The New York Hunter Bureau headquarters was a fortress of black glass and reinforced steel, a monument to human power. It was the last place on Earth a person with a secret like Jera's should go.
Which is precisely why he walked right through the front doors.
It was 9:00 AM. The main lobby was buzzing. The moment he entered, wearing his (now famous) DM-100 Mining Rig, a hush fell over the room. Hunters, Guild agents, and Bureau staff all stopped what they were doing and stared.
"It's him..."
"The Miracle Miner..."
"What's he doing here?"
Jera ignored them. The crowd parted for him as if he were an Ascended. He walked, his steps steady and silent, to the "New Hunter Registration" desk.
A young, nervous clerk looked up, saw the unmistakable black helmet, and visibly swallowed.
"C-can I help you, sir?" the clerk stammered.
"I am here to register," Jera's digital voice said, flat and emotionless.
The clerk blinked, confused. "Register? Sir... Mr. Walker... you're... I mean... we don't have a protocol for this. You're already..."
"I am an independent miner," Jera stated, cutting him off. "I have no official rank. I am here to take the Hunter Evaluation Exam and get a license. So I can take on better contracts."
The clerk was so confused, he didn't know what to type. The "Miracle Miner," a man who lifted 10-ton beams, was applying for a license like a teenager fresh out of high school?
"Sir, you have to be at least A-Rank! This desk is for... for rookies!"
"Then I am in the right place," Jera said.
"That won't be necessary."
A new voice cut through the lobby, sharp and cold as steel. Jera turned.
Captain Elara Kane was walking toward him. She was out of her combat gear, dressed in a sharp, black Bureau uniform. Her eyes were intense, analyzing his every micro-movement.
"Mr. Walker," Kane said, stopping ten feet from him. "I'm Captain Kane, head of Anomaly Investigations. You've been a very difficult man to find."
"I have been working," Jera replied.
"So we've seen," Kane said, her voice laced with dry suspicion. "A man who punches through rock, lifts ten-ton beams, and uses untraceable S-Rank defensive skills doesn't need to 'register.' He's already a national-level asset. Or a national-level threat. So let's stop the games. Why are you here?"
The lobby was dead silent. Everyone was watching this confrontation.
Jera tilted his helmet, a gesture that was perfectly unreadable.
"I am a miner," he said, repeating the lie. "My rig is a high-end, custom-built machine. It... amplifies my strength. Greatly." He tapped the hydraulic pistons on his suit's arm. "But it is just a suit. Without a license, I am just a civilian with a good tool. I am here to become a legal Hunter."
This was the perfect excuse. His DM-100 Rig looked like it was doing all the work. It explained his strength, but not his speed or his S-Rank shield.
Kane's eyes narrowed. She knew it was a lie. He knew she knew. But it was a plausible lie, one that was impossible to disprove without tearing his suit apart.
"A suit," she repeated, her lip curling. "Fine. If you want to register, you'll register. But you won't be taking the standard rookie test."
She turned to the stunned clerk. "Clear Evaluation Bay 7. Put him through the Rank-Aptitude Test. I'll oversee it myself. Now."
Evaluation Bay 7 was a massive, white, sterile room with reinforced walls. Jera stood in the center. Captain Kane and a panel of five grim-faced Bureau evaluators watched from behind a three-foot-thick observation window.
"First test, Mr. Walker," Kane's voice came over the intercom. "Mana measurement. Place your hand on the sphere."
A black, crystalline sphere rose from the floor. This was the most dangerous part of the test. Jera's Mana Core, after the $\times 512$ boost and the compression ritual, was a literal star. If he released even 1% of its power, he would vaporize the sphere and the entire city block.
He had to pretend to be a candle.
He placed his gloved hand on the sphere.
"Release your mana. We will measure your core's output and density," Kane ordered.
Jera closed his eyes behind his helmet. He focused. He reached into that pinprick of infinite, compressed power. He did not release it; he let a single, tiny, microscopic drop of it leak out.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done. It was like trying to empty an ocean, one drop at a time.
[Action: Mana Output. Multiplier Roll: $\times 11$.]
Even this tiny, suppressed drop was multiplied. He felt it surge, but his new, perfect control caught it. He clamped down, choking the flow of power to a near-zero trickle.
In the observation room, the evaluators stared at the monitors.
"I... I'm getting a reading," one said, confused. "It's... B-Rank. High B-Rank. But the density is... well, it's very stable. But... B-Rank?"
