It had been five days since The Great Shadow Purge (a.k.a. the time Tyler beat up five barely-competent criminals and thought he dismantled a global crime ring).
The calendar now read Saturday, a day most spent relaxing.
Not Tyler.
Because peace was a lie.
Somewhere beneath the calm… danger stirred.
Somewhere beneath the illusion of routine… the real enemy lurked.
Somewhere, maybe under the Wendy's drive-thru… a secret cabal plotted the fall of humanity.
But Tyler?
Tyler had birds.
Using his OmniScript system, he had created 5 scouts—each with a dumb name:
Recon Falcon Alpha
Operation Tweetblade
Dark Crow Unit 7
Larry
Angry bird
And through the system's view-share function, Tyler could literally see what his birds saw.
(The city is now under surveillance. No secret shall escape me. No hot dog vendor shall go unmonitored.)
He leaned back in his swiveling gamer chair, eyes locked on the bird feed.
Down below… the former "villains" he'd defeated?
They were up to something.
Fox Mask—now working at Staples—was helping an elderly woman print coupons.
Bear Mask was seen sweeping a café floor while humming Mamma Mia.
Dog Mask had apparently started volunteering at a dog shelter. (Irony. Possibly cover story.)
Lizard Mask—real name Roni—had become a full-time smoothie cart guy. He offered free samples.
And Bald Man… the so-called "Boss"...
...was flipping burgers at a place called "Meat Daddy's BBQ Express."
But Tyler narrowed his eyes at the screen.
(They're good. Too good. Look at that latte foam art... it's too symmetrical. Is that a message? Is that a glyph?)
He scribbled frantically in a notebook titled:
"Codex of the Fallen: Observations on the Masked Syndicate"
Every detail mattered:
"Bear Mask yawned at 8:42am. Possible signal to sleeper agents."
"Roni's smoothie blends contain a suspicious amount of kale. Brainwashing component???"
"Bald Man smiled at a child. Hiding something."
He sat back, deep in thought.
(They know. They know I watch. They want me to think they're harmless. Classic deep cover behavior. Pretend to be normal… until the moon turns red.)
Tyler stood dramatically in his room, cloak billowing from a desk fan set to MAX.
Above him, five birds circled like a living satellite system, feathers ruffling with raw narrative tension.
"I must grow stronger... even more stronger."
He clenched his fists. Lightning totally-not-really crackled behind him. Somewhere, a gong sound echoed. Maybe in his head.
He turned to Slimy, who was wedged halfway inside a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, blinking slowly like a jellybean who had seen too much.
"Slimy. It's time."
Blorp.
That night, when the world thought Tyler was asleep... he vanished.
Not into sleep.
Into strategy.
He pressed a hand against his bedroom wall, exactly where a tiny glowing sticker of a cartoon cat was placed.
"OmniScript Creation: Hide House—Activate.
With a soft hum, the wall warped. A ripple moved like someone just smacked reality with a spatula.
And there it was.
A literal 2D-looking poster house unfolded and popped open, becoming a dimensional door.
Inspired by a Doraemon gadget, this was Tyler's ultimate lair:
Hide House
Only he could enter.
Not even Grandma Helen, who once broke into his math class to deliver his missing socks, could breach it.
Not even Leo, his five-year-old little brother with sticky fingers and zero fear.
…
Inside was a paradise of delusion Chuunibyou boy.
The walls were covered in corkboards, maps, and red string. Monitors tracked every angle of the city.
Screens glowed with feeds from his five loyal bird scouts:
Recon Falcon Alpha
Operation Tweetblade
Dark Crow Unit 7
Larry
Angry Bird (who had rage issues and possibly a vendetta against squirrels)
There was even a mini fridge, a hovering treadmill, and a dangerously close-to-overheating slime incubator.
The room smelled like heroism... and old Capri-Sun.
It was 8 PM. The house was quiet.
