The blinding white light faded, replaced by the sterile grey walls of the Gate Bay. The simulated cave, the goblin corpses, the dead Hobgoblin—all were gone. Team 12 stood on the metal platform, the scent of ozone from the dissipated Gate still hanging in the air.
Anil was leaning against the railing, his chest heaving. Priya was sitting on the floor, her staff lying beside her, looking utterly drained. Rohan stood staring at his sword, then at his own hands, his face a complex mixture of relief, exhaustion, and disbelief.
Then they all looked at Soumya. She was leaning against the wall, her knuckles white, her body trembling with post-adrenaline fatigue. Her cheap knife was still clutched in her hand.
The grizzled IHGA examiner who had sent them in was waiting, his face as impassive as ever. He held a data slate, his eyes scanning the results of their test.
"Team 12," he said, his voice flat. He looked up from the slate, his gaze sweeping over them. "A chaotic performance. One of the sloppiest clears I've seen this month. Your initial engagement was a textbook example of how to get your team killed."
Rohan flinched as if he'd been struck. Anil looked down at his boots in shame.
The examiner's gaze fell on Rohan. "Hunter Singh. Rank D. You abandoned formation, ignored the strengths and weaknesses of your team, and were disarmed by the primary threat in under ten seconds. Your arrogance nearly resulted in total mission failure. Evaluation: Fail."
Rohan's jaw dropped. "Fail? We cleared it! I killed the boss!"
"You delivered the final blow after the target was incapacitated by the coordinated efforts of your team," the examiner countered, his voice cold as ice. "A blow you would never have had the chance to land without them. Teamwork is not a suggestion, Hunter. It is a requirement. You may re-apply for the exam in three months."
Rohan stood there, stunned into silence, his face pale. The examiner didn't spare him another glance.
"Hunter Patel. Hunter Kumar," he said, addressing Priya and Anil. "Your initial performances were substandard. However, you both demonstrated the crucial ability to adapt and follow clear, effective commands under extreme pressure. Evaluation: Provisional Pass. Report for your license issuance tomorrow."
A wave of immense relief washed over Priya and Anil. They exchanged a weak, exhausted smile.
Finally, the examiner's gaze settled on Soumya. He was silent for a long moment, his eyes boring into her. She felt her stomach twist into a knot. She hadn't landed a single significant blow. Her direct contribution to the fight was a single, shallow cut.
"Hunter Kanmani," the examiner said, his voice slow and deliberate as he looked down at his slate. "Your personal combat score was a 9 out of 100."
Soumya's heart sank. A nine. It was even worse than she'd imagined.
"It is," the examiner continued, looking up at her again, "the lowest combat score I have ever recorded for a candidate who has successfully cleared a simulation."
Rohan let out a short, bitter laugh.
The examiner's eyes narrowed, silencing Rohan with a single glare. "However," he continued, his tone shifting, "your Tactical Command score, a metric we usually reserve for evaluating B-Rank field leaders, was a 98 out of 100. According to the simulation data, your verbal commands increased team combat effectiveness by over four hundred percent. You turned a failing team, led by an arrogant fool, into a functional and lethal unit."
The bay was utterly silent. Rohan's face had gone from pale to ashen. Priya and Anil were staring at Soumya with open awe.
The examiner took a step closer, his eyes focused entirely on her. "That unique skill of yours… Eidetic Recall. We have it on file. Most analysts classified it as a low-tier memory skill, useful for academic pursuits. They were wrong." He tapped his data slate. "It's not for fighting. It's for leading. You don't see a brawl; you see the underlying calculus of a battle. That is rarer, and in the long run, far more valuable than a strong sword arm."
He walked over to a terminal and keyed in a command. A small machine whirred to life, printing a plastic card. He took the card and walked back to Soumya, holding it out to her.
Her Provisional Hunter License. Her name was printed in sharp, clear letters.
"Congratulations, Hunter Kanmani," the examiner said, and for the first time, there was a faint hint of something other than boredom in his voice. Respect. "Welcome to the IHGA."
Soumya took the card with a trembling hand. It felt heavier than a bar of gold. She had done it. Against all odds, with a weak body and a useless skill, she had passed. She was a Hunter.