Chapter 1

The icy pipe spat out bone-chilling tap water. After splashing his face hard three times, Kevin braced his hands against the marble sink and let out a deep breath.

He looked up and wiped the water droplets from his eyelashes. The moment his blurry vision refocused on the mirror, a translucent blue screen with a sci-fi feel suddenly appeared before his eyes without warning.

【RPG-Super Cop System 1.0】

【Host】: Kevin Jones

【Strength】: 9 (Human limit 20)

【Speed】: 9 (Human limit 20)

【Stamina】: 9 (Human limit 20)

【Mental】: 5 (Human limit 20)

【Mastered Skills】: Pistol (L0 Beginner), Rifle (L0 Beginner), Mixed Martial Arts (L1 Proficient), Car Driving (L1 Proficient), Football (L2 Expert), Mating (L2 Expert), Swimming (L1 Proficient)

【Justice Points】: 500

【Available Attribute Points】: 1

【Inventory】: Various experience cards, function cards (multiple held)

Kevin stared at this panel glowing with a faint blue light, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably twice.

Half a month now. This thing was like a brand burned onto his retina—it would pop up whenever he focused his attention.

"Strong limbs, simple mind—a total underachiever's stats..."

Kevin's gaze swept across the pathetic skill levels, finally locking onto that particularly eye-catching line【Mating (L2 Expert)】. He was completely speechless.

He casually flipped through the original owner's memories in his mind and immediately understood. This was a "divine skill" the original owner had ground out since high school, changing girlfriends every few days with the boundless energy of a dog in heat.

Half a month ago, the original owner—this hothead—encountered a sudden shootout during a street patrol. With his reckless, death-defying aggression, he gunned down two drug dealers on the spot. But unluckily, before he could even holster his weapon in style, he was hit by an out-of-control SUV driven by the dealers' accomplice and sent flying like a rag doll, suffering a severe concussion.

When "Kevin" opened his eyes in a hospital bed reeking of disinfectant, the shell was still the same shell, but the soul inside had been replaced with his current self.

At the time, facing the circle of cheap family members surrounding his bed, crying and wailing, the RPG system panel suddenly popped up before his eyes. To avoid blowing his cover and to digest this absurd reality, he very decisively rolled his eyes back and continued playing dead by passing out again.

"500 justice points, 1 attribute point, plus that pile of unopened cards in the inventory... definitely a 'newbie gift package' dropped from killing those drug dealers."

Kevin calculated in his mind, but before figuring out the system's underlying logic and side effects, he wasn't planning to rashly add those points.

"Strength, speed, and stamina are all at 9 points—still a bit short of half the human limit, but pretty impressive nonetheless."

Kevin looked down, examining his imposing physique—6'4" tall, 225 pounds, with broad shoulders and a thick frame packed with explosive muscle power.

An average adult male's physical stats probably wouldn't exceed 8 points. The original owner reaching 9 points was purely because he was a rare freak among white genetics.

Speaking of genetics, Kevin couldn't help but glance again at that pitiful【Mental: 5】.

The original owner's cheap father, Paul Jones, was a German-American with the purest Germanic blood, while his mother, Amanda Kevin, was a native New Yorker. Most ridiculous of all, this couple were both elite alumni of the Ivy League school Yale University!

Their excellent intelligence genes completely bypassed the original owner and went entirely into his skeleton and muscles. "At least his father is Germanic—how did he not inherit even a bit of that rigorous, intelligent genes? It all went into muscle." Kevin felt embarrassed for the original owner.

However, it was precisely with this fierce physique that the original owner bullied his way through high school, got selected for the football team, and used this as his athletic specialty to get into the dream school of countless people—UCLA.

Unfortunately, the good luck stopped dead in college.

The original owner thought he could dominate on the NCAA field, but in the first week of training, his physical talents were mercilessly crushed by the black athletes on the team. Black people's athletic genes are naturally dominant in explosive power and endurance. The original owner's proud strength was like a toy compared to theirs, and he could only pathetically warm the bench.

In his junior year, the original owner finally faced reality, completely quit the team, and started losing weight. Fortunately, Western universities are lenient with athletes. By copying and cramming at the last minute, he barely passed all his courses and managed to get a highly valuable UCLA diploma.

This diploma became his golden ticket into the police force.

The Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) had extremely low recruitment standards—only a high school diploma was required to apply. The original owner went to the interview with the halo of UCLA, a top-20 ranked school in the nation—it was like a max-level player slaughtering newbies. The police brass looked at him like a rare treasure, giving him the green light all the way.

After just 12 weeks of standard police academy training, the original owner passed with brutally impressive physical scores and was assigned to the Wilshire Division of the LAPD West Bureau, becoming a probationary patrol officer, commonly known as a "Rookie."

"Actually... not being a cop might work too?"

Kevin stroked the stubble just sprouting on his chin, looking at the face in the mirror—curly blonde hair, deep blue eyes, facial features so refined they looked like a Hollywood star.

The bloody shootout half a month ago, and the scene of the original owner getting several ribs crushed by that SUV, all warned him: being a cop in Los Angeles was actually a high-risk, disposable job.

With his current godlike looks and devilish physique, he could run around Hollywood as an extra for a few years and might even become a B-list action star.