Leo was already asleep, cuddling his "Captain T-Rex" plushie and snoring like a tiny dying motorboat.
Grandma Helen was downstairs watching soap operas with the volume at murderous decibel levels.
Tyler sat at the command center, cloak draped over his chair, Slimy perched like a slug-shaped headset.
"Recon..." he said into his mic
"How's the investigation? Any strange phenomena? Unauthorized gatherings? Unmarked pizza vans?"
Recon Falcon Alpha turned toward the camera with a sharp, slow head shake.
No suspicious activity.
Tyler frowned.
(They're laying low... Too low. Classic post-op behavior. Regroup. Rebuild. Retaliate.)
"Operation Tweetblade," he said, "report status."
Tweetblade chirped, fluttered once, and showed footage of Roni handing a smoothie to a yoga mom.
Nothing. Not even a hint of glyphs or poison powders.
"They've gone underground," Tyler muttered.
(Typical. After I dismantled their front, they've reverted to silent mode. But I'll keep watching. Even if it takes years.)
He leaned back in his chair.
"This is only the beginning, Slimy. The real mission starts now."
Slimy, who was now covered in cheese dust, blinked slowly.
Blorp.
Tyler smiled.
(I may be the only one who knows the truth. But I'll carry that burden... like the chosen protagonist I was always meant to be.)
..
Tyler POV
Hello guyz. Yes. It's me. Tyler Foster.
It's been five days since that incident—when I single-handedly took down a criminal organization with just a slime, a marble, and raw anime willpower.
People think I'm a kid.
(But what they don't realize… is that I'm already becoming a legend.)
In those five days, I've grown stronger.
More sleep-deprived.
My OmniScript level is now 20.
That's right. Twenty. Two-zero. Dos-cero.
A number so powerful even calculators hesitate.
With this level, I can now create way more stuff. Not bigshot-tier like some anime protagonist with a god complex, but semi-bigshot.
Like—mid-level boss fight in a second season type beat.
Still, I have limits.
(My stamina's a traitor. I try to summon the immortal phoenix and end up gasping like a Victorian orphan with lung issues.)
I sighed thinking about it
Anyway, now I train every day. Not just physically. Also
Mentally. Spiritually. Heroically.
Push-ups.
Bird-monitoring.
Staring dramatically into the mirror while whispering phrases like:
"The night is cold… but my resolve burns hotter."
Yeah. I do that.
And I keep my eyes on them.
The so-called "former criminals."
The ones I tied up and left with a warning: "I'm watching you from the shadows."
(They think they can live normal lives now. But I know. I know. It's just part of their long con. Waiting. Biding their time. Recharging their evil.)
They work regular jobs now.
Roni is a barista.
Dog Mask guy is apparently in pest control.
Fox Mask delivers noodles.
Even Bald Boss is working at a car wash.
(But I don't buy it. That car wash is definitely a front for something. Like... underground poker games. Or cursed raccoons. Or interdimensional trafficking.)
I monitor them using my birds—each one loyal, deadly, and trained in passive aggressive chirping:
Recon Falcon Alpha: Tactical. Sharp-eyed. Loves sunflower seeds. Operation Tweetblade: Has PTSD from chasing a balloon and getting lost for 2 hours.
Dark Crow Unit 7: Edgy. Listens to emo music.
Larry: Just a guy. No special traits.
Angry Bird: Hates everything. Especially you.
I created these birds using my OmniScript Creation ability, and through them, I see everything.
I know their schedules better than they do.
(Because knowledge… is the first weapon of justice.)
And then there's Sara Debeu.
Target. Victim. Civilian girl with surprisingly strong opinions about lemon-flavored gum.
Ever since I that day, I've been secretly monitoring her too.
For her safety.
(And totally not because I think she might be bait in a much deeper conspiracy.)
I keep a drone-bird posted near her school window.
She eats lunch with friends.
Watches those girly magical anime shows.
Wears headphones the size of Jupiter.
