The street was louder than it had any right to be.
Jack lay on his side at the edge of the cordoned-off construction site, cheek pressed to cold asphalt, listening to the normal world pretend nothing had happened. Engines passed in the distance. A siren wailed somewhere far off. Men shouted over machinery. The night wind carried the smell of diesel and wet cement.
Normal.
It should've comforted him.
Instead it made him feel insane.
Because when Jack blinked, he still saw the dungeon's red veins pulsing behind his eyelids. He still felt the moment the world split between his fingers. He still heard Mira's choking gasp like it was stitched into his bones.
He tried to lift his right arm.
Nothing.
Pain flashed through his ribs and he hissed, body curling instinctively. Every breath was a knife.
I'm alive.
The thought landed heavy, not triumphant. Not grateful.
Alive while they weren't.
A shadow fell over him.
Jack's heart spasmed. His eyes snapped open.
A man stood above him, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark coat that didn't fit the construction site. His hair was black, cut short, damp at the edges like he'd walked through rain. He had a calm face—handsome in a hard way—but his eyes were what made Jack's throat close.
They were the eyes of someone who had seen too many bodies and learned to keep breathing anyway.
He wasn't looking at Jack like prey.
He was looking at him like a crime scene.
"Don't move," the man said. His voice was level, practiced. "You'll make it worse."
Jack tried to push himself back, dragging his body across the ground like a wounded animal. "Who—"
"Crowe," the man said, and crouched just far enough away that he could move if Jack lunged. "S-Rank."
That single word hit Jack harder than the pain.
S-Rank.
Real power. The kind that changed the air when it entered a room. The kind the news called heroes. The kind the government begged for when gates went critical.
Jack's mouth went dry. "I didn't—"
Crowe held up a hand. "I'm not here to hear excuses."
His gaze flicked over Jack with unnerving speed: the torn clothes, the blood, the limp right arm, the bruising ribs. Then his eyes narrowed.
Jack felt it—an invisible pressure, like someone pushing their thumb against his soul.
Crowe wasn't just looking.
He was sensing.
Jack's stomach turned.
The faint red glow in Jack's eyes had faded, but the something inside him… it was still there. Coiled. Quiet. Waiting.
Jack forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to look weak. Trying to look normal.
Crowe's expression didn't change, but something in his posture did—subtle tension in his shoulders, a shift of weight, readiness.
"You came out alone," Crowe said. "How many went in with you?"
Jack's throat tightened. He swallowed hard. "Four."
"And the others?"
Jack stared at the ground. He couldn't make himself say it. His chest felt like it was filling with ash.
Crowe's voice softened, just slightly. "Kid."
Jack flinched at the word. He wasn't a kid. He was twenty-one. He'd paid rent. He'd bled in gates. He'd watched people die.
But right now he felt like a child who'd wandered into a war.
"They're dead," Jack whispered. "They're… all dead."
Crowe held his gaze for a long moment.
He didn't look surprised.
He looked… tired.
"Gate rating?" Crowe asked.
"D," Jack said quickly. "It was listed as D. It—it wasn't—"
"I know," Crowe interrupted.
Jack blinked. "You know?"
Crowe's eyes flicked toward the shimmering gate behind the construction fence. It was still open, but it looked wrong—its surface rippled like feverish water. The blue glow was fading in and out, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to exist.
"That's not a D-Rank gate," Crowe said. "Not anymore."
Jack felt cold spread through him. "Then what was it?"
Crowe didn't answer immediately.
Instead he reached into his coat and pulled out a small device—round and metallic, etched with runes. A scanner. The kind high ranks used to assess mana saturation.
He held it near the gate.
The device flickered… and then the screen went black.
Crowe's jaw tightened.
"What does that mean?" Jack asked, voice shaking.
Crowe stared at the dead screen, then slowly tucked the device away as if it had insulted him.
"It means…" Crowe said carefully, "…something inside that gate didn't want to be measured."
