Some weeks had passed since I left the hospital.
Life didn't rush back all at once.
It settled slowly, quietly, like it was testing whether I truly belonged in it again.
The chaos of the dungeon felt distant now, but not forgotten.
I was at home.
The small, familiar space felt unchanged worn furniture, quiet walls, the faint scent of old memories lingering in the air.
It wasn't much, but it was real.
Solid.
A place that still existed no matter how much the world outside shifted.
I wasn't alone.
My aunt was there.
Seeing her move around the house, alive and well, grounded something inside me.
She didn't know everything that had happened, and I didn't intend to tell her.
For now, it was enough that she was here that I had kept the promise I made long ago.
My body felt great.
Not just healed, but different.
Stronger.
More responsive.
Like it had been rebuilt from the inside out.
Every movement felt natural, effortless, as if weakness was something that belonged to the past.
The system stayed active quietly in the background.
It didn't interrupt.
It didn't demand.
Its presence was subtle, constant like a shadow that never left but never spoke unless necessary.
The first practical problem that came to mind was simple.
How to go go on missions.
Survival inside a dungeon was one thing.
Living outside it was another.
If I wanted to move forward, I needed a way back into that world on my own terms this time.
Money followed that thought immediately.
I thought about it because I was still poor.
Strength alone didn't pay bills.
Power didn't put food on the table.
If I wanted control over my life and my future I needed resources.
I was focused.
Not restless.
Not anxious.
Just clear.
There was no one I needed to see next.
No favors to ask. No explanations to give.
This was something I had to do myself.
The decision that started everything was simple.
I would make money.
Not someday.
Not later.
Now.
What reminded me that survival wasn't free anymore was simple.
Weakness.
Not the kind I felt before when my body couldn't keep up or or my strength failed me but the kind that came from having nothing.
Power meant little if it couldn't support a life outside the dungeon.
I checked my finances.
There wasn't much to see.
Whatever small savings existed were barely enough to last, and I already knew the truth before looking.
I had to make money.
That realization didn't frustrate me.
It sharpened my focus.
Anger rose, steady and controlled, fueling my thoughts instead of clouding them.
Not anger at the world anger at the idea of ever being cornered again.
Of letting circumstances decide my limits.
No memory pushed me forward this time.
I didn't need one.
The system commented quietly, acknowledging my situation without judgment.
It didn't offer sympathy or advice just confirmation, like it was recording another step in a process I had already entered.
There was one option that stood out.
Hunting monsters.
It was the safest way I knew to earn money, and at the same time, the most dangerous.
There was no difference between the two.
Risk and reward were tied together, inseparable.
Strangely, neither option tempted me more than the other.
There was no excitement.
No hesitation.
Just necessity.
By the end of it, my path was clear.
I wasn't rushing into anything yet.
I was preparing.
Preparing my body.
Preparing my mind.
Preparing to go on the hunt.
My first move was clear.
I went to the government department in charge of issuing hunting authorization.
If I wanted to enter dungeons legally and earn money without drawing unnecessary trouble, this was the only path that made sense.
The place was familiar.
I had been here before back when I was weaker, unnoticed, just another hunter waiting in line.
The building hadn't changed, but the way people looked at me had.
Some recognized me.
Not loudly.
Not openly.
Just quick glances that lingered a little too long before turning away.
I ignored them and kept my head down, choosing to maintain a low profile.
Attention wasn't something I needed right now.
While I waited, someone approached me.
Captain Morgan.
An S-rank hunter.
His presence alone shifted the atmosphere around us.
Conversations nearby slowed, eyes flickering toward us before quickly retreating.
He didn't raise his voice or make a show of authority.
He didn't need to.
He wanted me to join his team.
The offer was direct, but not aggressive.
There was curiosity in his gaze, measured and calculating, like he was assessing a tool rather than a person.
I responded cautiously.
I didn't refuse.
I didn't accept.
I listened, asked minimal questions, and gave nothing away.
Whatever interest he had in me, I wasn't ready to step into it blindly.
The system assisted quietly in the background.
It didn't interrupt or speak, but its presence steadied me, keeping my thoughts sharp and my reactions controlled.
Nothing went wrong.
No arguments.
No mistakes.
And because of that, there was nothing I needed to fix.
I stayed calm.
As I finished the authorization process and stepped away, one thing became clear.
Preparing to hunt monsters was simple.
Navigating people
That was going to be far more dangerous.
The system issued a task the moment my authorization was confirmed.
It didn't appear dramatically.
There was no surge of pressure or sudden interruption.