(She seems fine… for now. But danger doesn't always knock. Sometimes, it picks the lock and hides in your laundry hamper.)
So I train. I wait. I watch.
And someday soon—when the next evil rises, when the syndicate makes its move, when destiny calls…
I'll answer.
With Slimy on my shoulder.
With justice in my heart.
With birds flying over my head
This is Tyler Foster.
Level 20. OmniScript user. Protector of Sara.
Shadow guardian of suburban peace.
(And I'm just getting started.)
….
[Inside the hideout]
Now it's been two years. 2009.
And guess what?
(THEY STILL HAVEN'T MADE A MOVE.)
Why the fuck haven't they moved yet?!
That bald man—the so-called "boss" of that criminal group—is now working a completely normal job…
And he has a girlfriend. A real, living girlfriend.
(WHAT THE FUCK?? How can a bald man have a girlfriend?! He's bald!! Like smooth-globe bald! NO HAIR! Not even a shadow of hope!)
I sat at the edge of my bed, my fingers clenching the edge of my desk, glaring at the monitor showing my recon bird's feed. There he was. Smiling. Holding her hand. They were eating ice cream.
Disgusting.
I sighed and slumped back in my chair.
(Anyway... I am now Level 100. Yeah. Fuck you, criminals. I know you're just hiding your agenda. I know there's something deeper. You think you can fool me with romance and a stable income?? Think again.)
My stamina? Refined. Perfected.
Thanks to Stamina Regen 1 Guide
I can now run for 6 months straight while carrying 3 goats and doing squats.
No cap.
I unlocked my Ultimate Creation Tier.
And summoned… the Immortal Phoenix.
His name?
Phonx.
A majestic firebird made of undying flame and unbending loyalty. He soars across the sky, leaving behind trails of red and gold light. And also burns my clothes when he hugs me. But it's fine. It's worth it.
Phonx and Slimy are best friends now.
They once shared a bag of spicy chips in silence while watching a cooking show.
Real bond.
But even now, at Level 100, with muscles, skills, and jawline refined like a k-drama villain turned good…
(The enemy… STILL hasn't shown themselves.)
I gritted my teeth.
(No. I must become even stronger. Until the world can no longer ignore my existence. Until their schemes crumble before my awakening. Until—)
Suddenly, my phone buzzed.
I checked the screen:
Harry Frees.
I picked up.
"What's up?"
"Tyler, wanna hang out with Lily?"
his voice came through with casual energy, like he wasn't aware of the eternal war I was fighting in silence.
(Hmph. Lily Croft….)
"Sure," I said.
Then Harry added something that shook my soul.
"Oh—I forgot. Sara Debeu's coming too."
(Sara. Debeu. The girl I saved from those criminals (Cause I defeat them). The girl at the center of the conspiracy. The girl I monitor 3 times a week via Recon Falcon Alpha. Yeah, no biggie.)
I paused.
(She sometimes hangs out with us. I mean, duh. Harry Frees and Lily Croft are like the King and Queen of popularity. And me? Well... I used to be just the weird geeky guy in the background.)
But not anymore.
(After months of training, muscle growth, facial reconstruction by puberty, and full-on anime glow-up...)
Now they call me "the handsome geek."
Kekekeke.
(Even the teachers do double takes now. PE coach called me "young man" instead of "weird kid." Progress.)
I smirked and looked at myself in the mirror. My jawline could cut sadness. My hair flowed like I had a wind machine following me.
"Yeah. I'll come," I said into the phone, voice cool, hiding the chaos behind my eyes.
(Because I know this isn't just a hangout. This is a TEST. A setup. A possible move by the criminal syndicate. Or maybe… a chance to learn what Sara knows. Or maybe she's the mastermind all along?!)
I stood up, cracking my knuckles, fire dancing in my eyes.
Time to hang out. Time to investigate. Time… to look accidentally hot in front of everyone.
To be continue