The Hunter Association's evaluation hall was quiet in the way only powerful places ever were.
Not silent—just restrained.
Screens hovered in the air, crystal-clear projections showing dungeon statistics, casualty rates, mana density curves. Officials in dark uniforms moved with rehearsed efficiency. No panic. No excitement. This place existed to measure risk, not gamble with it.
Aru stood at the center of the hall.
F-rank badge.
Cracked boots.
A mana signature so low it barely registered on the scanners.
And yet—
The screen in front of him pulsed red.
[UNREGISTERED VARIABLE DETECTED]
An evaluator frowned. "Run the scan again."
Another technician did. Same result.
Aru felt it—the System's presence curling around his spine like a coiled blade, watching. Waiting.
SYSTEM (dry, amused):
"Relax. They cannot see me. They only see the damage I allow them to notice."
Aru didn't reply. He'd learned early that talking back in public only invited trouble.
The evaluator cleared his throat. "Hunter Aru. According to records, you entered an E-tier dungeon as part of a supervised clearance team."
Aru nodded.
"You exited alone."
Another nod.
"The dungeon collapsed shortly after."
Silence followed.
This wasn't an interrogation. It was worse.
It was risk assessment.
Finally, the evaluator spoke again. "Explain."
Aru chose his words carefully.
"The dungeon experienced instability. Monsters exceeded expected parameters. The team withdrew. I was trapped inside."
"Trapped?" the evaluator echoed.
"Yes."
No lies. No embellishment.
The screens flickered. Internal reports scrolled past—mana surge anomalies, unexplained monster behavior, traces of combat damage inconsistent with E-tier difficulty.
The evaluator leaned back. "You're aware that under normal circumstances, an F-rank hunter would not survive that."
Aru met his gaze. "I'm aware."
That was the truth that mattered.
The evaluator sighed. "This isn't an accusation. It's a warning."
He tapped the console.
"From now on, you will not be assigned above your registered rank. The Association does not sacrifice hunters to satisfy anomalies."
Good.
That was how it should be.
The System clicked its tongue inside Aru's mind.
SYSTEM:
"How disappointingly humane."
Aru ignored it.
The evaluator continued. "However—"
There it was.
"Your survival rate is… problematic. You're not strong enough on paper, yet probability keeps bending around you."
Aru felt a faint chill.
"You will undergo passive observation. No interference. No favoritism. No protection beyond standard protocol."
A pause.
"If you die, you die."
Aru bowed slightly. "Understood."
That was all he wanted.
As he turned to leave, the System spoke again.
SYSTEM:
"You see, Aru? They call it safety. I call it stagnation."
Outside, the city breathed—hunters walking past, vendors selling dungeon-grade gear, guild recruiters shouting promises they couldn't guarantee.
Aru passed them all.
He didn't need glory.
He didn't need recognition.
He needed time.
That night, in his rented room, Aru removed his badge and placed it on the table.
F-rank.
A joke. A shield. A lie.
The System manifested its familiar translucent interface.
SYSTEM:
[NEW DIRECTIVE AVAILABLE]
Objective: Survive without relying on official assignments
Restriction: No dungeon above assigned rank
Hidden Clause: Exploit exists.
Aru's eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
The System smiled—he could feel it.
SYSTEM:
"The Association governs dungeons. It does not govern ruins, fractures, or forgotten battlefields."
Images flooded his vision—collapsed gates sealed decades ago, mana-scarred zones written off as dead land, places where monsters still roamed but paperwork no longer reached.
Dangerous.
Unregulated.
Unforgiving.
Perfect.
Aru exhaled slowly.
"So this is the debt," he murmured.
SYSTEM:
"No," it replied softly.
"This is the interest."
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance—not from the sky, but from somewhere deeper.
Something old was waking.
And Aru, still officially an F-rank, took his first real step toward it.