After what felt like several years compressed into a single afternoon, I finally stumbled out of the examination room.
My legs felt like jelly. My head throbbed. My brain was fried to the point where forming a single coherent thought felt like an advanced skill check I was about to fail.
Clutched tightly in my hands was a thin file—lightweight, yet somehow heavier than anything I'd carried in my life so far.
That's it?
That's the thing that decides whether I get to be a Fixer or not?
I dragged myself toward the counter, half-expecting someone to stop me and say, "Just kidding, you failed miserably."
The woman behind the counter didn't even look impressed. She took the file from my hands with practiced efficiency and flipped it open. Her fingers moved across the keyboard as she scanned the contents, eyes sharp, expression neutral.
Click. Click. Click.
The silence was unbearable.
Finally, she stopped typing and looked up at me.
"You barely passed."
For a second, I just stared at her.
Then
"Yes!" I blurted out, pumping my fist a little too hard. "I mean..uh..thank you."
She blinked once, unimpressed. "Grade 9. Provisional. Don't die within the first month."
"…I'll try my best."
She slid a small card and a thin booklet across the counter.
My Fixer license.
I picked it up like it might evaporate if I wasn't careful. My name printed cleanly on it. A real ID. Proof that I wasn't just some random guy anymore.
I walked out of Hana Association with a stupid grin on my face, the white building looming behind me like it was silently judging my enthusiasm.
Barely passed is still passed, I thought.
That's a win.
The walk back to Nannie's clinic felt shorter than usual. Maybe it was the adrenaline.
Maybe it was the relief of knowing I hadn't just wasted two months of my life training like a lunatic.
I reached the clinic and didn't bother knocking.
I burst the doors open.
"Nannie!"
Inside, Nannie was in the middle of patching up another guy someone who immediately set off every internal alarm bell I had. Tall.
Sharp eyes. Clothes that screamed Backstreets but expensive. The kind of person you don't ask questions to unless you want fewer teeth.
The guy glanced at me.
"…Who's this?" he asked, voice flat.
"Just a friend," Nannie replied calmly, not even looking up from his work.
That seemed to satisfy him, though his eyes lingered on me for a second longer than I liked.
I shut up and waited, watching in slightly horrified fascination as Nannie worked. Blood. Bandages. The usual. Eventually, the guy stood up, adjusted his coat, and left without another word.
The moment the door closed, I walked straight up to Nannie.
"I barely passed," I said, unable to stop myself from smiling. I held up my Fixer license like a trophy.
He took a look.
Then nodded.
"Congratulations," he said simply. "You're officially disposable now."
"…Wow. Inspirational."
He handed the license back. "Grade 9, huh? That means getting contracts will be a pain."
My smile faltered. "Wait, what?"
"Fixers don't just magically get work," he explained. "You either join a Fixer Office, have a backer, or pray someone desperate enough hires you."
"Oh."
That sounded… less great.
Before I could spiral too hard, Nannie pulled out his phone and stepped aside, already dialing someone. He spoke quietly, tone businesslike. I didn't listen I figured it was best not to eavesdrop on City business.
After he hung up, he turned back to me.
"So," I asked cautiously, "you're gonna help me find contracts?"
"Yup."
Just like that.
"In fact," he continued, "I'll be your backer."
I froze.
"…Seriously?"
"This clinic will be your temporary Fixer Office," he said. "I'll handle the paperwork, communications, and negotiations. You handle the jobs."
I stared at him.
"You're… doing all that for me?"
He shrugged. "You're already in debt to me. Might as well make sure you live long enough to pay it back."
That made sense. In a terrifying way.
I exhaled slowly, feeling something warm settle in my chest. "Thanks, Nannie. Really."
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "Your first contract won't be easy."
"…Figures."
He walked over to a drawer and pulled out a thin folder, setting it on the table between us.
"This came in earlier," he said. "Low-risk. Low-pay. Perfect for a fresh Grade 9."
I picked it up, flipping it open.
Escort job. Backstreets. Short distance.
I swallowed.
"Well," I said, trying to sound casual, "gotta start somewhere, right?"
Nannie nodded. "Rest up tonight. Tomorrow, you work."
I looked down at the folder, then at my Fixer license, then back at him.
"…I'm really doing this."
"Yes," he said flatly. "Welcome to the City's food chain."
I laughed nervously.
"Great," I muttered. "I hope I don't get eaten on day one."