My Marvel Reincarnation Came with a Torture Bonus

DING!

The elevator finally reached the top floor.

Iwan, whose felt like he had aged twenty years in the past few minutes, let out a shaky breath.

"Well… can I go?" he asked tentatively.

Val glanced at the system panel, the idea forming in his mind. He looked at Iwan and, with zero hesitation, crushed his hope.

"No way."

Iwan's heart plummeted. His fists clenched instinctively, but after remembering that Val had casually shrugged off getting shot in the chest, he decided against any heroic last stands.

So instead, he forced a smile that looked more like a pained grimace and said, "Why don't you just tell me what you want? I'll do my best to cooperate."

Val grinned. "Good. I like a straightforward person like you."

Then, to Iwan's complete confusion, Val handed the silver box back to him.

"The box. It's for you."

Iwan blinked. "...Huh?"

His brain flatlined. This wasn't in the hostage manual.

He made no move to take it.

Val's expression darkened. "Why are you just standing there? Pay me for this. Or… are you thinking of not paying?"

Iwan's mind reeled.

'I—what? But—you—'

He wanted to say so many things, but all that came out was:

"...Well…"

He stopped trying to make sense of the situation and simply obeyed. He reached into his pocket and handed the five-cent coin back to Val.

Val looked at the coin with pure disdain.

"Are you treating me like a beggar?"

Iwan's eye twitched. 'Didn't you just give this to me?!' he cursed internally but kept his mouth shut.

With no emotion left to process this madness, he emptied his pockets and handed over all his cash.

Only then did Val finally return the box to him.

Val nodded in satisfaction. "Again remember, this was a fair and just transaction. Nothing shady about it."

Iwan no longer had the will to argue. He just wanted to go home, curl up under a warm blanket, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Val glanced back at his system panel, checking Iwan's status.

[Target does not meet the conditions.]

Val frowned. Still not enough?

After a brief pause, he pulled one bill from the stack of cash he had just taken.

Then, extending his hand toward Iwan, he said, "Give me the box back again."

Iwan didn't even hesitate this time. He had fully surrendered to the chaos.

Without a word, he handed the box back over.

…

Two minutes later, Val stared at the system panel, eyes sparkling like a kid who just discovered cheat codes in a video game.

[The Target meets the conditions]

Iwan's results had changed! He was finally a certified criminal. The system had officially upgraded him from "discount thug" to "prime-time criminal."

As Val had suspected, the system's focus wasn't on whether someone acted villainous in a traditional sense. It wasn't about being ruthless or feared; rather, it was about crime—specifically, criminal actions.

After piecing things together, Val realized that the system recognized quantity over quality when it came to crimes. It didn't matter if someone masterminded an elaborate bank heist or just jaywalked 500 times; as long as their criminal record stacked up like a bad credit score, they qualified.

For example, gang members often fit the criteria simply because their roles naturally exposed them to criminal activities. The longer they remained in such an environment, the more crimes they became involved in, eventually reaching the system's threshold.

However, Iwan was not that high in the hierarchy, meaning his track record was still lacking.

So, Val took the initiative to improve Iwan's resume.

The silver box contained illegal goods. And whether Iwan was the buyer or seller, each completed transaction counted as an offense. With Val's guidance, Iwan unknowingly engaged in several illegal deals in a short period—his list of crimes growing rapidly.

In just a few short moments, Iwan had unknowingly speed-ran his way from "background extra" to "seasoned crime boss.". He remained unaware of the transformation, oblivious to how his newfound status had come to be.

Val observed him with satisfaction. Then, without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

BANG!

[Title unlock condition: Kill fifteen Certified Criminals (2/15)]

. . . . . . . . .

A few hours later, at one o'clock in the morning, Val changed into fresh clothes and made his way back to the mercenary bar.

For most people, this was the dead of night. For this place? It was prime time.

As he pushed open the creaky, rusted door, the sounds of shouting and cheers filled the air. Before he could take more than a few steps inside, his eyes landed on the source of the commotion—two burly men locked in a brutal fistfight, surrounded by a crowd that watched with rapt attention.

