My Class Is Serial Killer and the System Wants Me to Embrace

The Weight of Secrets

Dinner was a special kind of torture.

Mom had gone all out—my favorite dishes crowded the table. Honey-glazed salmon, garlic green beans, her famous potato gratin that took three hours to make. She'd even baked a cake, chocolate with vanilla frosting, with "Congratulations Marcus!" written in blue icing.

It was perfect. It was loving. It made me want to throw up.

"So tell us everything," Dad said, passing me the salmon. "What skills did you get? What are your stats like? Do you have a skill tree yet?"

I'd rehearsed this on the bus ride home, but actually saying it out loud to my parents felt different. Worse somehow.

"Basic Rogue package," I said, cutting into the fish. "Stealth enhancement, critical hit multiplier for sneak attacks, some kind of perception boost. My Intelligence is pretty high—14—so the counselor said I should focus on tactical skills rather than pure combat."

"Fourteen Intelligence at Level 1 is excellent," Dad said. He'd never Awakened himself—he was part of the thirty percent of the population that the System had passed over—but he'd read every book and article about the System he could find. "That puts you in the top twenty percent of your generation."

If he only knew what that Intelligence was actually supposed to be used for. Planning murders. Analyzing victims. Covering up crimes.

"What about your other stats?" Mom asked, serving herself some green beans. "Are you going to be okay in fights? I've been reading about how dangerous dungeons can be, even the low-level ones."

"My Agility is 12, so I should be fine dodging. Rogues aren't meant to tank hits anyway." At least that part was true. The Serial Killer Class seemed built around quick, precise kills rather than prolonged combat.

"We're so proud of you, Marcus." Mom reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "I know Rogue isn't as flashy as some of the other Classes, but it's versatile. You can do so much with it."

Yeah. Like murder people without getting caught.

I shoved a forkful of potato gratin into my mouth to avoid having to respond.

"Have you thought about what you want to do?" Dad asked. "Career-wise, I mean. Rogues have a lot of options—security consulting, dungeon delving, investigation work..."

"It's his first day, James," Mom chided. "Let him breathe. He doesn't have to plan his entire future over dinner."

But I could see the excitement in Dad's eyes. He'd always wanted me to have opportunities he never got. The System had given them to me.

Just not the way anyone expected.

We ate in relative silence for a few minutes, the kind of comfortable quiet that only happens in families that actually like each other. I tried to focus on the food, on the normalcy of it all, but the System interface kept intruding at the edges of my vision.

[Quest Timer: 29 days, 18 hours, 43 minutes remaining]

"Oh!" Mom suddenly jumped up. "I almost forgot. We got you something."

She disappeared into the living room and came back with a wrapped package. It was roughly book-sized, wrapped in shiny blue paper with a silver bow.

"Open it," Dad urged, grinning.

I unwrapped it carefully, already knowing what it would be. Sure enough—a leather-bound journal with "My Awakening Journey" embossed on the cover in gold lettering.

"It's for documenting your progress," Mom explained. "Your skills, your experiences, your growth. Someday you'll want to look back and remember where you started."

The irony was suffocating. A journal to document my journey as a Serial Killer. Dear Diary, today I learned seventeen ways to kill someone with a pencil. My Predator's Eye skill is really coming along!

"Thanks," I managed, running my hand over the smooth leather. "It's perfect."

Mom beamed. Dad raised his glass of wine. "To Marcus. May his Class bring him success and fulfillment."

We clinked glasses—mine was just water—and I smiled and pretended my entire world hadn't imploded six hours ago.

After dinner, I helped with the dishes while Mom cut the cake. Dad turned on the news, which was running a special segment about Awakening Day.

"...record number of combat Classes this year," the anchor was saying. "Experts attribute this to the increasing dungeon density in metropolitan areas. The System appears to be responding to humanity's needs by generating more defenders."

The screen showed footage of various newly Awakened people demonstrating their skills. A Knight deflecting practice arrows with a shield. A Mage conjuring water from thin air. An Archer hitting a bullseye from a hundred yards.

Normal Classes. Useful Classes. Classes that helped people.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Mom said, handing me a slice of cake. "Five years ago, this was all science fiction. Now it's just... life."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Amazing."

I ate the cake—chocolate used to be my favorite, but now it just tasted like ash—and excused myself as soon as I could without seeming rude. Mom and Dad were settling in to watch some documentary about high-level Awakened, and I really couldn't handle more reminders of what I should have been.

My room looked exactly as I'd left it this morning. Unmade bed with the faded blue comforter. Desk cluttered with textbooks and empty energy drink cans. Posters on the walls—bands I liked, a few video game characters, that one movie poster Jake had given me for my birthday.

I closed the door, locked it, and finally let the smile drop from my face.

The journal sat on my desk where I'd set it down. I picked it up, feeling the weight of it, and almost laughed. What would I even write? How do you document something you can't tell anyone about?

My phone buzzed. A text from Jake: Dude, Sarah's streaming her first enchantment attempt. She's trying to make a pen that writes in rainbow colors. This is hilarious. Link: [URL]

I clicked the link. Sarah's face filled my screen, tongue stuck out in concentration as she held a regular ballpoint pen. Her hands glowed with a faint golden light—Enchanter's magic, presumably.

"Okay, chat," she was saying to her viewers. "This is harder than it looks. The orientation guide said to visualize the effect while channeling energy into the object, but..." The glow intensified. The pen started vibrating. "Oh shit, is it supposed to—"

The pen exploded in a small puff of smoke and glitter.