Taking it even further, even if Hollywood didn't want him, with one of the only two【L2 Expert】divine skills on his panel, going solo to the famous "San Fernando Valley" would be absolutely no problem. He firmly believed that in that largest adult film production base in America, he could definitely "work" his way to a bright future with his skills!

However, the moment this thought formed in his mind, the large characters【RPG-Super Cop System 1.0】at the top of his vision flashed with harsh red light, as if issuing a silent warning.

Kevin sighed and tossed this dark humor out of his mind.

The system name was welded on—in this lifetime, besides being a cop, there probably wasn't any other way out. The probationary period for rookie cops was usually 18 months, during which he could be kicked out at any time. Only by surviving these 18 months and being promoted to Police Officer II with independent law enforcement authority could he be protected by the most aggressive organization in America—the police union.

He had to wear this skin, even if he had to hold his nose to do it.

"Knock knock knock!"

The bathroom door was suddenly pounded heavily, and from outside came the impatient urging voice of his 14-year-old sister, Lisa Jones: "Kevin! Are you done washing or not? Are you laying eggs in there? Mom told me to tell you to get your ass downstairs for breakfast!"

Kevin snapped back to reality and reached out to pull open the door.

Looking at the little punk girl outside with an impatient face, Kevin didn't curse like the original owner would have. Instead, he lowered his head slightly, his tone calm and gentle: "I'm done. Thanks for coming up to get me, Lisa."

The atmosphere instantly froze.

Lisa looked like she'd seen a ghost in broad daylight, her amber eyes wide as saucers. She looked up and down at this familiar yet strange hulking brother, as if looking at an alien creature.

"You... you actually said thank you?" Lisa swallowed and backed up two steps like avoiding the plague, muttering as she turned and ran downstairs, "Damn, this is so weird! Your brain must have been damaged by that car!"

Watching his sister's back fleeing like a startled rabbit, Kevin could only respond with a bitter smile.

Even a 14-year-old girl could spot his abnormality at a glance—this disguise was indeed too difficult.

Can't blame anyone else though. The original owner was a famous thug and asshole. Hot-tempered and easily angered, he used the word "FUCK" more than punctuation marks. If something could be solved with fists, he'd never use words. Fighting and brawling were daily basics—a complete West Coast thug with anger management issues.

And him?

In his previous life, Kevin was a complete ghost.

At age 6, his parents died in a mysterious car accident. He was thrown into an orphanage by cold-blooded relatives, then adopted by a blonde, blue-eyed couple—no, it wasn't adoption, it was "human trafficking" disguised as adoption.

He was brought into a closed boarding school belonging to a mysterious organization, where for ten years he experienced inhuman, hell-level training and brutal internal selection. The weak became cold corpses, while he survived and became a top "cleaner" in the organization's logistics group.

His daily work never saw daylight: dissolving bodies with the most precise doses of hydrofluoric acid; using luminol reagent and UV lights to erase the last traces of blood and forge crime scenes; perfectly packaging bloody murders as hangings, drownings, or accidental falls.

Cold-blooded, silent, extremely cautious, locking all emotions and killing intent in the deepest part of his heart—this was the survival instinct carved into his bones.

Until the last mission. When he finished cleaning the scene and just pushed open the door of that luxury villa, the high-explosive bomb hidden in the load-bearing wall instantly detonated.

As flames swallowed him, Kevin felt no panic, his heartbeat didn't even quicken. He just calmly watched the overwhelming firelight, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking cold smile.

He knew better than anyone that it wasn't an accident, nor was it enemy revenge, but the organization "cleaning up" after him. The reason was simple—excellent cleaners always knew too much. Death, for him, was just a long-overdue vacation.

Kevin closed the bathroom door again, picked up the toothbrush on the counter, and methodically squeezed on toothpaste.

A hot-headed, brainless Los Angeles street thug? A cold, precise elite cleaner assassin?

These two personalities were at opposite ends of the universe. Trying to perfectly play the original owner in front of family and colleagues was as difficult as asking him to dismantle a nuclear bomb with his bare hands—sooner or later, he'd be completely exposed.

So for the past half month, Kevin simply kept his mouth shut and played the deep, silent type.

Fortunately, God left him a perfect excuse.

The original owner had just experienced his first brutal shootout half a month ago. Not only did he personally blow out two people's brains, but he was also severely injured by a car. According to police regulations, anyone who shoots and kills a suspect must be placed on mandatory administrative leave and receive psychological counseling.

"Extreme psychological trauma from shooting someone to death, resulting in a drastic personality change and becoming silent..."

What a perfect cover! From the psychologist to his cheap family, everyone naturally attributed all his abnormalities to "post-traumatic stress disorder."

Kevin spat out the white foam in his mouth and vigorously dried his face with a towel.

The blonde young man in the mirror slowly raised his eyelids. The hot-tempered and stupid look that originally belonged to the owner had completely vanished. In its place, a chilling sharpness and edge flashed through those deep blue eyes, like a predator lurking in the abyss.

"Since I'm living again..."

He pulled a smile without warmth at the mirror.

Starting today, Kevin Jones—the super cop with a cleaner's soul—was officially online.