The message arrived without ceremony.
No guild header.No Association watermark.No attempt to look official.
Just coordinates, a time, and a single line.
You should hear this from me before you hear it from someone worse.
Joon-seok stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then he forwarded it to Se-rin.
She read it once.
Didn't ask who it was from.
"Public place," she said. "No enclosed spaces. No private rooms."
"I wasn't planning on being friendly."
"Good," she replied. "Neither are they."
The café sat three blocks outside White Fang's influence radius.
Neutral ground.
Busy enough to disappear into, expensive enough that no one lingered longer than necessary. The kind of place where conversations stayed low and memories stayed vague.
Joon-seok arrived five minutes early.
The man he was meeting was already there.
That alone was information.
He didn't look like an S-ranker.
No visible scars.No pressure in the air.No instinctive tightening in Joon-seok's chest.
He wore a plain coat, dark hair neatly tied back, posture relaxed in a way that suggested nothing could surprise him anymore.
He stirred his drink slowly.
Then spoke without looking up.
"You're late."
"I'm early," Joon-seok replied.
The man smiled faintly. "Relative."
Joon-seok sat.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then—
"You don't feel like one," the man said.
Joon-seok tilted his head. "Like what?"
"Like someone people are already planning around."
That earned a reaction.
Not outward.
Internal.
"My name is Kang Tae-jin," the man said. "S-rank. Independent."
Independent meant unaffiliated.
Unaffiliated meant dangerous.
"And you," Tae-jin continued, finally meeting Joon-seok's eyes, "are inconvenient."
Joon-seok considered that.
"I get that a lot."
"No," Tae-jin said calmly. "You get noticed. That's different."
They ordered.
The server left.
Silence returned.
"You moved during the joint operation," Tae-jin said. "Not with mana. Not with command authority. But the outcome shifted."
Joon-seok didn't answer.
"I reviewed the footage," Tae-jin continued. "Frame by frame. You didn't violate any known mechanic."
He leaned back.
"That's impressive."
"It's not illegal to be lucky."
Tae-jin chuckled. "Luck repeats. Coincidences don't."
Joon-seok finally asked, "Why are you here?"
"Because the Association is drawing lines."
"And?"
"And S-rankers don't like it when lines are drawn without them."
Joon-seok absorbed that.
"You're here to recruit me?"
Tae-jin shook his head. "No. I'm here to warn you."
"That's worse."
"Yes."
Tae-jin leaned forward slightly.
"They'll try to define you," he said. "Support, observer, anomaly. Once they pick a label, they'll build policy around it."
"And if I refuse?"
"They'll pick anyway."
Joon-seok exhaled slowly. "So what do you want?"
Tae-jin smiled.
"To know which side of that line you'll stand on when it matters."
"I don't choose sides," Joon-seok said. "I choose outcomes."
"Everyone says that before it costs them."
"Then I'll pay when it does."
Tae-jin studied him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"That's the wrong answer," he said. "Which makes it interesting."
The pressure came suddenly.
Not hostile.
Not aggressive.
Just present.
For the first time since awakening, Joon-seok felt it clearly.
An S-ranker's attention.
It wasn't mana.
It wasn't intent.
It was awareness.
"You see things," Tae-jin said quietly. "Not power. Not stats. Flow."
Joon-seok didn't deny it.
"That's dangerous," Tae-jin continued. "Because once you see flow, you start correcting it."
Joon-seok's jaw tightened.
"And once you correct it," Tae-jin finished, "people stop being sure what's theirs."
Silence stretched.
Then Tae-jin leaned back and released the pressure.
The café noise rushed back in.
"I'm not here to threaten you," Tae-jin said. "If I were, you'd already know."
"That's reassuring," Joon-seok replied flatly.
Tae-jin smiled. "It shouldn't be."
He stood.
Left exact change on the table.
"One last thing," he said. "Your sister is doing the right thing."
Joon-seok looked up sharply.
Tae-jin met his gaze. "Protecting you."
Then he turned to leave.
Paused.
"And Joon-seok?"
"Yes."
"Don't let them convince you you're a support."
The man walked out.
Joon-seok stayed seated long after the chair across from him was empty.
His drink had gone untouched.
For the first time, someone had spoken to him without wanting something.
That scared him more than the offers.
Outside, Tae-jin exhaled.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Behind him, the city moved on, unaware that another variable had just entered the board.
