The room stinks of steel, sweat, and scorched mana but... it's the silence that feels wrong.
Like everyone's holding their breath.
Like something's about to snap...
Dozens of recruits stand shoulder to shoulder inside the Rank Assessment
Hall of the Fifth Hunter Division. The space is industrial and imposing. High ceilings reinforced by exposed iron beams, rust flaking like scabs at the edges. Walls lined with worn plates of mana-insulated alloy stretch skyward, like a cage built to hold something dangerous.
Flickering mana bulbs dangle from overhead fixtures, casting stuttering shadows across the stained concrete floor. Cold air seeps from hidden vents in the walls, sterile and sharp. The whole place feels lifeless, like a battlefield pretending to be a lab.
Nobody talks. Nobody dares to even breathe too loudly. The tension isn't just thick—it's sharp. Taut enough to slice through flesh. It hums through the air, amplified by the low whine of mana charging the pylons that ring the raised assessment platform.
At the very back of the line, a boy stands still, quiet. Watchful. Eyes dull, yet too alert. His posture is stiff, like he's holding himself together with threadbare will.
He's still trying to make sense of the morning.
He doesn't remember his name.
Doesn't remember where he came from. Or how he ended up alone in a dorm room, staring at a stranger's face in a mirror. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A faint, curved scar just above the chest.
Right above the heart.
It throbs sometimes not painfully, but persistently. A cold, dull pulse, like a drumbeat out of sync with the rest of him.
Not a heartbeat. A pressure. A quiet resistance. Like something coiled tight
inside his chest, resisting the rhythm of his body. Like it doesn't belong.
The mirror hadn't lied. But it hadn't told the whole truth, either.
That reflection looked human. Normal. Too normal.
Clean face. Straight posture. No wounds, no blood. Just… ordinary.
But the eyes, just for a moment, flickered black.
He saw it. Swore it.
Not a trick of light. Not shadow.
Just black. Pure and endless.
Like the void blinked.
That was hours ago. The unease hasn't faded. If anything, it's blooming—spreading through his ribs like ink in water, curling into his spine, threading every limb with a restless charge.
The boy ahead of him fidgets. His boots squeak slightly on the floor. He rubs his arms like he's cold or scared. Maybe he feels it, too.
The boy finally speaks. His voice is low, wary. "What is this place?"
The guy glances back at him, confused. "The Fifth Division. You passed the prelims, didn't you? We're here to be Ranked."
Ranked.
The word sits in the boy's mind like a foreign object. He hasn't taken any tests. Not that he remembers. Yet there's a mark on his wrist—a coiled, dark sigil burned into his skin. It glows faintly beneath the sleeve of his uniform.
Dim. Subtle. But active.
It reacts to the hall. To the pylons. To the platform pulsing with energy. It throbs like it recognises something here. Like it belongs.
Maybe he does, too.
Maybe none of this is a mistake.
Maybe it's worse.
"Next!" barks the examiner up front.
The line lurches. Boots shuffle. Everyone moves forward a step. The boy moves with them, the cold pressure in his chest intensifying. His skin's gone clammy. His lungs pull shallow, clipped breaths. His thoughts spiral, chasing nothing.
Then he freezes.
Mid-inhale, something inside him stops.
He presses a hand to his chest.
Nothing.
No beat. No thud. No rhythm.
Just silence.
A hollow emptiness, where life should echo.
He staggers, knees softening, vision narrowing at the edges. The world tilts. But he catches himself before he falls. No one notices. No one cares.
The line inches forward. So does he.
Now, the platform is in view—a raised slab of black stone etched with glowing runes. Steel pylons encircle it, each humming with mana. Sparks twitch at the seams, dancing like fireflies caught in a storm. The scent of ozone thickens, crawling into his lungs like smoke.
One by one, recruits step forward. They place their palms on the pedestal.
A pulse. A flare. The screen above flashes: S. A. B. C…
Each rank a brand. A verdict. A fate sealed in glowing letters.
A girl steps off the platform in stunned silence. Her screen glows a rare B+.
"That's rare," she whispers, almost disbelieving. Her voice trembles with awe. The next boy slinks away with a crimson D burning behind him like shame.
Then—his turn.
The examiner frowns. "Name?"
Silence.
He doesn't answer.
The man scowls. "Step in."
He obeys, limbs stiff, breath shallow. The platform vibrates beneath his boots, a low hum rising through his soles. Mana lashes the air, invisible strands brushing against his skin. Every hair stands upright.
He lifts his hand. Hesitates.
The pressure in his chest grows violent. Not resistance anymore... something clawing outward. Pressing against bone like it wants out.
Still, he lowers his hand.
The moment flesh meets stone... Everything explodes.
A blast of raw energy erupts from the pedestal, black and violet mana streaking skyward like a pillar of lightning. Wind tears through the room.
Screams rise as recruits stumble back.
Mana bulbs overhead burst in unison, raining glass-like shrapnel.
And then... darkness.
Silence.
The platform hums. Its stone is scorched and cracked. Smoke curls up from beneath his boots. Light flickers. The screen above stutters. Glitches.
Finally, it stabilises.
E
A single letter. Cold. Dismissive.
Someone snorts. Then laughter breaks the silence.
"All that drama for an E-Rank?" a voice jeers.
"Thought he was about to ascend to godhood."
Laughter ripples across the hall like poison in water.
But the boy doesn't hear it.
He's still staring at his hand.
The stone beneath is fractured. Scorched. But warm. A pulse lingers in his fingertips, subtle—alive.
Something responded.
The air buzzes faintly. Too soft for the others to hear. A private frequency.
He pulls his hand back slowly. The lights overhead flicker again, but only above him.
The examiner watches. Brow furrowed. Eyes narrow. Something's wrong.
He feels it, too.
Whatever is beating inside this boy's chest... it isn't normal.
It isn't human. And it's waking up.
That night, the boy sat alone on the dorm rooftop.
The city below pulsed with light and motion mana trams gliding between high-rises, neon signs blinking in layered languages, drones weaving silently through night traffic. Steam coiled from alley vents like whispers. But up here, above it all, it was quiet.
Still.
Like the world had forgotten he existed.
The wind bit at his skin. Cold. Real. The stars overhead burned bright, brighter than they should. Closer, as if they were watching.
He looked at his hand.
For a heartbeat his veins flickered black. Faint and fast, like lightning beneath the skin.
Then... gone.
A hallucination? A glitch?
No.
He knew what he saw.
Worse, he knew what he felt.
On that platform, something inside him had reached out. Not panicked. Not afraid.
Hungry.
The memory slammed into him without warning, like a blade driven into the back of his mind.
A vision.
Not of his own...
Fire. Bone. A blackened throne.
Kneeling figures in the smoke. Shrouded. Silent. Worshipping.
Whispering a name.
"My Lord."
The words echoed still, low and reverent. Heavy with dread.
But he wasn't a lord. He wasn't even sure he was human. Just a boy with no past, with someone else's heart.
A heart that shouldn't beat.
A heart full of something ancient. Buried. Starving.
He clenched his fist, pale under starlight.
E-Rank.
It was a lie.
The system didn't recognise him. Or his energy. It couldn't categorise him.
That wasn't a judgment... It was a warning...
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED…]
Welcome, User.
Title Unlocked: Unknown Entity
Rank Detected: Interference. Masked Output: E.
Awaiting further integration...
[Synchronization: 7.4%]
Please survive.