## Chapter 20: The Impossible F-Rank
The sterile, windowless interrogation room in the temporary Hunter Command Post felt leagues away from the blood-soaked chaos of Lecture Hall B. Kelvin sat on a hard metal chair, the scent of antiseptic failing to mask the lingering metallic tang of goblin blood ingrained in his clothes. Across a utilitarian table sat Captain Renner, his stern face illuminated by the harsh overhead light, a tablet displaying Kelvin's scant Hunter Association profile glowing before him. Two other Hunters stood impassively by the door, their presence a silent pressure.
Renner tapped the tablet screen. "Kelvin Vance. Age 21. Registered Hunter for three years." His voice was flat, devoid of the earlier suspicion, replaced by a cold, professional curiosity. "Your file says F-rank. Lowest possible designation. Minimal mana signature. Cleared only for basic gate sanitation and low-risk perimeter patrols. Never engaged in direct combat." He looked up, his gaze sharp as flint. "Yet, according to preliminary statements from over two dozen witnesses in Hall B, you single-handedly eliminated eight D-rank Lesser Goblins. Including two Warriors. With minimal apparent injury."
He leaned forward slightly. "Explain that discrepancy, Mister Vance."
Kelvin kept his expression neutral, the mask of the broken F-rank slipping back into place, though it felt flimsier than ever. Inside, the **System** hummed, a constant reminder of the chasm between his recorded reality and his hidden truth. He met Renner's gaze, feigning a mixture of residual shock and weary confusion.
"I told you, Captain. I got lucky," he repeated, his voice deliberately rough, weaker than he felt. "I heard the alarms… saw the fog near Elara's school. I panicked. I ran. I found a way in through a damaged door." He gestured vaguely. "When I got to the hall… they were attacking. The students were trapped. I just… reacted." He let a tremor enter his voice. "I found a knife. I don't know… I just kept moving. They weren't expecting someone to fight back. Maybe… maybe they were weaker because of the breach instability?" He offered the flimsy theory, echoing Sasha's earlier words, knowing it wouldn't hold water.
Renner's expression didn't change. He tapped his tablet again, pulling up a different screen – likely the official Hunter Association database. "Mister Vance, Hunter ranks aren't subjective. They're determined by the Awakening Ritual. Mana core resonance, potential output, physical integration capacity. An F-rank designation means your body fundamentally *cannot* channel sufficient mana for sustained combat, let alone the feats described. Your physical baseline, according to your last mandatory assessment six months ago, was well below average, exacerbated by a recent severe spinal injury suffered during…" he glanced at the file, "...an unsanctioned low-rank gate incident. Prognosis was poor. Permanent mobility impairment likely."
He fixed Kelvin with an unblinking stare. "Yet, here you are. Not only mobile, but demonstrating combat reflexes, tactical improvisation, and lethality consistent with a C-rank, perhaps even a low B-rank Hunter. Witnesses describe impossible speed, unnatural strength for your frame, and the use of…" he paused, consulting notes, "...an unregistered energy weapon described as 'chains made of darkness and blood.'"
Renner leaned back, steepling his fingers. "An F-rank Hunter cannot kill eight D-rank goblins alone. It is physiologically and energetically impossible. The mana expenditure required, the physical toll… an F-rank would be dead after the first encounter, if they even managed to land a blow. Your file states F-rank. The scene in Hall B screams something else entirely. So, I ask again, Mister Vance. Explain the discrepancy."
This was the crux. The rigid dogma of the Hunter Association – your Awakened Rank was your immutable destiny. F-rank meant weak, limited, forever. His very survival, let alone his victory, was an affront to their entire system of understanding. Kelvin felt the cold sweat prickle on his neck. The lie about luck was crumbling. He had to give them *something* plausible, something that didn't involve blue screens and ancient entities.
"I… I don't know," Kelvin stammered, leaning into the confusion, letting genuine fear show – fear of *them*, of discovery. "After the injury… something changed. I started… healing faster. Feeling stronger. I thought it was just… weird nerve regeneration. Fluke. Then today… when I saw Elara was in danger…" He let his voice crack, looking down at his hands, still stained dark. "I just… moved. Faster than I ever have. Hit harder. I didn't think. I just… did it. I didn't use any weapon but the knives I grabbed from *them*." He vehemently denied the chains. "People were scared, panicking. Maybe they saw things… shadows, adrenaline."
He looked up, meeting Renner's skeptical gaze with wide, earnest eyes. "I'm F-rank, Captain. That's what the Ritual said. That's what my file says. I don't have an explanation. I just know I had to save my sister." He injected a raw desperation into his voice. "Please. Is she okay? Can I see her?"
Renner studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment. The silence stretched, thick with disbelief. Kelvin could practically see the gears turning: *Mana surge? Latent potential triggered by trauma? Unknown artifact? Or is he lying?*
Finally, Renner sighed, a low, frustrated sound. He tapped his tablet, bringing up Kelvin's F-rank ID – the official, unchangeable designation issued by the Association's central system. He looked from the screen to Kelvin, then back to the ID photo of a younger, less haunted-looking Kelvin.
"It says F-rank," Renner muttered, almost to himself, the professional frustration evident. "The Ritual doesn't lie. The system doesn't make mistakes." Yet, the evidence before him screamed otherwise. Eight dead D-rank hostiles neutralized by an F-rank invalid.
He closed the tablet with a decisive click. "Your sister is receiving medical evaluation for shock. Physically unharmed." He stood up, his expression grim. "Mister Vance, your actions saved lives today. That is undeniable. But your account… and your documented status… they are irreconcilable with the physical evidence."
He signaled to the Hunters by the door. "You're free to go for now. But consider yourself under Association observation. Your Hunter credentials are flagged for immediate review. Expect a visit from an Observer once Baltic operations permit." The threat was clear, cold. The Association didn't tolerate anomalies it couldn't explain, especially ones that defied its core tenets.
"You saved your sister," Renner added, his tone softening minutely, though his eyes remained hard. "Hold onto that. But be prepared to answer for the *how*, Mister Vance. The *how* matters. An F-rank killing eight D-ranks alone isn't luck. It's impossible. And the Association *will* find out why." He nodded towards the door. "Dismissed."
Kelvin stood on shaky legs that felt anything but weak, the **System's** power thrumming beneath the surface. Relief warred with dread. He was free, for now. Elara was safe. But the walls were closing in. His impossible victory had painted a target on his back far brighter than Vincent's betrayal ever had. The Forsaken Architect had reached Level 10, earned a Shadowkey, and shattered the world's understanding of what an F-rank could be. Now, he had to survive the scrutiny his own power had invited. The path ahead led deeper into shadow, pursued by Hunters seeking answers he could never give. The impossible F-rank had been exposed, and the reckoning was only beginning.