The Association noticed the irregularities three days later.
Not because they were looking for Han Joon-seok.
But because numbers, when ignored long enough, became rude.
A junior analyst stared at her screen, blinking slowly.
"…That's not right."
She refreshed the page.
The same results appeared.
Training efficiency reports from multiple guilds showed abnormal spikes—nothing outrageous, nothing that screamed emergency, but enough to break statistical smoothness.
Growth curves that should have flattened… didn't.
She scrolled.
White Fang Guild.Multiple teams.Multiple support rotations.
She frowned.
"Hey, Senior Park?" she called out.
A tired voice answered from behind a stack of files. "If this is about lunch, I already said—"
"Growth rates are stacking."
Silence.
A chair scraped back.
"What?"
She turned the monitor slightly. "These curves. They shouldn't look like this."
Senior Park leaned in, squinting.
"…That's subtle," he muttered. "But yeah. That's wrong."
"Bug?"
"Maybe," he said slowly. "Or maybe someone's definition is outdated."
He straightened. "Flag it. Low priority."
She hesitated. "Low?"
"If it were dangerous, it'd be obvious," he replied. "Quiet anomalies are the worst kind to chase blindly."
He paused.
"…But keep watching."
Han Joon-seok was not watching the Association.
He was watching coffee foam.
Specifically, how it collapsed inward when stirred counterclockwise.
"Why are you staring at that like it owes you money?"
Joon-seok glanced up. "It's asymmetrical."
Se-rin sighed and dropped into the chair across from him at the café near their apartment. "You're asymmetrical."
"That's hurtful."
"It's accurate."
She took a sip of her drink. "Guild meeting ran long."
"Problems?"
"Not yet." She paused. "But people are talking."
He stirred his coffee once more, then stopped. "About?"
"Growth," she said bluntly. "Too much of it."
He didn't react.
Se-rin watched him carefully. "Support skills don't usually cause this kind of ripple. Especially not low-tier ones."
"Maybe people are training harder," he suggested mildly.
She snorted. "Hunters don't change habits that fast."
He smiled faintly. "You sound suspicious."
"I am," she replied. "But not worried."
She leaned back. "If this were dangerous, it'd already be a mess."
Joon-seok nodded.
She wasn't wrong.
Yet.
The problem wasn't that his skill was strong.
It was that it was quiet.
Joon-seok learned this the hard way during a routine support rotation two days later.
White Fang had assigned him to assist a mixed team—two B-rankers, one A-rank, rotating through a stabilized mid-tier dungeon. His job was simple: remain behind, apply support sparingly, don't interfere.
He intended to follow those instructions exactly.
Unfortunately, reality had other plans.
"Left flank!" one of the B-rankers shouted.
The A-ranker moved instantly, blade flashing.
Joon-seok activated his skill.
Target Selected
Skill Activated
The thread formed.
Clear.Clean.
Too clean.
For a moment, he saw—
No.
Felt.
The angle of the swing.The timing.The opening.
His body reacted before his mind finished warning him.
"Duck!"
The shout tore from his throat.
The B-ranker reacted instinctively, dropping low.
A shadow claw passed where his head had been.
The fight ended seconds later.
Silence followed.
"…How did you know?" the B-ranker asked, breathing hard.
Joon-seok blinked. "Lucky guess."
The A-ranker stared at him.
Not suspicious.
Curious.
That was worse.
After the run, Se-rin pulled him aside.
"You shouted."
He nodded. "Yes."
"You weren't synced to combat data feeds."
"No."
"You still reacted before anyone else."
He hesitated. "Coincidence?"
She stared at him.
Then sighed. "You're bad at lying."
"I didn't lie," he said calmly. "I just didn't explain."
"That's worse."
She rubbed her temples. "Listen. People don't mind support being useful. They mind support being predictive."
He considered that. "Because it blurs roles."
"Because it scares them," she corrected. "Frontliners don't like thinking someone behind them sees more than they do."
He nodded slowly.
That made sense.
Perspective was power.
That night, Joon-seok adjusted his rules.
No vocal warnings unless unavoidable
No conscious leaning during combat
Keep synchronization shallow
He didn't like constraints.
But survival liked them.
The first real test of restraint came sooner than expected.
A request arrived through official channels the next morning.
Association Evaluation RequestSubject: Support Skill Efficiency AuditLocation: Neutral FacilityAttendance Required
Se-rin read the message twice.
"…They're fast."
Joon-seok folded his arms. "Routine?"
"On paper," she said. "In reality? They noticed."
He exhaled slowly. "Should I decline?"
"No," she replied immediately. "That'd look worse."
She studied him. "You didn't do anything illegal, did you?"
"No."
"Good." She stood. "Then we control the narrative."
The evaluation room was smaller than the awakening chamber, but far more uncomfortable.
Two Association officials sat across from Joon-seok, tablets ready. A third observed silently from the corner.
"Han Joon-seok," the woman on the left said. "E-rank support. Growth Acceleration."
"Yes."
"We've noticed above-average improvement in teams you assist."
"That's my job."
She smiled thinly. "Not at this consistency."
The man beside her leaned forward. "Describe your activation habits."
"Low output. Short duration. No stacking beyond recommended limits."
True.
"What about combat proximity?"
"I maintain distance."
Also true.
They exchanged glances.
The observer in the corner finally spoke. "Do you believe your skill is misclassified?"
Joon-seok met his gaze calmly. "No."
A pause.
"…Why not?"
"Because it doesn't give me power," Joon-seok replied. "Only others."
Silence stretched.
The woman nodded slowly. "That aligns with our data."
The evaluation concluded without incident.
Too smoothly.
As they left, Se-rin glanced at him. "You handled that well."
"They were testing boundaries, not hunting," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Difference?"
"Hunting starts when they think you matter."
Later that evening, Joon-seok sat alone on the apartment balcony, city lights flickering below.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Contact:You're interesting.
He stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Support skills don't usually scare analysts.
He typed back calmly.
Joon-seok:Then maybe they're overthinking.
A pause.
Maybe.
Another message.
Or maybe you're underestimating yourself.
Joon-seok locked the phone and set it aside.
Interesting.
So the anomaly had learned to speak.
Inside, Se-rin stretched, yawning. "You coming in?"
"In a minute."
She hesitated. "You sure you're okay?"
He nodded. "I'm fine."
She studied him, then smirked. "Good. Because if you cause an international incident, I'm disowning you."
"Fair."
She went inside.
Joon-seok looked back at the city.
Growth wasn't loud.
Observation wasn't flashy.
But patterns, once noticed, invited attention.
And attention always demanded answers.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Let's see how long they pretend this is normal."