One fighter managed to land a few solid punches before his opponent countered, knocking him to the ground with a dull thud.

Moments later, Weasel emerged from the crowd and crouched beside the unconscious man, checking his pulse.

"He's still alive!" Weasel announced loudly.

A collective groan rippled through the spectators. Disappointed murmurs filled the bar, as if they had just bet their rent money on this fight and lost.

As the bar's owner, Weasel didn't even blink at the crowd's reaction. He simply ordered a few men to haul the unconscious fighter away before returning to the bar, polishing a glass as if nothing had happened.

Around the room, patrons settled back into their usual routines. The drinkers kept drinking, the pool players resumed their games, and not a single person bothered to conceal the bulging firearms strapped to their belts.

Val approached the bar, setting the silver box on the counter. Then, he pulled out the sleek black card and placed it in front of Weasel.

Weasel raised an eyebrow. "That was fast. You finish the job already?"

Val nodded and pulled out a phone—the one he'd swiped from the first two gangsters he ran into. "Took a photo for proof. Do I need to show verification?"

Weasel smirked. "That's the best way. If your intel checks out, you'll get paid immediately. Of course…" He pocketed the black card and continued wiping down a glass. "I'm taking a small 10% cut. Standard procedure."

He spoke so casually, like a doctor explaining billing fees, except instead of medical insurance, it was murder paperwork.

"As for the rest of the money," Weasel continued, "I'll wire it to your account once it's confirmed. You should send me your bank details soon."

Val paused. Right. A bank account. He didn't even have a legal identity—where would he get an account. "Can I get paid in cash?"

Weasel smirked. "Sure, but there's an extra fee for that."

Val didn't care. As long as he got his money, a few extra charges didn't matter.

"By the way, do you know of any good rental places? Preferably one that doesn't require, uh… paperwork." Val leaned casually against the bar, attempting to sound smooth. "You know, my situation's kinda like Wade's now. And I'd rather not have guys like Francis tracking me down again."

It was a convenient excuse—one that neatly covered up the tiny issue of him not existing in any legal system.

Weasel barely blinked. "I've got a safe house. Bit of a mess, but it's empty. You clean it up, you can stay there. Rent's coming out of your payment for this job, though."

"Perfect!" Val grinned. "Perfect. To thank you for your generosity, let me buy you a drink."

Weasel raised an eyebrow, giving Val a slow once-over. "Reminder—my rent isn't cheap. Pretty sure you can't afford it. You sure you've got money for a drink?"

"Please. I've got plenty of money!" Val confidently pulled out a thick stack of banknotes and—because Val's definition of "currency" was apparently very flexible, he also slapped down two gold teeth on the counter.

Weasel glanced at the cash. Then at the two bloody gold teeth resting on the counter. Then back at Val.

He chose not to ask.

Instead, he nodded toward the silver box Val had placed on the counter. "By the way… what's inside this thing?"

Val's eyes lit up. "Ah! I'm glad you asked! This, my dear Weasel, is a training tool for criminals!"

"...A what now?"

"A criminal's training tool," Val clarified, his enthusiasm growing. "With this, you can commit crimes endlessly and, in just a few minutes, transform into a villain with along and rich criminal history!**"

He gestured at the silver box like he was unveiling a revolutionary product at the Stark's expo.

"Imagine this: You're just a regular guy, doing regular things. But then—bam! With just a few transactions, you, too, can become a hardened criminal! It's easy! It's fast! And best of all—no prior experience necessary!"

Weasel stared at him.

Val, eyes gleaming, leaned forward. "So? What do you say? Wanna give it a try?"

A cold shiver ran down Weasel's spine. His well-trained survival instincts—honed from years of dealing with questionable individuals—were screaming at him.

Without hesitation, he waved his hands. "Yeah, no. Hard pass."

And just like that, the intentional birth of a new villain was successfully avoided. Weasel would have to try his chance later as Patient Zero.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Since it's the first day of week please spare some power stones for this poor author and if you're new add it to collection. Hope we can be in the top 200."