"Fucking hell!"
The shout echoed through the hall, snapping the crowd to attention. Everyone in line twisted their necks like curious pigeons, eyes locking on the guy stomping out of the evaluation room, face red, paper clenched in his fist like he was ready to strangle it. He shoved past people without so much as an "excuse me," making his grand exit with the subtlety of a drunk elephant.
The paper crumpled in his grip flashed a single bold letter: D.
Ronin raised a brow, unimpressed. "Jesus, you'd swear the guy got diagnosed with death."
Lyra nudged him, smirking despite the tension. "D-rank's still higher than us, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Ronin said, stretching his arms behind his head like he was lounging on a damn beach chair. "And he still cried like his dog died."
She glanced around—people were shifting uneasily, the line practically vibrating with anxious energy. A girl a few spots ahead was muttering a prayer under her breath. A guy behind them was pacing like he was about to piss himself.
Lyra looked back at him. "Why aren't you nervous?"
Ronin shrugged. "Because we're not idiots. We already said we're not jumping through magic holes to go monster-slaying. Don't matter what rank we get."
She snorted. "I guess. Still... it's kinda hard not to get caught up in it."
"That's because you've got feelings and I'm running on dead brain cells and vibes."
They stood together in the sea of people, watching one by one as others went in, came out, smiled or cursed, begged for a re-test, only to get politely tackled by security—two guys built like walking brick walls wearing "STAFF" tags. Ronin noted how quick they moved, how solid they looked.
Physical B-ranks, maybe.
So not everyone with power ended up in deathtrap dimensions. Some had boring-ass jobs like this. That was comforting, in a weird way. Not everyone had to become a damn anime protagonist.
Eventually, a staff member called Lyra's name.
She froze.
Ronin gave her a look. "You good?"
"I... I think I need a minute."
He tilted his head. "You want me to go first?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Maybe seeing you fail spectacularly will calm my nerves."
"Wow," he said, grinning. "Love you too."
He stepped toward the door as it opened, gave her a wink, and walked in.
The room looked like a knockoff sci-fi set. Empty, sterile, and lit with that obnoxious white light that made everything look like a hospital waiting room. A round platform sat in the middle, and behind a console, some guy who looked like he hadn't slept in five years gave Ronin a bored once-over.
"Step on the circle."
Ronin stepped up.
The guy pressed some buttons. The platform lit up beneath him with a soft hum. A weird tingling sensation crawled up his spine, like ants doing the conga line under his skin. Then the lights faded. That was it.
"Done?" Ronin asked.
The guy didn't even look up. A sheet printed from the console. He tore it off and handed it over.
"E-rank. Fire affinity. Next."
Ronin blinked. "No inspirational speech? No glitter?"
The guy was already looking at the next file.
Ronin laughed and walked out, waving the paper in his hand.
"Well?" Lyra asked, eyes wide.
He handed it to her like a damn award.
She scanned it, then burst out laughing. "Fire? You too?"
"Yup. Bootleg Fire Lord, baby."
"E-rank as well? We really are bottom-tier."
"Hey," he said, putting a hand to his chest. "Matchin' power levels. That's romantic as hell."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, some of her nervousness fading. "Thanks. I needed that."
"Go fry that platform, babe."
She entered.
He waited.
Ten minutes passed. Okay. Maybe there was a line inside?
Thirty minutes. A couple folks near him started muttering. One guy said something about "overdramatic girls." Ronin ignored it.
An hour.
The muttering turned into complaints. One jackass threw out a slur.
Ronin turned around, face sharp. "Say that shit again."
The guy opened his mouth, probably to escalate—
—and the door opened.
Everyone turned.
Lyra stepped out, but she wasn't alone. At least five people in official-looking uniforms flanked her like a goddamn VIP escort. One of them scanned the crowd, eyes wary. Another was talking into a headset.
Before Ronin could move, someone yelled:
"She's an S-rank!"
The words hit like a nuke. People started crowding. Cameras appeared outta nowhere. Reporters? Influencers? Vultures? Didn't matter. They swarmed like they'd caught wind of blood.
Ronin tried to push forward. "Lyra!"
One of the escorting awakeners raised a hand, palm out—stay back.
Ronin caught her eyes for a brief second.
There was something there.
Not fear. Not happiness either.
Something twisted. Something new.
Then she looked away.
And just like that, the crowd swallowed her up.
He was left standing, paper still in his hand, the word E printed in cold, black ink.