With a dazzling smile only someone with a borderline-insane amount of hope could wear, Ra-One whispered, "Gabee, it's good to hear your voice after one month. Now tell me you succeeded."
The voice of his loyal system companion crackled to life, sounding proud but also a little annoyed, like a grumpy old butler. "That much time passed, but fear not, master; I acquired the one-time upgrade option on my system… though it comes with some restrictions."
In Ra-One's mind, fireworks exploded. F** yeah!* he mentally shouted, barely resisting the urge to squeal like a fangirl at a K-pop concert. "Gabee, come on, spill it out—everything!"
As if summoned by his excitement, Gabee's interface flashed, a blue screen materializing with a single, tantalizing new option: [Upgrade].
Gabee continued, voice laced with suspicion. "Master, I now understand why the one-time upgrade system was considered garbage. It can only upgrade anything once. After that, it goes into cooldown for a month. My function now also follows the same rules."
Ra-One frowned, then quickly shrugged. "So, does it upgrade anything—anything—even abstract things?"
"Yes, master," Gabee confirmed. "It can upgrade anything. But again—just once."
Ra-One's mind spun like a casino wheel high on caffeine. This is enough—more than enough. It's time to break the system… no, it's time to hijack fate itself. His eyes narrowed. "Without any further restraint, upgrade my body talent: Human Adaptability."
Gabee didn't even pause. "Good choice, master. Executing now."
The screen began a dramatic countdown. Ra-One found himself nervously pacing his crib—yes, crib—because he was technically still just one year and a month old. A hundred seconds never felt longer. He inhaled, exhaled, tried some toddler yoga.
DING!
"Master, Human Adaptability is upgraded to Perfect Adaptability. You now have 100x the adaptability of a normal human."
"F*** YEAH!" he cheered, scaring a nearby houseplant into permanent trauma.
He opened his status window like a kid unwrapping a Christmas present. His eyes lit up as he saw Red Hood Template Completion: 6%. It had jumped by 5%. Blessed be the garbage gods!
And with Perfect Adaptability merging with his Hanma bloodline, reality took a sudden turn. By the next day, Ra-One was walking like a buff baby Yujiro Hanma, exuding menace in his diaper. He also began speaking toddler-level words—"eat," "poo," "da," "ma"—with the calculated precision of a miniature genius.
Alicia, his mother, screamed in joy the first time he walked over and said "ma."
Then she wept when he turned to his father and called him "da."
His father? He burst into an impromptu South Indian dance routine that made even the ceiling fan blush.
Months passed.
But every month, without fail, the so-called "Bumper Garbage Drawer" delivered new items. And by items, we mean absolute trash: Superman-themed underpants, cursed doujins, vibrating spoons, malfunctioning gadgets, and a comb that summoned a raccoon ghost.
Despite that, Ra-One grew up fast. Nearly two years old now, he could talk fluently, run like a speedster on a sugar rush, and convince adults he was a tiny reincarnated Nobel laureate.
At his second birthday and New Year bash, he entertained guests with magic tricks, mimicry, and fake baby stumbles followed by dramatic recoveries. People clapped. One grandma cried. An uncle passed out from disbelief.
That night, Grandma Carter made a surprise visit.
Ra-One, sensing an opportunity, activated "Innocent Baby Mode." He declared with wide eyes, "I wanna be a superhero! Like Captain America! Save da world!"
Carter's eyes twinkled. "You're a good boy, Ra-One."
"Oh, and look! I can do this!" Ra-One immediately performed a handstand, then recited the English alphabet backward, followed by explaining the numbers and calculations in a way that made sense to her.
Carter turned to Alicia in wide-eyed horror. "Your son… he's a genius. A strong one. Has he… he seems inherited something from Steve?"
Alicia blinked. "What? You mean the super soldier serum from the father's blood?"
Carter nodded slowly. "Maybe... he should be homeschooled. If word gets out, people might start snooping."
Ra-One's parents agreed, but he had already stopped paying attention because his yearly garbage drop had just arrived.
This one? Oh boy.
T-Virus Serum (Unperfected)
Flawed Predator Gauntlet (Powerless)
Analysis System (Also flawed)
He narrowed his eyes. "Why does my garbage drawer look like it's been shopping in a Resident Evil x Sci-Fi crossover fanfic?"
He ignored the serum for now. Instead, he examined the Predator Gauntlet—just a burnt-out high-tech glove. Maybe I can fix this. But he needed research tools.
Then his eyes landed on the flawed Analysis System. According to the description, it could analyze everything, but didn't actually do anything. Classic.
Then came the idea. The most wicked, multiverse-breaking idea ever to emerge in a toddler brain.
"Gabee… can we upgrade this flawed system?"
Gabee hesitated. "Master… I've never heard of someone upgrading another system. Not without administrator rights. But also… I've never seen anyone receive trash-tier systems through a garbage lottery, so logic is clearly optional in your life."
Ra-One smirked. "Exactly. I was thinking of upgrading you, but your source code is off-limits. This thing is wide open. Let's try."
Gabee paused. "Thank you for thinking of upgrading me, master. Okay, let's do this."
She placed the Analysis System into the Upgrade bucket. The countdown began.
100... 99...
Ra-One bit his pacifier nervously.
1... 0!
DING!
"Upgrade complete! You now have: [Problem Analysis System - Tier ???]"
Ra-One grinned. "Let's assimilate it."
Gabee, needing three months, went into system sleep mode. Ra-One spent the time being tutored in kindergarten topics. He made sure to act just smart enough to amaze, not terrify. He also began using Red Hood's basic skills—stretching, gymnastics, and stamina building. The results?
Red Hood Template Completion: 8%
Three months later, Gabee reawakened.
"Master, I have perfect assimilation! But... bad news."
Ra-One, unfazed, nodded. "Tell me."
"I can no longer assimilate other systems into myself. If I try, I risk a meltdown. That last one nearly fried me."
"That's fine," Ra-One said, shrugging. "Now let's test the system. Scan the Predator Gauntlet."
Gabee activated the analysis. In seconds, she displayed a complete breakdown: materials used, schematics, flaws—everything. Turns out, the internal IC was fried and the power source had suffered catastrophic corrosion.
Ra-One frowned. "Unknown fuel cells… Ugh. If only we had a research function."
Gabee added, "Also, we can only analyze one item per day."
Ra-One sighed, then pivoted. He spent the next few months analyzing flawed drugs, bizarre serums, and techno-trash—but without a research function and solutions, all he had were diagnoses, no cures.
So he returned to his grind: body training, rapid schooling, and pushing the Red Hood template.
He completed two grade levels in one year, and thanks to his mature Brain and Body recovering at rapid and developing due to Hanma blood and perfect adaptability, he didn't even sweat it.
The monthly garbage continued. One month it was cursed pixie dust. Another time, someone's lingerie (don't ask). It was chaos.
On his third birthday, Ra-One received his most "WTF" garbage drop yet:
Cursed Allspark (Transformers)
Hollow Man Serum (yes, the invisibility one)
A Research System… that couldn't be installed into Gabee
He looked at the items and then at Gabee.
She blinked. "Please don't ask me to eat another system."
Ra-One chuckled. "Nope. This time… I'm going to find a workaround. If we can't assimilate it, maybe we can let the Fate decide."
And with that, Ra-One turned to his training and studies once again, slowly pushing the Red Hood template closer to completion, one absurd item at a time.
The Garbage King, the Genius Baby, and the Multiverse's most chaotic toddler… was just getting started.