Work did not care that Asher had narrowly avoided becoming a case study.
The automatic doors slid open like nothing in the world had changed, and the store greeted him with the familiar smell of disinfectant, cardboard, and mild despair.
Normal.
Painfully normal.
Asher clocked in, tied his apron, and reminded himself—again—that he was just an F-rank civilian with sore muscles and bad timing.
Maya noticed immediately.
Not dramatically. Not with alarm.
Just a glance that lasted half a second longer than usual.
"You walk different," she said.
Asher froze mid-step. "I—what?"
She gestured vaguely with her coffee. "Less like you're apologizing to the floor."
He resumed walking. Carefully. "I've been stretching."
"Since when?"
"…This morning."
She hummed, unconvinced, then let it go—for now.
Which somehow felt worse.
The shift started slow. Stocking shelves. Answering questions. Explaining, for the third time, that no, the store did not control pricing "from the back."
Asher settled into the rhythm.
And that's when he felt it.
Not the dungeon.
Not the system pushing.
Something… observational.
A pressure that wasn't inside his head, but around him—like being looked at through a layer of glass.
He glanced up.
Nothing obvious.
Customers moved. Shelves stood. The world behaved.
He exhaled.
Then the system spoke. Quietly. Privately.
[Notice]
Public assessment vector detected.
Asher kept stacking boxes. "Define vector."
[Clarification]
Informal evaluation. Non-institutional.
That narrowed it down to exactly nothing helpful.
Maya leaned against the counter nearby, pretending to scroll through her phone while very obviously watching him in the reflection of the freezer door.
"Asher."
"Yes?"
"Hypothetical."
He didn't like hypotheticals anymore. "Go on."
"If someone was… stronger than they should be," she said carefully, "how long do you think it'd take before people noticed?"
His hands paused on a crate.
"Depends," he said. "On how bad they are at hiding it."
She smiled thinly. "Good answer."
That observational pressure ticked upward.
Asher finished stacking and straightened, making sure his movements stayed within the range of "tired retail employee" instead of "quietly reinforced human."
He could do this.
He just had to be boring.
The rest of the shift passed without incident—no collapsing shelves, no spontaneous feats of strength, no system alerts screaming about optimization opportunities.
By the time his break rolled around, Asher sagged into a chair and let out a slow breath.
That's when his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Again.
He stared at it.
It buzzed a second time.
Then stopped.
A system prompt flickered into view.
[Notice]
Repeated contact attempt detected.
Classification: Civilian intermediary.
Asher frowned. "Intermediary for who?"
No answer.
Great.
He didn't call back. He didn't block it either.
He just… waited.
Because apparently waiting was a theme now.
When his shift ended, Maya walked out with him, hands in her jacket pockets.
"You're doing that thing again," she said.
"What thing?"
"The thinking one. Where you go quiet and your eyebrows argue with each other."
Asher snorted. "I don't have arguing eyebrows."
She gave him a look. "They're very expressive."
They reached the corner where their routes split.
Maya stopped.
"Asher," she said, voice lighter than her eyes. "If someone comes asking questions—real ones—you tell me. Not after. Not when it's convenient."
He hesitated.
Then nodded. "Okay."
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded back.
"Good. Go home. Don't do anything heroic."
He smiled faintly. "No promises."
She rolled her eyes and turned away.
Asher headed back to his apartment, the city shifting into evening around him.
The dungeon tugged gently at the edge of his awareness.
Not demanding.
Patient.
He ignored it.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and finally listened to the voicemail from the unknown number.
A different voice this time. Younger. Polished.
"Mr. Black. My name is Elias. I represent an independent consultancy that specializes in awakened talent placement. We're aware of your recent… involvement. No pressure. Just an invitation to talk. Call back if interested."
Asher stopped walking.
Talent placement.
That wasn't a guild.
That was… scouting.
The system chimed softly.
[Notice]
External opportunity detected.
Risk assessment: Moderate.
Asher laughed under his breath.
"Of course it is."
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and resumed walking.
He didn't call back.
Not yet.
Tonight, he needed to think.
About cores.
About public growth.
About eyes that watched and systems that negotiated.
And about the fact that, somehow, being unnoticed was becoming harder than surviving a dungeon.
When he reached his apartment, the dungeon pull brushed against him again.
Stronger this time.
Asher paused at the door.
"…Later," he said quietly.
The pull receded.
Inside, the room was quiet.
Safe.
For now.
Asher leaned against the door and closed his eyes.
He was still an F-rank.
Still officially nothing special.
But the world had started paying attention anyway.
And that, he realized, was going to be its own kind of trial.