They keep me in a side waiting area long enough for the rumor to spread properly.
It's not a cell, and nobody calls it one. There are two plastic chairs, a water dispenser that tastes faintly of metal, and a camera in the corner that's meant to look harmless. An Association staff member sits outside the open door with a tablet, scrolling without really reading. Observation with polite language.
I sit quietly and let time move.
The overlay stays in the corner of my vision like an itch that refuses to fade.
Detection Risk: 15%System Attention: Active
It doesn't drop.
If it had spiked and settled, I could pretend it was a reaction to the rig failure. A temporary flare. Something that would be filed away and forgotten. This feels like a gaze that decided I'm worth tracking.
After a while, the instructor returns.
His posture is the same, but his face looks more tired, and that means someone above him has already started asking questions he can't answer. He stops in the doorway and looks at me the way you look at a problem that might get you promoted or ruined.
"Kang Jaehyun," he says. "Stand."
I stand.
He doesn't waste time with small talk.
"Multiple guilds requested preliminary access," he says. "I denied it. They won't stop. Tomorrow's reassessment will determine how aggressive they get."
I nod once, calm and cooperative.
He watches me, then speaks again, more carefully than before.
"There's an E Rank gate observation tonight," he says. "Rookie placement. Two supervisors. Low threat. It's scheduled."
He pauses like he expects me to pretend I'm not interested.
I don't.
"Yes," I say.
His mouth tightens.
"You will not lead," he says. "You will not show off. You will not trigger another incident."
"I understand."
He doesn't look convinced, but he taps his tablet and signs something anyway, the digital approval stamped with reluctance. He gestures for me to follow, and I do.
We walk through a back corridor and exit into the evening air behind the Association facility. A small transport van waits with the engine running. Two rookies stand beside it, both nervous in the honest way. A supervisor wears an Association armband and a sidearm that's mostly there to make civilians feel safe.
The supervisor checks his tablet, then looks up at me.
Recognition crosses his face.
"You're the rig kid," he says.
I keep my tone mild.
"Machine issue," I reply.
He snorts softly like he doesn't believe me, then turns to the two rookies.
"This is Jaehyun. D Rank. He follows instructions. You treat him like a teammate, not a rumor. Understood?"
They nod too fast.
One is a skinny boy with wide eyes and a cheap mana bracelet that's seen more sweat than success. The other is a girl with her hair tied tight, shoulders squared like she's trying to intimidate her own fear into submission.
We load into the van.
The ride starts quiet. Not comfortable quiet, just cautious. The city outside looks normal, alive, full of people who still believe the world is stable. Fifteen years ago, I believed it too. Now I know stability is only what you call things before the cracks show.
My overlay flickers again.
Detection Risk: 16%
It rises with movement.
Interesting.
Either the System likes motion, or it dislikes the direction my choices are taking. Both can be useful information if I survive long enough to interpret it.
We arrive at a fenced off lot in the western district.
Floodlights cast harsh white cones over temporary barriers and orange caution tape. Association staff move with routine efficiency, the kind that comes from doing the same thing every night and believing it will always stay routine. Near the center, the gate ripples in the air like heat haze twisted into a doorway.
A signboard labels it clearly.
E Rank.
E Rank gates are supposed to feel weak. Barely a pressure change. Something rookies clear while pretending they're veterans.
This one looks weak.
My body still tightens.
Because I remember.
In my first life, this gate was treated like a training run. A few rookies died. A few crawled out half mad. The Association buried the report because it was embarrassing, and because it was easier to call it bad luck than admit a label could be wrong.
Later, when the Sovereigns descended, I remembered this gate and realized it was one of the first small anomalies in a chain nobody wanted to see.
The supervisor speaks to an officer at the perimeter, then turns back to us.
"This is a training clear," he says. "Low threat. Two rooms, small mobs, basic objective. We go in, we clear, we leave. No heroics."
The rookies nod again.
I nod once.
My gaze shifts across the staging area, and I spot Lee Minho immediately.
He stands with a different rookie group, laughing lightly, jacket still crisp, posture still effortless. He looks like the kind of person who expects the world to cooperate.
When he notices me, he moves without hesitation.
He slips through the crowd with practiced ease and arrives wearing a polite smile that's meant to feel friendly.
"Jaehyun," he says, like we're already allies. "I knew you'd come."
I stop at a comfortable distance.
Above his head, the hidden layer flickers.
Potential Ceiling: S RankTrait: Command Presence, lockedTrigger Point: JealousyRisk Factor: High
He's dressed like a friend and wired like a problem.
"You're assigned too," I say.
"Of course," he replies smoothly. "My cousin's squad got a slot. Easy clear, easy rewards. People are already talking about the machine. This will calm it down."
He wants the story controlled. He wants me reduced to a rumor that can be handled.
I keep my voice flat.
"I'm here to clear."
His eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, then relax back into the smile.
"Good." He leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he's sharing advice. "Stick close. Don't do anything weird. The Association hates weird."
I almost smile, but I don't give him that.
He has no idea what weird actually looks like.
The supervisor calls us over.
"Gear check," he says. "In five minutes, we enter."
The rookie boy on my squad fidgets with his bracelet. The girl tightens her gloves so hard her knuckles pale. Both keep glancing at the gate like it might grab them before they step in.
I watch the distortion without staring.
My overlay updates.
Detection Risk: 17%Anomaly Probability: Rising
The cold pressure behind my eyes tightens again, sharper than before.
This time it doesn't feel like curiosity.
It feels like warning.
The supervisor begins reciting entry protocol, the standard routine that makes people feel safe. His voice is steady, practiced. The kind of voice that assumes the world follows printed rules.
I barely hear him, because the gate's surface ripples once.
Not from wind.
Not from heat.
From something inside pressing against it.
The ripple is small, but it's wrong. E Rank gates don't push back like that.
The skinny boy swallows hard.
"Did it just," he starts.
"Focus," the supervisor snaps, more harshly than necessary.
I keep my face neutral and take a slow breath.
If authority points come from anomalies, then this is the kind of place they appear. If the System is watching me, then this is also a test, and tests don't care whether you feel ready.
The supervisor raises his hand.
"Entry," he says.
We step forward as a unit.
The air near the threshold turns cold. It's not dramatic, just an abrupt change that makes your skin prickle. The gate's surface ripples again, and this time the movement feels like a pulse.
The girl beside me whispers, barely audible.
"It's cold."
"It's normal," the supervisor says, but his eyes flick toward the gate a little too long.
I move with the group, careful not to be first and not to be last.
Right before my foot crosses the threshold, my overlay flickers, and a new line appears for a fraction of a second, clean and unmistakable.
System Attention: Locked On
The cold pressure behind my eyes tightens, like something has finally centered me in its focus.
Then the gate swallows us.