Kane's hands clenched. "B-Rank? That's impossible! The S-Rank signature we detected..."
"Must have been an artifact, Captain," an evaluator said. "Or a one-time surge from his suit. This reading is clear. His personal mana core is B-Rank. Strong, but not anomalous."
Kane stared at Jera, who stood perfectly still, his hand on the sphere. She was being played. She knew she was being played. But the data—the hard, undeniable data—was telling her she was wrong.
"Fine," Kane snapped, her voice full of anger. "If his mana is 'B-Rank,' let's see his 'suit' in action. Initiate Phase Two. Standard C-Rank and B-Rank drone assault."
The bay doors hissed open. Three, eight-legged combat drones, the size of large dogs, skittered into the room. These were C-Rank "Stingers."
"Begin," Kane ordered.
The Stingers' eyes glowed red, and they opened fire. They shot high-velocity, armor-piercing rounds.
Jera didn't move. He just... tilted his body.
Twitch. He leaned his head one inch to the left. A bullet zipped past his ear.
Twitch. He shifted his weight. Two bullets passed harmlessly through the space he had just occupied.
He was using his new, compressed base agility. No multiplier. To the evaluators, it looked like extreme, unbelievable luck.
"Why isn't he moving?" one asked.
"He's... dodging? By... not dodging?"
Jera took one step forward. The three drones fired again. He took another step.
He was walking, calmly, through a high-speed bullet-hell.
"This is ridiculous," Kane said. "Launch the B-Rank 'Hulk' drone."
A new, massive drone, ten feet tall and built like a tank, dropped from the ceiling. It roared, a digital sound, and charged Jera, its massive, hydraulic fists raised.
Jera did not stop walking.
The Hulk drone threw a punch designed to break through a concrete wall.
Jera, using only his base, un-multiplied strength, raised his own hand.
He didn't punch. He caught the drone's fist.
There was a single, dull CLANG.
The drone, its arm frozen in mid-air, shuddered. Its internal motors whined, trying to overcome the resistance.
"His strength reading... my god," an evaluator whispered. "It's A-Rank. No... it's higher! The sensors are peaking!"
"Forget the test," Kane yelled. "This is what I wanted to see! ALL units! ATTACK!"
The three C-Rank Stingers and the B-Rank Hulk all attacked at once. The Hulk swung with its other arm, and the Stingers leaped, trying to stab Jera in the back.
Jera, still holding the Hulk's first punch, did not even turn around.
He pushed.
The Hulk drone, which weighed five tons, was thrown backward as if it were made of cardboard. It flew through the air and slammed into the three C-Rank drones, crushing them against the far wall in a single, massive pile of screaming metal and sparks.
The room was silent. The test was over.
Jera stood in the center of the room, surrounded by wreckage. He hadn't broken a sweat.
In the observation booth, the evaluators were speechless.
"So... how do we score this?" one finally asked.
"Strength... A-Rank? S-Rank?"
"Speed... B-Rank, I guess? He barely moved."
"Mana... B-Rank."
"Technique... C-Rank? He just walked and punched."
Captain Kane slammed her hand on the console. "Don't you see what he's doing? He's mocking us! He's giving us a set of contradictory, impossible numbers on purpose! He's hiding in plain sight!"
"Captain," the chief evaluator said, "I don't know what he is. But based on the official test metrics, his composite score averages out. He qualifies as a B-Rank Hunter."
Kane looked like she was going to explode. But she was trapped by her own rules. She had the data. She had to follow it.
Jera was brought out of the bay. The clerk from the front desk timidly approached him, holding a small, glowing silver badge and a license card.
"Congratulations, Mr. Walker," the clerk said, his voice shaking. "You... you passed. Here is your official Hunter's License. Rank: B."
Jera took the badge. The name on it was crisp and clean: CAIN WALKER.
He clipped it to his mining rig, where everyone could see it.
"Thank you," his digital voice said. He turned to Captain Kane, who was staring at him with pure, unadulterated suspicion. "Where do I find the B-Rank contracts?"
Jera walked out of the evaluation area, past the stunned onlookers, and toward the Bureau's public contract board.
He was now, officially, Hunter Cain Walker. A B-Rank, unknown rookie. And, at the same time, the most powerful and most dangerous entity in the room. His legend was no longer a rumor. It was now an official, registered file in the Hunter Bureau's system. And that, Jera knew, was the most dangerous disguise of all.