs dangled over the edge, swinging back and forth.
After a long moment, she murmured to herself:
"Alright. If there's no one behind this—then I scared myself for nothing and I keep pushing forward. If there is someone behind it—then I need to push even harder, so I have the strength to push back."
The reasoning landed. Maya sat up. Her eyes cleared.
Whatever the future held, the answer was the same: live every day to the fullest. Make every moment count—for herself.
And with that settled, Maya Hansen, President of the Student Council, felt her fighting spirit return in full.