The message surfaced quietly, precise and unavoidable, like it had been waiting for the right moment.
The task was directly related to money.
And hunting.
The objective was clear enough without explanation complete the hunt, secure the reward.
A time limit was attached, ticking away in the background, not fast enough to panic me but present enough to matter.
I felt calm.
There was no excitement.
No fear.
Just understanding.
The system wasn't testing my courage this time.
It was testing my judgment.
The risk was big.
Whatever the task involved, it wasn't meant for someone unprepared.
Failure wasn't just an inconvenience it carried consequences.
Punishment.
That word alone was enough to make the message heavy.
I didn't hesitate.
The moment the task appeared, I accepted it.
Not recklessly, not out of impulse but because the reason was already clear.
Money.
Resources meant freedom.
Freedom meant control.
And control meant never being forced into a corner again.
There was only one rule I had to follow carefully.
Survive.
Not win.
Not dominate.
Just survive.
If I failed, the system wouldn't overlook it. Whatever punishment awaited wasn't something I intended to experience firsthand.
At the end of it all, my decision was simple.
I took the task.
Not because the system demanded it.
But because it aligned perfectly with the path I had already chosen.
The result of the task was undeniable.
I earned something tangible.
A lot of gems enough that there was no need to question their value.
Each one represented money, resources, and proof that that the hunt had been worth the risk.
This wasn't luck. It wasn't charity.
It was earned.
The weight of that realization settled in quietly.
For the first time, my effort outside the dungeon translated directly into something solid something I could use.
My body reacted normally after it was over.
No exhaustion.
No backlash.
No hidden pain.
Just stability.
The system activated.
Not aggressively, not dramatically just enough to mark the completion.
Its presence confirmed the result without celebration, like a record being updated rather than a victory being acknowledged.
Others noticed.
It was impossible not to.
The amount I carried drew attention, subtle at first, then more openly as people realized what I had returned with.
Eyes followed me longer than before.
Conversations paused when I passed.
I didn't hide what I gained.
There was no reason to.
Still, fear appeared.
Not fear of losing the gems but fear of what having them meant.
Money attracted attention.
Attention brought expectations.
Expectations brought problems.
At the same time, something else grew inside me.
Pride.
Not arrogance.
Not recklessness.
Just the quiet confidence that came from knowing I could provide for myself now.
That I wasn't trapped by poverty or circumstance anymore.
Strangely, this didn't change how I viewed money or power.
They were still tools.
Necessary.
Useful.
Nothing more.
As I secured what I had earned, one thing became clear.
This was only the first step.
And now that I knew what was possible, stopping wouldn't be easy.
The attention came immediately.
It was impossible to avoid.
Word spread fast once the results were confirmed, and people reacted before I even had time to leave properly.
Eyes followed me, conversations shifted when I passed, and the atmosphere around me felt heavier than before.
The attention was mixed.
Some looked impressed.
Some looked cautious.
Others watched with interest that felt too sharp to be friendly.
The first to react officially was the HOD.
They didn't approach casually.
Their interest was direct and professional, cutting straight to the point without unnecessary conversation.
They wanted me to work for them no vague promises, no hidden meaning.
Just a clear attempt to pull me under their influence.
I responded cautiously.
I didn't agree.
I didn't refuse.
I listened, measured my words, and kept my reaction neutral.
Opportunities like that always came with strings attached, and I wasn't ready to bind myself to anyone yet.
Anaya didn't cross my mind.
Not because she wasn't important, but because this decision had nothing to do with her.
This was about my future, my independence, and how much control I was willing to give away.
I felt no guilt.
I earned the money.
I took the risk.
There was nothing to regret.
The system commented quietly on the attention I was receiving.
It didn't warn me or guide me.
It simply acknowledged it, as if noting that this was a natural consequence of success.
Recognition wasn't a reward it was a variable.
As I moved on, one thing became clear.
Making money wasn't the end of the challenge.
It was the beginning of being noticed.
And being noticed always came with a price.
I felt more in control of my life.
Not because everything was easy, and not because the path ahead was clear but because, for the first time, my choices were mine.
No one was forcing my hand.
No one was deciding my value for me.
Fear hadn't lessened.
It was still there, quiet and constant, sitting beneath every decision.
But it no longer froze me.
It moved with me instead of against me.
What felt strongest now was my mindset.
I wasn't reacting anymore.
I was thinking ahead, measuring outcomes, preparing for consequences before they arrived.
Every action felt deliberate, shaped by intent rather than desperation.
At the same time, something else had changed.
My attitude had grown colder.
Not cruel but harder.