Sarah shrieked, then started laughing. The chat scrolled by with crying-laughing emojis and encouraging messages.

I watched for a few more minutes as she tried again with a different pen. This time it worked—she drew a line that shifted through different colors as she wrote. The chat went wild. Sarah did a little victory dance.

This was what Awakening was supposed to be like. Learning your skills. Sharing the journey with friends. Making mistakes and laughing about them.

Not hiding in your room, terrified of what you were becoming.

I closed the stream and opened my Status window instead.

[SERIAL KILLER - Level 1]

I stared at those words, at the Class that would define the rest of my life, and made a decision.

I wasn't going to run from this. I wasn't going to pretend it wasn't happening. But I also wasn't going to let it turn me into a monster without a fight.

If I had to kill to survive, I'd kill people who deserved it. Criminals. Predators. People who made the world worse just by existing. Maybe the System would give me less experience for it, but I'd level slower rather than cross the line into murdering innocent people.

And maybe—maybe—I could find a way to beat this thing. Find a loophole. Find a cure. Something.

I opened the leather journal to the first blank page and uncapped a pen.

Day 1 Post-Awakening, I wrote. Class: Serial Killer (telling everyone it's Rogue). Quest timer: 29 days until first mandatory kill.

I paused, pen hovering over the paper.

I'm scared. Not of dying—of what I might become. But I'm going to try to stay human. Going to try to use this curse for something that isn't pure evil.

God, I hope that's possible.

I closed the journal and shoved it under my mattress. If anyone found it, I was dead. But I needed somewhere to be honest, even if it was just with paper and ink.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from an unknown number, though I knew who it was.

Tomorrow, 3 PM. Café Noir on Grant Street. We need to discuss your options. Don't be late. - Han

I stared at the message. Options. Right. Options like "which criminal should you murder first" and "how to dispose of a body without getting caught."

I replied with a simple OK and deleted the conversation.

A soft knock on my door made me jump. "Marcus?" Mom's voice. "You okay in there, honey?"

"Yeah, just tired. Going to get ready for bed."

"Alright. Sleep well. And Marcus? We really are proud of you."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. "Thanks, Mom."

I waited until her footsteps retreated down the hallway, then pulled up my Status window again. There had to be more information. The System couldn't just drop this on me without any guidance.

As if responding to my thoughts, a new tab appeared in the interface: [CLASS GUIDE].

I tapped it.

[SERIAL KILLER - Class Overview]

[The Serial Killer is a forbidden Class designed for those with the potential to transcend moral boundaries in pursuit of power. Unlike common combat Classes, the Serial Killer derives strength not from simple violence, but from the transgressive act of murder itself.]

[Core Mechanics:]

- Experience is gained primarily through killing humans

- Kill quality matters: Premeditated > Spontaneous, Creative > Simple, Personal > Distant

- Optional objectives (trophies, patterns, evasion of detection) provide bonus rewards

- Regular kills are required to prevent stat degradation and mental penalties

[Skill Development:]

- Skills evolve based on murder methods and victim types

- Specialized skill trees unlock at Level 10, 25, 50, 75, and 100

- Each evolution provides a choice between different paths (examples: Phantom, Butcher, Artist)

[WARNING: This Class has historically had the highest fatality rate of all Awakened Classes. Most Serial Killers are killed by adventurers, law enforcement, or other Awakened within their first year. Survival requires cunning, restraint, and absolute secrecy.]

I read through it twice, my stomach churning. The System described murder like it was a game mechanic. Kill quality. Optional objectives. Skill evolution paths.

There was a subsection labeled [Historical Serial Killers]. I tapped it despite knowing I'd regret it.

A list appeared. Names, dates, levels achieved, cause of death.

[David Park - Level 23 - Killed by Awakened strike team]

[Michelle Torres - Level 17 - Killed by adventurers]

[Kenji Yamamoto - Level 31 - Killed by government forces]

[Sarah Chen - Level 8 - Executed after capture]

The list went on. Twenty-three names total. The highest level achieved was 31. The average lifespan after Awakening was 11 months.

Only two had made it past two years. Both had eventually been caught and executed.

This was my future. This was what the System had condemned me to.

Unless I could somehow beat the odds.

I closed the guide and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. In the corner of my vision, the quest timer continued its relentless countdown.

[Quest Timer: 29 days, 17 hours, 52 minutes remaining]

Twenty-nine days to find someone I could justify killing. Twenty-nine days to figure out how to do it without getting caught. Twenty-nine days until I crossed a line I could never uncross.

My phone lit up with more messages. Jake asking if I wanted to dungeon dive tomorrow. Sarah sharing a meme about Awakening Day. Tyler bragging about his workout routine and how he was going to optimize his Brawler build.

Normal people doing normal Awakened things.

And me, lying in the dark, trying to figure out how to become a murderer while staying sane.

I pulled out Director Han's business card from my pocket. Plain white cardstock with just a name and phone number. No title, no organization. Just:

Director Han

555-0147

Tomorrow I'd meet with him. Tomorrow I'd start planning my first kill.

Tonight, I'd try to sleep and pretend I was still the person I'd been this morning.

I set my phone on the nightstand, turned off the lights, and closed my eyes.

Sleep didn't come for a long time.

And when it finally did, I dreamed of blood.

To be continued...