Joon-seok didn't tell Se-rin about Kang Tae-jin.
Not immediately.
Not because he was hiding it—because he was still deciding where to put the information. Tae-jin hadn't made demands. Hadn't issued warnings that came with instructions.
He'd just… pointed.
And walked away.
Those were the ones that lingered.
The Association moved three days later.
This time, without pretending it was optional.
The notice arrived through White Fang's official channel, flagged PRIORITY.
Association Directive:Temporary reassignment of auxiliary personnel for evaluation purposes.Subject: Han Joon-seokDuration: UndeterminedOversight: Central Operations Division
Se-rin read it in silence.
Once.
Twice.
Then closed the file.
"They didn't ask," she said.
"No," Joon-seok replied. "They informed."
Her jaw tightened. "I can block this."
"For how long?"
She didn't answer.
Because they both knew the number wasn't large.
"They're isolating variables," Joon-seok said. "Same thing they do before rewriting a model."
Se-rin turned to him. "You're not a model."
"Not to you."
"That's not good enough."
"It might have to be."
They compromised.
White Fang would "cooperate."
On paper.
Joon-seok would attend Association evaluations—but remain officially attached to the guild. No permanent reassignment. No closed-door testing.
For now.
The Association accepted.
Too easily.
Which meant they'd already planned around it.
The evaluation site wasn't a lab.
That was the first surprise.
It was a training complex, newly renovated, staffed by hunters instead of technicians. The kind of place meant to feel practical instead of clinical.
Joon-seok noticed the details anyway.
Camera angles.Observer placement.Escape routes.
And how many of the people present were too calm.
A handler met him at the entrance.
Professional. Neutral. Forgettable.
"Just observation today," she said. "No stress testing."
Joon-seok nodded.
He didn't believe her.
They ran him through basic drills.
Reaction timing.Situational awareness.Support assessment scenarios.
He performed exactly as expected.
No more.
No less.
The observers took notes.
Some frowned.
Others looked disappointed.
Then the handler paused mid-session.
"Change of schedule," she said. "We'll be adding a live component."
Joon-seok didn't move. "That wasn't cleared."
"It is now."
"By whom?"
She hesitated.
Then said, "Central."
The room they led him to was smaller.
Enclosed.
No windows.
That alone violated three of Se-rin's conditions.
Inside, someone was already waiting.
A hunter.
Young.
Too young.
Nervous enough that it showed.
"C-rank," the handler said. "Recently awakened."
The hunter bowed slightly. "I—I'm just supposed to run a scenario."
Joon-seok looked at him.
Really looked.
The stance was wrong.
The breathing was off.
The flow—
He stopped himself.
"This is a support compatibility test," the handler explained. "You won't be linked directly."
Joon-seok met her eyes. "Then why is he shaking?"
The handler didn't answer.
The doors sealed behind them.
The scenario began.
Simulated enemies. Controlled environment. Standard parameters.
Except the hunter hesitated.
Missed a timing.
Panicked.
Joon-seok felt it instantly.
That familiar tug.
Stronger than before.
Closer.
The thread wanted to correct it.
"Proceed," the handler said sharply.
The hunter stumbled again.
Sweat beaded at his temple.
Joon-seok clenched his jaw.
If he did nothing—
Someone would get hurt.
If he acted—
Someone would notice.
He made a decision.
He moved.
Just enough.
Not a command.
Not a cast.
A shift.
The hunter's stance corrected instinctively.
The next strike landed clean.
The scenario stabilized.
Observers leaned forward.
Too many of them.
The exercise ended.
Silence filled the room.
The hunter looked at Joon-seok with something close to relief.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Joon-seok didn't respond.
Because he felt it.
That faint, lingering pull.
Not gone.
Not severed.
Just… connected.
The handler smiled.
Not professionally.
"Interesting," she said.
Joon-seok's gaze hardened. "You said no direct link."
"I said you wouldn't be told there was one."
The door behind her opened.
Another figure stepped in.
Older.
Calmer.
Authority without insignia.
He looked at Joon-seok like a solved equation.
"Han Joon-seok," the man said."Welcome to Central Operations."
Joon-seok felt the thread tighten.
Not toward the man.
Toward the hunter behind him.
And somewhere far above—
A system prompt he had never seen before flickered, once.
[New Condition Detected]
Then vanished.