The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 19: Arming Up

The storage room was cold, dimly lit, and smelled like old metal and dust.

Jin stepped inside first, scanning the cluttered shelves. Most of the firearms were locked away, leaving only a mix of riot gear, spare uniforms, and emergency supplies.

Not what he wanted.

Not what he needed.

He swallowed the frustration creeping up his throat. He had no weapon. The broken pipe that carried him this far? Gone.

His skill alone wouldn't save him. He needed something.

Echo leaned against a shelf, arms crossed.

"You see anything useful?" he asked.

Jin didn't answer, stepping deeper into the room.

Joon trailed behind, his gaze moving over the scattered gear. "There's gotta be something in here."

Jin's eyes landed on an open crate near the back. Inside—riot batons.

He reached in, pulling one out.

The weight was... off. Thicker, heavier than he expected.

It wasn't like the pipe or knife. It wasn't familiar.

He gripped it tighter, testing his hold. This was all he had now.

Echo exhaled sharply. "That it?"

Jin turned the baton in his hands, adjusting his stance.

"...Guess so."

Joon frowned, stepping closer. "You think your skill will work on that?"

Jin hesitated.

With the pipe, he had no doubt. It was a weapon. A crude one, but still something made to strike, to break.

This?

His fingers tensed. He had no idea.

"I'll find out," he muttered.

No one said anything after that.

Because the truth was—none of them knew if anything they did would be enough.

Jin rolled the baton in his grip, stepping back from the others.

He adjusted his stance.

Test it without the skill first.

See if he could actually use it without help.

Jin exhaled. No point overthinking. Just swing.

Jin rolled the baton in his grip, stepping back from the others.

It felt solid. Sturdy. Heavier than the pipe.

But weight alone didn't make a weapon. Skill did.

And he didn't have that.

Jin shifted his stance, gripping the baton tighter.

He raised it and swung—

The baton jerked awkwardly in his grip.

His fingers clenched too tight. His footing was off.

He swung again.

It was clumsy. Uncoordinated. The strike had weight behind it, sure, but no control. It felt like he was forcing it—not letting the weapon work for him.

Jin exhaled sharply.

Another swing. Still stiff.

He wasn't just bad. He had no idea what he was doing.

"Damn."

Jin glanced up.

Echo stood there, arms crossed, watching with an eyebrow raised.

"Kinda thought you'd be better at that," he muttered.

Jin frowned.

Joon nodded. "You're not used to handling weapons, huh?"

Jin clenched his jaw. "Not really."

Echo smirked slightly. "But that pipe, though?"

Jin exhaled, adjusting his grip again.

"It wasn't the pipe," he muttered. "It was my skill."

Echo raised an eyebrow.

Jin tightened his grip. That was the truth.

It wasn't the pipe that saved him.

His ability made it lethal.

But holding this baton now, without his skill enhancing it... it was just a piece of reinforced rubber in his hands.

Jin exhaled, flexing his fingers.

Fine.

If he couldn't use it properly on his own... then he'd do what he always did.

A familiar system prompt flickered into view.

🔻 Weapon detected: Police Riot Baton.

🔻 Activate Max Potential?

Jin's fingers tensed.

His jaw clenched.

Yes.

The baton felt different.

The weight settled perfectly in his grip, like it was molded for his hands.

He swung again—this time, it was clean.

The baton cut through the air effortlessly.

No resistance. No awkward drag.

It wasn't that he got better.

The weapon just became perfect.

Jin exhaled slowly, lowering the baton.

Even with his skill activated, something still felt off.

His swings were clean, his movements sharper—but he wasn't fighting with instinct.

He was fighting with a crutch.

Jin turned the baton in his grip, his jaw tight.

It worked. He knew that much.

But the realization dug into him deeper now—if he ever lost his ability, he'd be useless.

This wasn't like a game where the system handed him mastery.

It only let him use weapons to their fullest.

And if he still didn't know how to fight?