Jack's stomach lurched.
A memory flashed—space cracking between his fingers. The monster coming apart without blood.
Jack's hands trembled.
Crowe watched the tremor.
Then he looked at Jack's eyes again.
"You're a D-Rank," Crowe said, like he was stating a fact that didn't make sense. "You're injured. You're exhausted. And yet you walked out of a gate that should've eaten you in seconds."
Jack's mouth opened, but no words came.
Crowe leaned closer. Not threatening—curious.
"There's a smell on you," he murmured.
Jack froze. "A smell?"
Crowe's eyes narrowed. "Not blood. Not mana. Something else."
Jack felt the voice stir inside him, amused.
"He can sense the edge of it," it whispered.
"But he cannot name it."
Jack's heart pounded. Not now.
Crowe straightened.
Then, from the far side of the construction site, a new presence entered the air.
Heavy.
Sharp.
The kind of pressure that made Jack's skin crawl.
Crowe's head turned.
Jack followed his gaze.
A woman stepped through the fence like it didn't exist.
She wore a white coat over black combat gear, hair tied back in a severe braid. Her eyes were pale—almost silver. The air around her shimmered with a thin aura that made the night seem colder.
Behind her came two more hunters—high ranks, maybe A or S—faces unreadable.
The woman's eyes locked onto Jack instantly.
Not with concern.
With disgust.
"Crowe," she said, voice crisp. "Move."
Crowe didn't move.
He stayed crouched near Jack, body between him and the newcomers like a shield.
The woman's gaze sharpened. "We have confirmation the gate rating was falsified. We have confirmation something hostile crossed the threshold. And we have one survivor."
Her eyes flicked over Jack like he was a stain.
"Let me guess," she said coldly. "The survivor is the problem."
Jack tried to speak, but his throat was tight.
Crowe's voice was calm. "You don't know that."
The woman smiled without warmth. "I know enough."
She lifted her hand slightly. A pale ring of energy formed around her wrist, humming.
Jack felt terror spike through him. This wasn't like the monster. This was human intent. Controlled. Certain.
Crowe's aura flared in response—dark, steady, like a storm cloud gathering.
"Don't," Crowe warned.
The woman's silver eyes didn't blink. "This is not your call, Crowe."
Crowe stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight.
"You're here fast," he said. "Too fast. Who called you?"
The woman didn't answer. She took a step forward.
Jack tried to push himself back again, dragging his broken body with his good arm. Panic made his vision blur.
The voice inside him purred.
"They want to kill you."
Jack clenched his teeth. I know.
"Let me help again."
Jack's stomach twisted. No. Not here. Not in front of them.
Crowe glanced down at Jack, just for a fraction of a second.
In that brief look was something Jack hadn't expected from an S-Rank.
Not pity.
Understanding.
Crowe looked back at the woman. "He's injured. If you want to question him, you can do it after he's treated."
The woman's lips curled. "Treated? Crowe, don't be naïve."
Jack saw it then—the tiniest flicker of fear under Crowe's calm.
Not fear of the woman.
Fear of what she knew.
"Explain," Crowe said, voice low.
The woman's gaze sharpened further. "Do you remember the Black Horizon incident?"
Crowe's expression tightened.
Jack didn't know what that was, but the way Crowe's jaw clenched told him it mattered.
"That incident started with one survivor too," the woman continued. "One boy who walked out of a gate alone. Everyone thought he was lucky."
She leaned forward slightly, eyes like knives.
"And then a city burned."
Jack's blood went cold.
Crowe didn't move, but his hand slowly lowered toward the weapon at his side.
"You're saying he's like that?" Crowe asked.
"I'm saying…" the woman replied, voice almost pleased, "…that I can feel something wrong on him from here."
Jack's stomach dropped.
The voice inside him chuckled.
"She is closer to the truth than he is."
Crowe's eyes flicked to Jack's face again.
