Kane scanned the room again, his gaze sharp.
"Before we proceed," he stated, his voice cutting through the silence, "let's clarify something many seem confused about each year. Those assessment ranks—A, B, C, whatever card you hold—they signify potential. Future growth. Not your current power level."
He paused, letting the words sink in. No murmurs of surprise followed. Most faces remained impassive.
'So, B-rank potential doesn't mean I'm B-rank now,' Sunny thought. 'Makes sense. I felt stronger after the dungeon, but not that much stronger. Still, it's better than nothing.' He remembered the 'Fallen' class on his status screen. 'Potential is one thing, reality is another.'
Kane nodded slightly, seeming satisfied that the point was understood. "Good. Moving on. Passing the assessment is just the first step. It means the Association sees something in you worth investing in. But it does not guarantee you will become a Player."
His eyes hardened. "You have to prove you are worthy. Prove you can handle the reality of this life. There is only one way to show that." He leaned forward slightly over the podium. "Real combat."
A ripple of anticipation went through the hall. Some candidates shifted nervously, others leaned forward, their eyes gleaming.
"The next stage of your examination will test your combat capabilities," he continued. "You will face monsters. They will be weakened, controlled specimens, but they are still dangerous. They can still maim. They can still kill. Complacency is your enemy."
He swept his gaze across the room again. "Furthermore, be aware that representatives from various Guilds and Hunter Organizations will be observing your performance. They are looking for recruits. How you handle yourselves under pressure matters."
'Guild leaders watching?' Sunny felt a prickle of unease. 'Like Radiant Dawn? Or worse? Do they just see us as potential assets? Cannon fodder?' He thought of Nyx's cynicism. 'Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong.'
"Those who pass the combat trials will proceed to the final stage: the Dungeon Mission," he announced. "For this, you will be formed into teams of five. Your ability to cooperate, strategize, and survive within a dungeon environment will be assessed."
He paused again, his expression stern. "This is not a solo endeavor. Players who cannot work with others rarely last long. Use the remaining time wisely. Identify potential allies. Make connections. Your survival may depend on it."
'Teams of five,' Sunny thought grimly. 'Like the cleanup crew. Like the heroes.' He remembered Gamma team's rough loyalty, the strained dynamics with Radiant Dawn. 'Who would want me on their team? The quiet kid with the weird shadow?' He glanced at the blue-haired girl beside him. She was still chewing gum, utterly unfazed.
'Definitely not her.'
"The combat examinations will commence in precisely thirty minutes," he declared, checking a chronometer on his wrist. "Prepare yourselves. Dismissed."
He turned and walked off the stage without another word.
The hall erupted into noise. Chairs scraped as candidates stood, forming tense groups, whispering strategies, or eyeing potential teammates—and rivals. The nervous energy from before returned, sharper now, laced with the clear threat of imminent danger.
Sunny remained seated for a moment, the Proctor's words echoing in his mind. 'Combat. Monsters. Teams.' He took a slow breath.
'Sigh, approaching people is such a drag.'
He finally stood up, grabbing his duffel bag.
As the candidates dispersed, a previously unnoticed section of the wall slid open, revealing a brightly lit doorway. Beyond it lay a sprawling training facility. Equipment lined the walls – weight machines, practice dummies, treadmills, and open mat spaces.
'Oh, nice.' Sunny thought, appreciating the professional setup compared to the improvised training the system had forced on him in parks and alleys.
He followed the crowd inside. Instantly, the space filled with activity. Some candidates claimed weight benches, others started stretching routines, a few began sparring lightly on the mats.
The air filled with the clang of metal, rhythmic thuds, and strained breathing.
Sunny found an open space near the back. He needed to push himself, get his body primed.
'Thirty minutes isn't long. Need to be ready for anything.' He started with basic exercises – push-ups, squats, burpees – moving quickly, focusing on form but pushing his pace.
Then he ran laps around the perimeter of the facility, forcing his legs to burn, his lungs to ache. He jumped, he ducked imaginary blows, he pushed his stamina relentlessly.
'Just like the system training, but this time, I choose the pain.' He remembered the electric shocks, the forced marches. 'This is different. This is preparation, not punishment.'
He zoned in, blocking out the noise around him. He vaguely registered other candidates glancing his way, some nodding almost imperceptibly, perhaps recognizing the intensity of his routine. He didn't care.
His focus was absolute.
Across the room, the girl with the blue hair leaned against a wall, observing the controlled chaos. Her eyes, sharp and analytical, scanned the candidates.
They lingered on Sunny for a moment, noting his relentless pace, his focused energy. Her expression remained unchanged, still chewing her gum with slow precision.
The minutes ticked by relentlessly. The initial burst of activity settled into a steady hum of preparation. Sweat dripped, muscles strained, breaths came hard and fast.
Suddenly, the disembodied voice echoed through the facility, cutting through the noise.
"Candidate number 18. Proceed to Arena 1."
A hush fell over the room.
All eyes turned towards a set of double doors marked 'ARENA ACCESS'. A nervous-looking young man, clutching a bronze C-rank card, took a shaky breath and walked towards them.
As the doors hissed shut behind him, a massive screen mounted high on the training facility wall flickered to life. It showed a clear view of a sandy arena, empty except for the candidate now standing uncertainly in the center.
The test had begun.
The camera angle shifted slightly, panning up to show a row of figures seated in an observation booth high above the arena floor. Guild leaders and Association officials watched, their expressions mostly impassive, some bordering on bored.
'They look like they're watching paint dry, not a life-or-death fight,' Sunny thought. 'Just another day at the office for them.'
An announcer's voice, smooth and professional, filled the training facility. "Combat Trial commencing. Candidate 18 versus Undead Specimen, Class: Skeletal Warrior, Difficulty: Low (Weakened)."
The voice continued, devoid of emotion. "Objective: Neutralize the opponent or survive for the designated ten-minute period. All combat methods are permitted. Performance will be evaluated based on efficiency, control, and survival aptitude. Faster completion times increase recruitment potential."
'Kill or survive. Ten minutes,' Sunny processed the rules. 'Simple enough. But that doesn't mean easy.' He remembered the desperation of his own fights, the sheer will it took just to stay alive.
On the screen, a heavy iron gate groaned open at the far end of the arena. A figure shambled out. It was humanoid, made of yellowed bone, empty sockets glowing with a faint red light.
It carried a rusty, notched sword. The Skeletal Warrior threw back its head, letting out a rattling, guttural roar that echoed even through the speakers.
Candidate 18 flinched visibly.
He took an involuntary step backward, his knuckles white where he gripped a simple short sword provided for the test. Fear radiated off him in waves, palpable even through the screen.
'He's terrified,' Sunny observed. 'That fear will get him killed faster than the monster.'
From somewhere behind Sunny in the room, a low voice muttered, "Yeah, that guy is fucked."