Chapter 6: New mission
Wesley darted down the hallway with wild energy in his steps, his arms swinging like he was leading a battalion to war.
He wasn’t just a janitor in this moment. No. In his mind, he was the Spearmaster of the Ninth Immortal Sky, a figure of awe whose mere name sent tremors through demonic realms and righteous sects alike.
The Wielder of the Flame-Slaying Polearm.
The Guardian of Heaven’s Broom—wait, no, spear, he corrected himself, dramatically swinging his mop in slow arcs as if it were a sacred artifact bestowed by celestial dragons.
He was lost in his own fantasy, muttering legendary techniques under his breath, reciting titles he made up on the spot with the kind of confidence only an overactive imagination and a newfound system could provide.
But the moment he spotted real people—students walking down the marble-floored halls, teachers pacing briskly between classes—Wesley would slow to a near-glide.
His exaggerated posture snapped into something resembling composure.
He nodded, adjusted his grip on the mop, and adopted an expression that said, Yes, I am a serious custodian of cleanliness. But then, something happened that always threw him for a loop—girls smiled at him.
It wasn’t universal, and many students just walked past, some boys looking through him like he was a piece of wall décor with a mop attachment. But the girls, especially the younger ones from the junior division, greeted him with a kind of cheerful familiarity.
"Good afternoon, Mister Janitor!"
"Keep it up, Mister Wesley!"