Jack barely breathed.
Crowe exhaled, and the decision settled into his posture.
He looked back at the woman. "You don't execute people because they feel wrong."
The woman's smile widened. "That's exactly what we do. That's why the world still exists."
One of the hunters behind her stepped forward, aura surging.
"Crowe," the woman said softly, "move."
Crowe didn't.
Instead, he shifted his weight—subtle, deliberate—and Jack realized Crowe was setting himself between Jack and death like it was instinct.
Crowe spoke without taking his eyes off the woman.
"Can you stand?" he asked Jack quietly.
Jack swallowed. "No."
Crowe nodded once, like he'd expected it.
Then he said the words that made Jack's heart lurch.
"Then don't fight. Just listen."
Crowe's aura flared—dark and heavy, making the air ripple.
The woman's silver aura rose to meet it.
Jack lay on the ground, trapped between gods.
Crowe lifted his hand.
And for the first time, Jack understood the kind of power an S-Rank held.
It wasn't flashy.
It was absolute.
The shadows around Crowe's feet deepened, stretching like living things. The streetlights flickered. The night itself seemed to bend toward him.
The woman's aura sharpened into a pale blade that hummed with deadly focus.
Crowe's voice dropped to a whisper—only Jack could hear it.
"This is going to sound insane," Crowe murmured. "But I need you to tell me the truth."
Jack's throat tightened. "What truth?"
Crowe's eyes didn't leave the woman.
"What was in that gate," Crowe said softly, "and how did you kill it?"
Jack opened his mouth—
And the voice inside him whispered like a lover.
"Tell him nothing."
Jack's heart hammered.
Crowe's stance tightened.
The woman smiled, as if she already knew how this would end.
The air between them trembled.
And Jack realized something terrifying:
He hadn't survived the dungeon.
He'd just stepped into a war.
Crowe didn't look away from the woman.
He didn't look at the hunters behind her.
He didn't even look at Jack.
But something in his posture shifted—so slight no one but another high-ranker would notice.
He was making a choice.
"The gate collapsed because of a corrupted core," Crowe said calmly. "Happens sometimes when teams go too deep without sealing. The monster was unstable. It killed the squad. The boy got lucky."
Jack's heart slammed so hard it hurt.
The woman's silver eyes narrowed. "Lucky?"
Crowe nodded once. "He was unconscious when I arrived. I stabilized him. That's all."
The woman stared at Crowe as if she were peeling back layers of him one by one.
"You expect me to believe a D-Rank survived something that disabled a mana scanner?"
Crowe met her gaze evenly. "I expect you to believe that gates break in strange ways."
One of the hunters behind her snorted. "That's convenient."
Crowe's aura flickered—just enough to make the air feel heavier.
"Do you want to test it?" Crowe asked quietly.
The man went still.
The woman lifted a hand, stopping him.
She continued watching Crowe. "You're protecting him."
Crowe didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
The woman exhaled slowly. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe," Crowe said. "But it's mine."
For a long moment, no one moved.
The gate behind them gave a final shudder, then imploded in on itself, collapsing into a flash of light that vanished like it had never existed.
Silence followed.
The woman clicked her tongue. "Take the bodies. Burn the site."
Her gaze flicked to Jack. "And take the survivor for evaluation."
Crowe nodded. "I'll escort him."
That made her smile again. "Of course you will."
She turned away, her aura fading as she walked back toward the waiting vehicles.
The pressure lifted.
Jack let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Crowe knelt beside him again.
"You owe me the truth," Crowe said quietly. "But not here."
Jack swallowed. "Why did you do that?"
Crowe looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time.
"Because," Crowe said, "whatever is inside you… it didn't feel like a monster."
Jack's stomach twisted.
The voice inside him whispered softly.
"He is wrong."
Crowe stood and signaled for the med team.
And far beyond their world, something outside reality took note of the lie… and smiled.