Chapter 1: Tristan's Preparations

Raccoon City.

Tristan smiled as he adjusted his police uniform in the mirror. 

It had been more than two decades since he'd arrived in this world, and getting to his current position hadn't been easy.

This was the world of Resident Evil, a place filled with danger. 

When Tristan was first reincarnated here, he discovered that he also had a system like the ones he read in the novels in his previous life.

But when he tried to activate it, he found the system was in an inactive state. 

Furious, he cursed on the spot, muttering that he'd never encountered such a useless thing.

Nevertheless, system or no system, life must go on.

So, over the past two decades, Tristan had used his wits to survive in the orphanage, get an education, and climb the ranks—resorting to fraud and deception to get what he wanted. 

Later, he even bribed his way into becoming a patrolman and formed alliances with local gangs to rake in dirty money. 

The chaos in this world was far worse than one could imagine. Without money or power, there was no respect.

To rise above, you must crush others below, and that required both cunning and strength.

Once again glancing at the dim system interface, Tristan still couldn't figure out how to reactivate it. 

But it didn't matter for now. He had bigger things to deal with.

As he got into his patrol car, the door opened, and a young man slid into the passenger seat. 

"Hey, Tristan, mind giving me a lift? Baker Street," the guy said casually.

It was Chris, a member of Raccoon City's elite police unit. The full name? Special Tactics and Rescue Service (S.T.A.R.S.). It sounded impressive—and it was indeed a cut above the rest.

This team had been reorganized just last month. Sponsored by the Umbrella Corporation, they received high salaries, lived in private dorms, and were treated like royalty compared to the average cop. 

Tristan and Chris were on excellent terms, but they didn't work together much. 

Chris was nicknamed "Team Killer" due to the unusually high casualty rates on his missions, and Tristan didn't want to become the next victim. 

Best to keep a safe distance.

As Tristan started the car, the door swung open again, and a breeze carrying a soft, feminine fragrance filled the vehicle as a woman with short, stylish hair slipped into the back seat.

She had a beautiful face with refined features, the kind of woman you'd remember after just one glance—elegant and confident.

"Hey, Jill. Good to see you again. You look stunning as always."

Jill Valentine, a sharp and capable officer, simply responded to Tristan with a slight smile.

However, when her eyes briefly flicked downward, she noticed the bulge in his pants due to her presence, and her expression became a mix of smugness and mild disgust.

"We're following up on a case. Mind giving us a ride?"

Naturally, this hidden disgust didn't escape Tristan's sharp eyes, and he sneered in his heart.

But since the time to break this bitch and teach her a lesson had not yet arrived, Tristan pretended to be oblivious.

"Of course, hop in. If we wrap this up quickly, how about dinner tonight? It's been a while since I've caught up with the serious crimes team. My treat." He offered generously. He had always been gracious with money—though none of it was clean.

In this world, making good money as a "good guy" was impossible.

Though Tristan's system remained inactive, he was an expert in networking and building relationships. 

Initially, his constant generosity had him labeled as a "pushover" and "easy guy," but over time, when some people tried to take his advantage and disappeared inexplicably, everyone who knew him had a 180-degree change in their opinion of him.

Later, they simply appreciated his connections and open wallet. 

Many even turned a blind eye to his underhanded dealings, and most of them actually enjoyed his company.

"Sure, since you're treating us, how can I disagree?" 

Chris agreed with a smile. Unlike Jill, he never discriminated against Tristan.

On the other hand, Jill narrowed her eyes slightly but still nodded in agreement.

"Sure."

"Great. Let's go then."

Tristan hit the accelerator, and the police car weaved through traffic until they arrived at Baker Street. The area was a rough, known slum and not a decent place to be.

"Good luck, guys. I've got some things to take care of first. Call me if anything comes up."

"Got it." 

Chris replied as he and Jill stepped out of the car. They joined the rest of their team, who had been waiting nearby, and headed into an old factory together.

Meanwhile, Tristan drove to a bar on the outskirts of the slums, which was the junction of the slums and residential areas—a so-called gray zone—not too dangerous but certainly not safe either.

This bar was under Tristan's control. It was known for its underground casino and the occasional sale of contraband. If you had the cash, you could even acquire firearms and other "good stuff" here.

Tristan's rise to becoming a patrolman in Raccoon City wasn't due to his looks or his aura as a protagonist. It was because of money—cold, hard cash.

He entered the bar and sat down across from a blonde woman in a sharp red suit.

Her smooth, short hair covered one eye. Her skin was fair, her features sharp, and her eyes calm. Clearly, she was a capable and beautiful lady.

"What happened at the West Street warehouse?" Tristan asked, setting a glass of wine on the table in front of her.

"How would I know? Aren't you a patrolman?" 

Alyssa continued writing the manuscript without raising her head, and she appeared to be quite familiar with Tristan.

Tristan was also familiar with her. She was a playable character in the Resident Evil outbreak series, and she wasn't an unknown one.

This made Tristan pay attention to her.

Even though Alyssa didn't like Tristan—she saw him as a villain and had little respect for his illegal dealings—there was still a cooperative relationship between them.

Tristan would provide her with black materials about rival gangs or other shady dealings in Raccoon City, giving her all the juicy dirt she needed for her reports. In return, she provided Tristan with some valuable information he needed.

Their collaboration was mutually beneficial.

"I'm asking because I don't know... Also, lay low for the next few days. Buckhu is looking for trouble with you, and it's safer for you to stay here." Tristan whispered. This was one of his reasons for coming.

"I'm not afraid of them." Alyssa snorted. She was a war correspondent, and reporters were bound to offend people. Fame and offending people often went hand in hand.

"You are not afraid, but I am. I can't stand the thought of something happening to you. I'm responsible for your safety." Tristan stated it 'sincerely.'

As an ordinary person, he could only fantasize about having a harem. And it was obviously unrealistic to expect to win over a woman right from the start, especially since the system hadn't activated yet.

Therefore, Tristan could only use the old-fashioned method and use emotions to confuse women.

Everyone knew that despite his illegal dealings, he had always been a clean person when it came to women. He had never even been to a prostitute, and he was rumored to be a guy who believed in "true love."

Of course, all those rumors were intentionally spread by him.

Furthermore, the system hadn't activated yet, but he knew it would eventually. And when it did, all his groundwork would prove valuable, giving him the edge he needed to act decisively.

At that time, all this preparation would be the foundation to keep him safe until he became strong enough not to care about anyone or anything else.

Upon hearing Tristan's words, Alyssa's eyes couldn't help but flicker with surprise for a moment, but she was not a little girl and quickly brushed it off.

"I appreciate your kindness."

"Just listen to me this time, Alyssa. This situation is serious," he said, holding up a hand to stop her from interrupting. His gaze lingered on her beautiful face before he continued.

"I like you. And I want to protect you, so don't be so reckless."

This time, Alyssa was silent for a moment.