The training hall did not return to noise immediately after Lunaria finished moving.
Silence lingered—thick, unnatural, almost reverent.
The spectators who had laughed moments ago no longer did. Technicians stared at their monitors without understanding what they were supposed to record. Even the air itself felt different, as though something delicate yet dangerous had quietly taken root in the arena.
Lunaria stood where he had stopped, moonlight hair falling freely down his back, hands folded neatly in front of him. His breathing was calm. His expression gentle. If not for the faint tension in his shoulders, no one would have guessed he was standing in the middle of four S-ranked hunters who could tear cities apart.
The red-haired man was the first to break the silence.
"…That was beautiful," he said, grinning widely. "That wasn't fighting. That was art."
Lunaria blinked and dipped his head slightly. "Thank you."
The lightning-aspected hunter crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. "You didn't use mana."
"No," Lunaria replied softly.
"And you didn't attack."
"I don't like hurting people," Lunaria said again, as if repeating a simple truth.
The spear-wielder studied him with open fascination. "But you could avoid everything."
Lunaria smiled faintly. "I clean dungeons. Avoiding danger is… important."
The silver-haired man said nothing.
He had not taken his eyes off Lunaria since the ribbon was removed.
Not the movement.
Not the footwork.
The ribbon.
Something about that simple act unsettled him. It wasn't dramatic. There was no flourish, no declaration. Just a quiet, deliberate decision—like someone removing a safety catch without telling anyone.
"You said you don't spar," the silver-haired man said at last.
Lunaria turned his gaze toward him immediately, lashes lowering slightly in respect. "Yes."
"Then why did you remove it?" the man asked.
Lunaria's fingers twitched faintly.
"…Because I stepped into a place meant for fighting," he answered honestly. "And I didn't want it to get cut."
The red-haired man laughed. "You think any of us would go for your ribbon?"
Lunaria hesitated.
"…I don't know," he admitted softly. "I just know what happens if it does."
The silver-haired man's eyes sharpened. "What happens?"
Lunaria did not answer right away.
[Do not reveal unnecessary information.]
"…It's better not to find out," he finally said.
That was the wrong thing to say.
The lightning-aspected hunter snorted. "You're being dramatic."
The red-haired man's grin widened. "Now I really want to."
Before Lunaria could react, the red-haired man stepped forward lightly, boots tapping against the arena floor. His movements were casual, playful—but his mana flared just enough to remind everyone present that he was an S-rank predator.
"Relax," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Lunaria took half a step back instinctively, long hair swaying.
[Warning.]
"…Please don't," Lunaria said quietly.
"Oh?" the man teased. "Don't what?"
The spear-wielder frowned. "Enough. This isn't—"
Too late.
The red-haired man reached out.
Not toward Lunaria's body.
Toward his hair.
His fingers brushed against the loose ribbon still tucked at Lunaria's collarbone, where he had briefly rested it before pocketing it again—except Lunaria had moved, and the ribbon had slipped free, hanging loosely against his shoulder.
The contact was light.
Careless.
And then—
Snap.
The sound was soft.
Barely audible.
But it echoed louder than any explosion.
The pink ribbon fell.
For a single heartbeat, nothing happened.
Lunaria froze.
Not stiff.
Not panicked.
Still.
His eyes widened just slightly, pupils dilating as he stared at the ribbon lying on the arena floor. His lips parted, breath catching soundlessly in his throat.
"Oh," he whispered.
The system surged forward.
[ERROR—RESTRAINT CONDITION BROKEN.]
[EMOTIONAL SUPPRESSION RELEASED.]
[WARNING: LETHAL RESPONSE PROBABILITY INCREASING.]
The pressure in the room spiked.
Every S-rank felt it.
The silver-haired man's expression changed instantly. "Move," he snapped.
Too late.
Lunaria lifted his head.
The gentleness did not vanish.
It sharpened.
His posture straightened, spine aligning with inhuman precision. His shoulders relaxed—not in surrender, but in acceptance. His long hair framed his face freely now, moonlight strands floating as mana stirred around him for the first time since he entered the hall.
He stepped forward.
Not aggressively.
Gracefully.
The red-haired man's grin faltered. "Whoa—hey—"
Lunaria moved.
It was still a dance.
But the rhythm had changed.
His steps were faster, sharper, each motion carrying lethal intent without sacrificing elegance. He turned, spun, slipped past the S-rank's guard with ease that should not have been possible.
The red-haired man barely reacted before Lunaria's knife—appearing as if from nowhere—rested against his throat.
Not pressed.
Not cutting.
Just there.
Close enough that a single breath would be fatal.
The entire hall froze.
"…You cut it," Lunaria said softly.
His voice was still gentle.
That was the most terrifying part.
"I asked you not to."
The red-haired man swallowed hard, hands raised slowly. "H-Hey… it was a joke."
Lunaria tilted his head slightly. "I don't joke about boundaries."
The lightning fighter took a step forward. "Enough. Step away from him."
Lunaria's eyes flicked toward him.
Just a glance.
The man stopped moving.
The spear-wielder's grip tightened on his weapon. "…This pressure—he's not controlling it."
The silver-haired man watched intently, eyes burning with interest rather than fear.
"Lunaria," he said calmly. "Put the knife down."
Lunaria blinked.
For a moment, confusion flickered across his face—as if he had forgotten where he was.
Then he exhaled.
"Oh," he murmured again.
The pressure eased slightly.
He stepped back, withdrawing the knife smoothly, cleanly, as though he had never intended to harm anyone. His shoulders relaxed, posture softening once more.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
The red-haired man staggered back, laughter gone completely. "What the hell are you?"
Lunaria looked down at the broken ribbon on the floor.
"…Someone who doesn't like being touched without permission."
The system's presence steadied.
[Threat neutralized.]
[Control reestablished.]
[Next time, terminate.]
"…That's extreme," Lunaria whispered.
[So was their mistake.]
Silence fell again.
Different this time.
Heavier.
The spear-wielder finally bowed his head slightly. "You warned us."
The lightning fighter exhaled slowly. "…You're not F-rank."
"I am," Lunaria replied gently. "I just haven't grown yet."
The silver-haired man smiled fully this time.
Not sharp.
Not cruel.
Hungry.
"Interesting," he said. "Very interesting."
Lunaria retrieved the broken ribbon carefully, fingers gentle despite the tear. He held it for a moment, then tucked it away.
"I'll replace it," he murmured to himself. "Pink, I think."
He looked up at the four men standing before him—no longer laughing, no longer dismissive.
Still dangerous.
Still powerful.
But now—
Watching him.
And for the first time since he reincarnated into this world, Lunaria understood something clearly.
Underestimation was a blade.
And when someone cut the wrong thread—
He became the one holding it.