Ethan started the BMW, but his mind was a storm of panic and adrenaline. He glanced at the pistol lying on the passenger seat, the physical evidence of his crime. I can be caught. They can find it. I could go to prison!

[Relax, Champion. Calm your shaking little muscles. If they wanted to arrest you, they'd have to subdue you, and that won't be easy considering the technology of this world.] the System reassured him, laced with its usual mockery.

Ethan relaxed marginally. "What do you mean by the technology of this world? Are we talking aliens? Time travel?"

[Do you want your head to explode?]

Ethan instantly shrunk back in his seat. "No! No, no, no! I didn't ask anything. I take it back. Forgive me!"

[Hahaha! Good boy. Nah, it's no secret. Your world has mediocre technology, but it has a huge number of individuals. You easily subdued the other species and took over the planet—that's praiseworthy. So don't worry about the details.]

Ethan didn't know what to say. He had so many questions, but he feared that skull-splitting sound from the last time he asked too much, so he didn't dare try again.

He looked at the pistol on the seat. He didn't want it visible. "System, don't you have some kind of magic inventory system where I can carry my stuff everywhere?"

[Do you think I'm Doraemon's pocket, Champion?] the System scoffed.

"Well, I was just asking," Ethan muttered.

[Hah. You're not wrong. I am better than Doraemon, hahaha. Of course, I have an Inventory System. You've always had it; you just never asked. Think of the word 'Inventory,' and it will appear in front of you.]

Ethan felt his stomach churn, but he gritted his teeth and focused. The instant he thought the word, a transparent, grid-like window materialized in his vision. The squares looked minuscule. He doubted the pistol would fit, but he had no choice.

He extended his hand to grab the weapon, keeping the steering wheel steady with the other. As he tried to place it, the gun vanished, entering the window as if it were ripped from his hand, and settled perfectly into one of the slots. The sight was surreal but real.

"Thanks," Ethan breathed, relieved. "How do I take it out?"

[Just try to take it, thinking about the object you want.]

Ethan extended his hand, and the pistol reappeared instantly. He tried the process several times, laughing, momentarily forgetting the road and the agony in his chest.

A sharp, incessant honking made him snap back to reality. He had drifted out of his lane and was driving directly into oncoming traffic.

"SHIT!" Ethan yelled.

With a desperate, sharp maneuver, he narrowly swerved to the right, dodging a massive semi-truck, and skidded off the road, barely missing a group of pedestrians before regaining control.

After the dramatic near-accident, he got out to check the damage. The truck driver, enraged, leaned on his horn and shouted epithets, reminding Ethan of his maternal lineage over and over.

Ethan knew it was his fault. He raised a hand in a gesture of apology. However, the still-furious trucker slammed his cab door shut and descended, gripping a baseball bat with clear intentions of retaliation.

The trucker stomped towards him, spitting curses with every step.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you, you silver-spooned SHIT? Did you not see the white line, you blind bastard?! You almost killed five people, you little— I'm gonna beat the humility into you the way your daddy should have! That fancy black car is gonna look like a crushed soda can when I'm done!" He raised the bat, spittle flying from his mouth.

Ethan was instantly annoyed by the relentless noise and the aggression. He didn't want any more trouble, but the man didn't seem willing to talk.

Ethan casually reached behind his back, as if grabbing something from the air, and the black pistol materialized in his hand.

With the trucker almost in his face, Ethan pointed the gun directly at his forehead.

"Shut the hell up. Get the fuck back in your truck, right now!"

The trucker froze, turning instantly pale. The baseball bat slipped from his numb fingers and hit the ground.

"GO! I SAID GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU HEAR ME?!"

The trucker, utterly terrified, scrambled back toward his truck and sped away in a screech of tires. Ethan watched him leave, then sighed and returned the pistol to the inventory.

[HAHA! Another brilliant use of resources, Champion! Wasting money on assassins and giving a free pass to a potentially lethal idiot! Good job using that overpowered Inventory for something so mundane!] the System cheered.

Ethan returned to his car. He noticed his expensive clothes were riddled with bullet holes and stained with his own blood that had momentarily soaked through the fabric before the wound sealed. Going to the pizzeria looking like a stitched-up, blood-soaked gangster was definitely a bad idea.

He decided to visit the clothing store from before, remembering the girl who had attended to him disinterestedly last time.

Ethan thought: "I should have asked for her number. She was kind, and she didn't look at the 'old' me with disgust."

[She didn't feel disgusted by the old you? Yes, she definitely gains points for being disinterested. Go get her number, Champion.] the System encouraged him.

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head at the System's approval criteria, and drove toward the clothing store, but then he noticed the sticky, ruined fabric of his shirt.

"System," Ethan muttered, wincing as he shifted in his seat. "Aren't I supposed to be Harder Than Steel?"

[Yes. But bullets damage steel too, don't they? Hehe. I said you are harder than steel, not that you were bulletproof. Besides, they were just simple scratches, wouldn't you say?]

Ethan didn't complain. He was already grateful for not dying after having a full clip emptied into his body. Although it still ached like hell, it was manageable.

"Ignore me," Ethan sighed, shaking his head. "I was just rambling."

[You better be. If you don't like it, I can take it away. We don't give people things they don't want.]

"If you're going to take what I don't want, take away all my problems."

[What is a world without problems? Just an empty world, hehe.]

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head at the System's approval criteria, and drove toward the clothing store.

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