Then he was just another guy swinging a stick.

Joon studied him. "Something wrong?"

Jin exhaled through his nose. "I need to learn how to actually fight."

Joon nodded slowly, gripping his own baton. "Yeah... I get that."

Echo stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Hey, at least you look like you know what you're doing."

Jin gave him a flat look. "That's not exactly useful."

Echo shrugged. "Maybe not, but it sounded helpful, didn't it?"

Jin just shook his head, tucking the baton under his arm.

This wasn't something he could joke his way through.

Before anyone could say anything else, the door to the storage room creaked open.

An officer stepped inside, expression tight.

"Ryu wants everyone gathered in the main hall."

Jin, Echo, and Joon exchanged looks.

Echo let out a breath. "Shit... guess it's almost time, huh?"

Joon adjusted his baton, already heading for the door. "Better not keep him waiting."

Jin followed, but something about Echo's voice made him hesitate.

It was different.

Jin glanced back at Echo, who stood staring at the floor for a second longer than he should have.

Jin frowned. "You good?"

Echo didn't answer immediately.

Then—he let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.

"Man... I was hoping I wouldn't have to think about it."

Jin narrowed his eyes. "Think about what?"

Echo finally met his gaze.

"This damn timer."

The 24-hour mark.

They all knew it was coming, but no one wanted to talk about it.

Because what if surviving the first 24 hours wasn't the end?

What if it was just the beginning?

Jin's grip on the baton tightened.

Yeah. He'd been thinking the same thing.

Joon exhaled sharply. "We should go."

Echo nodded, pushing off the shelf.

Together, they stepped out of the storage room, moving toward the main hall.

The second they entered, Jin felt it.

The air was heavy.

Survivors were gathered in small groups, talking in hushed voices. Some were pacing, others were just staring at the system timer, counting down in their vision.

Jin's eyes flicked to the screen in his own vision.

00:15:47

Fifteen minutes.

That was all that was left.

Then what?

No one knew.

But the tension? It was suffocating.

Jin had never heard silence this loud before.

He could see it—the tension in every movement. The way some people sat stiffly on the benches, fingers gripping at their knees. Others stood near the walls, backs pressed against them, staring blankly at the system screen hovering in their vision.

Even the officers weren't giving orders. There was nothing to do but wait.

Jin and his group found an empty spot near the back and sat down.

No one spoke.

Echo ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling. Joon sat forward, his hands clasped together between his knees.

Seul had gone off to be with her brother. He hadn't even seen her leave.

Jin just sat there, watching the numbers tick down.

00:09:31

Nine minutes left.

No one knew what would happen when it hit zero.

Maybe the system would just say congratulations, and that would be it.

Maybe things would get worse.

Maybe worse had already started.

Someone shifted across the room. A man rubbed his hands together, his leg bouncing anxiously.

A woman clutched a bloodied jacket, staring at nothing.

A few people gripped weapons—not raised, not threatening anyone—just holding onto something solid.

Jin exhaled.

It made sense.

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None of them were warriors. They were office workers, students, parents, teachers.

People who woke up one morning thinking the world was the same, and now they were sitting here, waiting for something none of them understood.

His fingers tightened around the baton on his lap.

He had survived this long.

But so had they.

And they weren't all fighters. Most of them had survived by hiding. By running.

Would the system let them keep doing that?

Or would it force them to change?

Jin didn't know.

And not knowing was worse than anything.

A deep breath came from Echo.

Then—he laughed.

It wasn't his usual tone. Not sarcastic, not teasing. It was forced.

"Feels like we're waiting on a bomb to go off," he muttered.

No one replied.

Because it did.

Jin just kept staring at the timer.

00:04:58

Four minutes.

Someone shifted again.

The air felt thick. Suffocating.

Jin inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay still.

Then—

A single, heavy footstep.

Ryu entered the hall, his expression unreadable.

The moment he appeared, the room seemed to tighten.

All eyes turned toward him.

And the final countdown began.