Less willing to bend.
Less open to hesitation.
I noticed it in the way I spoke, in how little certain things affected me now.
I didn't think about my aunt in this moment.
Not because she didn't matter, but because this shift was internal something I had to face alone.
Still, one feeling tied to her surfaced quietly.
Love.
Not spoken.
Not displayed.
Just present.
My feelings toward the system remained normal.
It wasn't an enemy.
It wasn't a savior.
It existed, and so did I.
I didn't feel dependent on it, nor did I feel like I was merely using it.
The relationship was… balanced.
For now.
Becoming stronger didn't scare me.
What unsettled me was something else entirely.
I finally accepted the truth about myself.
I was losing emotions.
Not all at once.
Not completely.
But gradually piece by piece as strength replaced fear, and control replaced chaos.
And I wasn't sure yet whether that loss was a price…
Or a requirement.
The outside world reacted to my recent success.
This time, there was nothing subtle about it.
The reaction was direct, immediate, and impossible to ignore.
Word spread faster than I expected, and with it came attention I hadn't asked for.
Rumors started forming.
Not all of them were loud or dramatic, but they carried weight.
People talked.
Speculated.
Watched more closely than before.
Even without a name or title being attached to me, it was clear that I had become someone worth noticing.
I reacted cautiously.
I didn't confront anyone.
I didn't deny anything.
I stayed observant, aware that attention could turn dangerous if handled carelessly.
The system advised silence.
Not action.
Not confrontation.
Silence.
So I held back, choosing restraint over reaction.
What went wrong because of the attention was simple.
My privacy.
People asked questions I didn't answer.
They watched places I used to pass through unnoticed.
Small freedoms I had taken for granted disappeared without warning.
The situation didn't escalate.
The HOD intervened.
Their presence alone was enough to calm things down, redirecting interest and enforcing boundaries before curiosity turned into pressure.
Whatever influence they held, it was enough to keep things contained for now.
Still, a price was paid.
I didn't like a lot of it.
The loss of quiet.
The loss of anonymity.
As things settled, I understood something important.
Success didn't just bring money or power.
It brought eyes.
And once those eyes found you, looking away was never guaranteed.
The system acknowledged my recent success.
There was no praise in its voice, no emotion behind the confirmation.
Just recognition.
A fact recorded, another step completed.
Something changed.
An upgrade followed quietly, seamlessly.
I didn't feel pain or strain only a subtle shift, like my body and mind had adjusted to a new standard without resistance.
This time, I felt rewarded.
Not overwhelmed.
Not restrained.
Just… reinforced.
Like the system had confirmed I was moving in the right direction.
The rule "get rich" had become simple to me now.
It meant exactly what it said.
Get rich.
Not out of greed, not for excess but because wealth was protection.
Poverty had already shown me its limits.
I had no intention of returning to it.
I agreed with the system's direction.
There was no part of me resisting this path.
No hesitation.
No internal conflict. Whatever doubts I might have had earlier were gone now.
I accepted it fully.
Future hunts didn't look different to me because of this change.
They were still hunts.
Still risks.
Still necessary.
Success didn't soften them it only made them clearer.
Succeeding too fast didn't scare me.
Failure had already taught me what fear felt like.
What felt inevitable after this moment was clear.
Poverty.
Not as my future but as something I was leaving behind.
And this time, I wasn't looking back.
I was satisfied with how things ended.
Not because everything was settled, and not because the future was clear but because, for once, I felt aligned with my own choices.
There was no doubt lingering in my mind, no regret weighing down my thoughts.
The system stayed active.
Its presence remained steady, quiet but undeniable, like a reminder that this path was still being watched, measured, and recorded.
It didn't interfere, but it didn't leave either.
Something new was hinted at.
Not a clear opportunity, not a defined reward just the sense that greater things were waiting ahead.
Bigger than what I had already achieved.
Bigger than what I was prepared for.
There was no new threat.
At least, none revealed.
Still, I felt watched again.
Not by enemies.
Not by allies.
By the world itself, slowly turning its attention in my direction.
The last thought that crossed my mind wasn't about danger or doubt.
It was simple.
I was going to win big very soon.
No matter what came next, there was one thing I refused to lose.
I refused to lose to life.
Not to circumstances.
Not to fear.
Not to the limits others tried to place on me.
I made a promise to myself.
To become great.
Not loud.
Not reckless.
Just undeniable.
The path I stepped onto after this wasn't crowded.
It wasn't shared.
It was different.
Solo.
And as everything settled into silence, one final thought marked the beginning of what came next.
I have started.