Director Sarah Kim stood at the head of the boardroom table on the fortieth floor of the Hunter Association's eastern command center, watching water stream down floor-to-ceiling windows.
Below, Safe Zone Seven sprawled in the grey morning light, concrete barriers, guard towers, thousands of survivors clinging to what remained of civilization.
Inside, the aesthetic was aggressively modern.
Sleek black table, holographic displays embedded in the surface, recessed lighting casting everything in cool white illumination.
The kind of room designed for control, for order, for imposing structure on chaos.
Ash Sinclair sat across from her, Angela beside him.
He was healed by an S-rank Healer in the safe zone.
Dr. Park occupied a chair to Kim's left, tablet in hand, looking as exhausted as he had during Ash's initial evaluation months ago.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Kim said, her voice professional and measured.
"We need to discuss what happened in Manhattan. I won't take much of your time."
Ash's expression remained calm. Not defensive, not anxious.
Just attentive.
Angela's posture was equally controlled, the Sinclair negotiation instinct in full display.
Kim tapped her tablet, and the holographic display flickered to life.
"Helen filed multiple reports," Kim said, pulling up documents that floated in the air between them.
"Irregularities throughout the operation. Mana disturbances around you, Mr. Sinclair. Your eyes are changing color during tactical callouts. Physical strength is inconsistent with F-rank classification."
She pulled up a graph. A jagged line representing energy levels spiked dramatically during the final moments of the fight.
"This energy surge," Kim continued, gesturing to the spike, "occurred three minutes before the Warlord's confirmed death.
The readings were unprecedented, powerful enough to destabilize the gate's dimensional anchor.
For forty-five seconds, we were on the verge of a catastrophic rift that could have leveled three city blocks."
Ash met her gaze steadily. "I understand your concern, Director."
"Do you?" Kim's eyes sharpened.
"Because from where I'm sitting, we have an F-rank coordinator who demonstrated capabilities far beyond his classification.
Helen's reports describe tactical awareness that suggests enhanced perception.
Multiple team members noted physical feats, lifting debris, moving injured hunters, that shouldn't be possible for someone with minimal mana."
She leaned forward slightly.
"So I'll ask you directly, Mr. Sinclair.
Did something happen to you in that gate? A second awakening, perhaps?"
The room fell silent except for the rain drumming against the windows.
Ash didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Kim's expression shifted slightly, surprise, maybe, that he'd admitted it so quickly.
"During the fight with the Warlord," Ash continued, his voice steady and professional, "something changed.
I felt it when Jake fell. I just leaped towards the Warlord."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"I believe I'm a Physical Enhancement Type.
My body adapts during combat and becomes stronger under pressure.
The F-rank classification was accurate initially, but I had barely any mana. But exposure to high-stress situations, life-or-death combat, triggered development."
"Physical Enhancement," Dr. Park said, typing rapidly on his tablet.
"That would explain the gradual strength increases. It's a known phenomenon, hunters whose abilities manifest through continuous combat exposure rather than a single awakening moment."
"And the eyes?" Kim asked, pulling up a still image from Helen's footage. Ash's face, caught mid-callout, his eyes completely black with green veins of light.
"Secondary mutation," Ash said without missing a beat.
"Mana perception. When I focus, I can see weak points in targets—structural flaws, vulnerable areas. The visual change is a side effect of channeling perception through enhanced senses."
Angela spoke up for the first time, her voice carrying the weight of her S-rank status.
"Director Kim, my brother's abilities manifested under extreme duress. He was coordinating a team against a corrupted boss while watching our mentor die. If that's not sufficient stress to trigger a second awakening, I don't know what is."
Her green eyes held Kim's with absolute confidence.
"You've seen the reports. Ash's tactical callouts saved lives. His strength helped evacuate injured hunters. Whatever he's become, he's an asset, not a threat."
Kim studied them both.
The Sinclair siblings, master negotiators, trained from childhood in the art of reading rooms and controlling narratives. They weren't lying, not exactly.
But they weren't telling the whole truth either.
Still, what Angela said was strategically sound.
If Ash had awakened to genuine combat abilities, if he had potential for further growth.
"I want a full re-evaluation," Kim said finally. "Dr. Park will conduct new tests.
If you're truly a Physical Enhancement Type, we'll see it in the results."
"Of course," Ash agreed.
The testing chamber was stark, with reinforced walls, high-density combat dummies arranged in rows, and measurement equipment built into every surface.
Dr. Park stood behind a protective barrier, his tablet connected to the chamber's sensors.
"Standard combat assessment," Dr. Park's voice came through the speakers.
"Strike the dummies with maximum force.
The equipment will measure impact strength, speed, and mana expenditure."
Ash stepped into the center of the chamber.
Five dummies surrounded him, humanoid shapes made from compressed alloy designed to withstand B-rank strikes.
He took a breath, then activated his ability.
His eyes shifted.
Black sclera, green pupils, burning with that eerie light.
Through Eyes of the Dead, the dummies' structure became visible, stress points glowing faintly, weak joints highlighted in his enhanced vision.
The first dummy's left shoulder joint. Compromised weld.
Ash moved.
His fist drove into the weak point with calculated precision. The impact measurement spiked on Dr. Park's display—8,947 Newtons.
The dummy's shoulder collapsed inward, the joint failing exactly as Ash had predicted.
Second dummy. Right knee, micro-fracture in the alloy casing.
Ash pivoted low, his strike hitting with surgical accuracy. 9,203 Newtons.
The knee joint shattered.
Third dummy. Central chest plate, manufacturing flaw creating a thin point.
Palm strike. 8,891 Newtons. The chest caved in.
He moved through all five dummies in under two minutes.
Each strike targeted a weak point his eyes had identified.
Each impact registered in the high C-rank to low B-rank range, strong enough to be impressive, controlled enough not to reveal his true capabilities.
When he finished, his eyes faded back to normal green.