I woke up before the artificial sun lit the slums.
The ceiling of my shack felt… smaller.
Or maybe I grew overnight.
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, the System's screen flashed behind my eyelids.
0472. Ascended, Class C.
And right beside it—that cursed word.
Fallen.
Locked, but still there.
Like a shadow just waiting to move.
Yeah, I know. I'm paranoid.
I sat up slow, my body still sore from yesterday's shift, and slid the Halo under my hair.
The device adjusted on its own—cold against my skin.
Chills.
That's when I heard it.
A siren.
Far enough not to piss myself, but close enough to set off alarm bells in my brain.
I went to the window.
Obviously cracked and filthy—couldn't see jack.
Police cars—more like floating patrol units—rushed through the sky toward the neighborhood.
Blue lights bounced off the walls.
My heart spiked.
They know.
The Halo buzzed at my temple.
> [Alert: Hostility detected.]
[Stealth Mode: Activated.]
I swallowed hard.
What the hell was that?
I looked at my hands.
No change.
But I felt… lighter.
Something metallic but faint, wrapping around me from the inside.
"Relax…" I whispered. "I didn't kill anyone. Yet."
I grabbed what little I had—some coins, my sweat‑soaked work clothes, and a piece of bread harder than my childhood.
I left fast—right before the patrols reached Takemura's shop.
I think.
I walked fast.
Didn't dare look back.
The streets of the slums always felt empty.
Now they felt like they were swallowing me whole.
Every shadow felt like a pointed finger.
The Halo pulsed against my head.
So… this was Stealth Mode?
I could feel it, but not see it.
I sped up.
Heart pounding.
How long could I keep this up?
I turned the corner near the shop.
The metal shutter was busted. Glass all over the ground.
Two Hakudama officers already on site, blocking the entrance.
I looked away.
They didn't notice me.
And the old man wasn't there to point me out.
I was just another face in a sea of suspects.
My stealth—working.
So I kept moving.
Faster.
When I finally crossed the line between the slums and the upper sector, the world changed in a few steps.
Rusty metal floors turned into smooth, mirrored panels.
No more dangling wires.
The iron temples gave way to towering buildings wrapped in golden signage.
And the stares…
Every glance cut like a blade.
Everyone who passed wrinkled their noses.
Maybe I was an Ascended now—
But I sure as hell didn't look like one.
Soot on my shirt. Worn‑out boots. Skin reeking of coal.
A Kegaremono with a Halo.
A walking mistake in broad daylight.
"Filthy," I heard one Hakudama girl whisper to her friend.
"Probably a fraud," the other replied. "They always find a way. Ugh, he stinks!"
I clenched my fists—
But kept walking.
The path to the Agency felt like a damn pilgrimage.
Every step screamed: You don't belong here.
But I had to be here.
The Training and Assignment Agency loomed ahead—white glass and silver steel, its pillars glowing like they were forged from light itself.
Divine.
Yeah.
Heaven—if you ignored the human cockroaches crawling underneath it.
And they always did.
At the top, the symbol of the Seraphim: open wings holding a golden circle.
A reminder of who really pulled the strings.
The ones who made sure everything stayed shit.
I stepped inside.
Cool, sterile air hit my face. Too clean—like it wanted to scrub the soot right off me.
Probably had a built‑in purifier.
Screens lined the walls, blasting headlines:
"Class A Ascended Defeats Heretic in Kageshiro."
"New Council Candidates Under Review."
"Peace Maintained Thanks to the Ascended."
Peace.
Always that fucking word.
I hate peace.
At least in war, we were all equal.
I walked up to the counter.
A receptionist glanced at me—paused for a beat.
Then, "Name and ID?"
"Haesol. Zero four seven two."
Came out firmer than I expected.
Good.
I had every right to be here.
She typed something. Eyebrows raised.
"Registration confirmed."
She handed me a black wristband with a silver circle.
"Temporary ID. Wear it at all times."
Before I could thank her—or make a sarcastic remark—
A shadow appeared at my side.
Tall guy.
Impeccable uniform.
Navy‑blue cape with the Agency's symbol.
Yeah, I stared. A little.
He looked like someone who knew exactly who he was.
I needed that.
"Class C, huh?" he said, eyeing me top to bottom.
"And a Kegaremono, no less."
The way he said it—pure disgust.
"Bet you don't even know how to hold a weapon."
I took a breath.
"Bet you don't even know how to hold a shovel."
The smirk vanished.
"Watch your mouth, worm."
His eyes flickered with Essence.
"Trash like you only survives because the System pities you."
For a second, I thought he might strike me.
But then—
"Hey, back off, Taichi."
A girl's voice cut in.
She stepped forward—
brown ponytail, amber eyes locked on mine.
Her uniform was simple, but a gold shimmer gleamed on the collar.
"You're seriously defending this garbage?" he snapped.
"I am," she said, arms crossed. "Like it or not, he's a registered Ascended.
And that pisses you off because you love thinking you're a damn celebrity."
I blinked.
Who was this girl?
Taichi scowled, gave me one last glare, and stormed off.
Was he stronger?
Were they friends?
Family?
Weird…
She turned to me, smiling faintly.
"Don't mind him. Class B types love acting like the world owes them a spotlight.
They live like actors on a stage. Celebrities."
"Perfect," I muttered. "Always wanted to walk into the wrong dressing room."
She laughed.
"You're funny. Haesol, right? ID 0472?"
I nodded, a bit wary.
How did she know that?
Was she listening in? Spying?
"I'm Hana."
She held out her hand.
"Welcome to the circus."
I hesitated.
Then took it.
Warm.
Firm.
A GIRL. HOLY SHIT.