Officer Mirae Sol's figure emerged in sharp relief against the vast, luminous data wall that filled the Monitoring Chamber.
The room was hushed save for the low, rhythmic hum of arcane processors and the soft whoosh of holographic panels flickering to life.
She stood with her back straight, hands clasped behind her in a gesture of disciplined poise, while rows of floating statistics—Clear Times, Dungeon Difficulty, Player Profiles—pulsed in ordered succession. One name in particular glowed brighter than the rest: Alexander Cain.
With a practiced flick of her wrist, Mirae summoned a translucent holo-bar into focus and coaxed it forward. A crystalline panel drifted into view:
Solo Clear — Underground Transit Ruins
Expected Time: 55–70 minutes
Actual Time: 23 minutes
A faint crease formed between her dark brows. She narrowed her eyes and, as if compelled by some insatiable curiosity, swept her hand to the right. Instantly, a second window materialized:
Solo Clear — Verdant Hollow (E-Rank)
Survival Probability (New Player): 3.4%
Outcome: Clear
Status: Alive
Mirae inhaled in slow, measured increments. No novice—no one without a seasoned mentor—had ever breezed through an E-rank dungeon solo, much less torn through two such challenges within a single cycle.
The odds were staggeringly low; her training told her as much. "Talent," she breathed to herself, though the word felt insufficient. With decisive efficiency, she tagged his file [Anomaly: Monitoring Recommended] and, after a heartbeat's pause, tapped a command to schedule a personal meeting. Her pulse quickened with a mix of professional excitement and… something unnameable.
***
Outside, the market district seethed with color and clamor. Neon sigils danced across shopfronts, casting flickering reflections on rain-slick cobblestones.
Vendors called out prices, offering scarred root vegetables and imperial protein bars, while delivery drones hummed overhead, weaving between canvas awnings. The scent of spiced noodles and ozone curled through the air.
Alexander Cain wove through the crowds, a woven basket tucked under one arm. Organic kale—a rare luxury in this tear-zone–scarred land—rested atop a small bundle of synthetic grain loaves.
He paused at a stall where thin slices of faux bacon glistened under a pale lamp, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Food shortages, he mused, seeded discontent; discontent unraveled the social tapestry; instability threatened the empire's mana reserves. In this world, compliance was currency—and independence a silent rebellion.
A crisp chime cracked from his wrist console. His heart stuttered. He halted beneath a neon lantern and lifted his arm. The display blinked red:
[Player Bureau Notification]
Mandatory Appointment Scheduled
Subject: Dungeon Clearance Review
Cain exhaled, a mixture of relief and resignation fluttering through him. "…Of course," he murmured, as though speaking to the invisible bureaucrats behind the alert.
He watched a cluster of children dart past, their laughter ricocheting off metal shutters, then strolled onward. At home, he set the kale on a chipped granite counter, ran water over his hands until the chill stung his skin, and shrugged on a well-worn jacket.
Standing before the holo-calendar projected above the fridge, he scrolled through the next forty-eight hours: every dungeon registration—canceled.
He stared at that single word—CANCELED—in cool blue light, then let a wry chuckle escape. Better to attend the summons than to have the Bureau breathing down his neck later.
***
The Bureau office was the very picture of clinical precision. Walls of polished white glass reflected soft, amber illumination. Concealed mana stabilizers thrummed behind panels, maintaining an atmosphere of climate-controlled calm.
Officer Mirae Sol sat behind a transparent desk, her posture composed, her expression inscrutable. When Cain entered, she rose smoothly, the glow of her holo-insignia catching on the edge of her uniform.
"Alexander Cain," she said, voice even and unhurried. "Thank you for coming."
He offered a half-smile as he slid into the chair opposite her. "Didn't feel optional."
Her lips twitched in something like amusement. "Fair enough. I'll be brief." She lifted a slender tablet and tapped once. "You awakened to mana very recently. No recorded exposure, no mentors registered. Yet your solo clear times—especially the Underground Transit Ruins at twenty-three minutes and Verdant Hollow against all odds—dramatically exceed any precedent. Why?"
Cain met her gaze directly, noting the sparkle of arcane readouts dancing in her irises. "I'm careful," he said. Then, after a moment's pause: "And I learn fast."
A soft, bell-like laugh fluttered from her. "Understatement of the year." She straightened in her seat and leaned forward. "We believe you're exceptionally gifted. The Bureau can fast-track you as an auxiliary officer—access to private research, preferential dungeon allocations, even your own support team."
He shook his head, his expression firm. "No, thank you. I don't like being told where to go, and I'd rather not have politics limit my progress."
Mirae inclined her head, as if acknowledging a strategic concession. "I anticipated that answer. Very well. Then understand this: we won't interfere with your undertakings… for now. But we will continue monitoring your clear times and your progression."
"Only clear times?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Only clear times," she confirmed, tapping the edge of her tablet to close the file.
He nodded once. "Understood."
***
By the time Cain stepped back onto the rain-dappled street, dusk had settled like a violet quilt overhead.
Streetlamps winked awake in synchronized rhythm. The city's heartbeat pulsed in the chatter of late-night vendors, the shuffle of passersby, the distant roll of storm clouds.
He walked home with measured steps, the cool air filling his lungs. No dungeon runs tonight—just the quiet thrum of possibility and the steady glow of uncharted horizons waiting to be claimed.