Byure - the city capital
Baldy and Jake walked side by side across the street, traffic humming past them as the city buzzed with its usual chaos.
"So," Baldy said casually, hands in his pockets, "what job class are you going to choose?"
Jake blinked. "Job class?"
Baldy stopped walking. "You do know you're supposed to choose a job, right?"
Jake kept walking.
"Well…" Jake muttered, eyes forward.
Fighters don't just walk around punching people all day, he thought. That would be idiotic.
There were countless job classes—bounty hunters, special forces, guards, mercenaries, assassins. Jobs that paid. Jobs that justified violence.
"I'm going to be an assassin."
The street seemed to pause.
"What?!" Baldy spun around so fast he nearly tripped. "Are you insane?! The Assassin class is practically impossible to get! Even veterans fail the requirements! How do you plan on pulling that off?!"
Jake didn't answer immediately.
He kept walking.
Then he spoke—quietly, flatly, without emotion.
"If I'm going to kill every single one of them… I can't do it loudly."
Baldy frowned. Jake continued, voice growing colder.
"The ones who spat on my mother's name.
The ones who called her scum.
The ones who watched my family die and called it justice."
Jake stopped.
"If I'm going to erase them," he said, eyes dark, "then I need a knife in the dark—not a banner in the sky."
Baldy swallowed. "…You're scary when you're calm."
"It doesn't matter what I need to become one," Jake finished. "I'll do it."
They crossed the street.
Jake slowed.
Ahead of them stood a massive structure that dwarfed everything around it.
The building rose like a blade driven into the earth—sleek, angular, and impossibly modern. Its surface was layered with dark alloy panels that reflected the sky in sharp, fractured lines. Blue-white light ran through glowing seams along its edges, pulsing faintly like a living thing.
Massive glass walls revealed shifting holograms inside—combat simulations, rank evaluations, floating data screens rotating lazily in the air. Armed drones hovered near the entrances, scanning every person who passed beneath them with quiet, mechanical precision.
People moved in and out constantly—fighters in reinforced gear, agents in long coats, officials with badges glowing at their collars.
Above the main entrance, carved into polished metal and illuminated by cold light, was a single name:
YRITTER
Jake stared up at it.
"…So," Baldy muttered, rubbing the back of his head, "no pressure or anything."
Jake cracked a faint smile.
They stepped inside.
"Woah…"
Jake couldn't help it.
The interior of Yritter was nothing short of overwhelming. The place was immaculately clean, the kind of clean that made you subconsciously straighten your posture. The floor gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the white-blue ceiling lights that stretched endlessly above.
The space was massive—open and breathable. People stood in groups, talking excitedly. Others walked past with purpose. Some were smiling, laughing even. Others… weren't.
Jake noticed a few people crying quietly near the walls—some in relief, some in frustration.
This was a place where futures were decided.
Ahead of them was a long reception counter, staffed by uniformed workers seated behind floating holographic screens.
Jake and Baldy walked over.
"Yes?"
A half-ugly, bald man—very clearly wearing a wig that tried way too hard to look stylish—leaned forward. His uniform was pristine, his posture exaggerated, like he believed the whole building existed just for him.
"I would like to affirm my job class," Jake said calmly.
"Oh, okay."
The man smiled smugly. "And which class are you?"
"I'm a fighter."
The man typed rapidly into the advanced holographic computer.
"And what job class do you want?"
"I want to be an assassin."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The man paused.
"…Bracelet," he said lazily.
Jake extended his right arm. The bracelet around his wrist glowed faintly.
"Scan—"
Pffft.
The man giggled.
"Herrrrrrhhhh??!!"
He suddenly yelled, drawing attention. "You're just a D-rank?!!!"
A few heads turned.
The receptionist leaned back, laughing openly.
A D-rank, he thought smugly. I was bored anyway. Finally, someone I can flex on.
"And you want to be an assassin?!" he roared dramatically.
"What gave a weakling like you the courage to stand before me—Frostward—and tell me you want to be an assassin?!!!"
He ran his fingers through his wig like a model posing for a magazine, striking an absurd stance.
Classic ugly guy who thinks he's handsome.
"But—" Jake tried to speak.
"Shooo!" Frostward waved his hand dismissively.
"Go away, weakling! The only class for you would be the trash class! Hahahaha!"
Baldy's eye twitched.
Any one of us could fold this idiot, he thought angrily.
But rules were rules.
"I thought rank didn't matter," Jake said evenly.
"All that's required is fulfilling the task."
Frostward slammed the desk.
"Shut up!!! How dare you speak to me like that?!!! Such insolence! Are you saying I don't know what I'm talking about?!! I ought to call the guards on you!"
Baldy snapped.
"The hell is your problem, wig-head?!"
"Oh?! Threatening an official now?!"
The two immediately erupted into a loud argument, hands waving wildly, voices overlapping.
"You're abusing authority!"
"You're a walking violation!"
Their gestures became increasingly ridiculous—Baldy pointing aggressively, Frostward striking dramatic poses.
Jake sighed.
He lazily glanced to the side.
…And froze.
There stood someone familiar.
Black and blonde hair.
"…Is it just me," Jake thought, "or does he look familiar?"
The boy noticed Jake at the same time.
Flash of memory.
I'll straight up kill you.
Jake's eyes narrowed.
"That cocky asshole…" he muttered.
"You!" Jake said.
"You!" the boy fired back.
"What the hell are you doing here?!"
They yelled in perfect sync.
"You've got guts showing your face again, you weakling!! I'm going to murder you!!!"
The blonde guy rolled up his sleeves—
BWAH!
He yelped as a sharp slap landed on the back of his head, sending him stumbling forward.
"Shut up, you idiot!!!"
A girl stood beside him.
She was cute—short white hair, sharp eyes, average chest, and dressed in gothic black with red accents.
She looked like she walked straight out of a Dracula-themed fashion catalog.
"Sorry," she said politely to Jake.
"He's always like this."
"It's totally fine," Jake replied calmly.
She paused.
Stared.
"…Wait."
Jake tilted his head. "Huh?"
Her eyes widened.
"Adaptive Shadow!"
"…Eh?"
"You're that guy!" she said excitedly.
"The one trending everywhere!!"
"Trending?"
"Adaptive Shadow??"
"Eh?!!!!"
She instantly rushed over and slammed her phone inches from Jake's face.
"Look!"
On the screen was a video.
Jake fighting Baldy.
The exact moment where his power spiked unnaturally—his shadow twisting, adapting, overwhelming.
Jake's eyes widened slightly.
"…So that's how it looks from the outside."
Baldy and Frostward were still arguing loudly in the background.
Jake sighed.
"…This is getting troublesome."
"Anyway… what are you doing here?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"I'm here to affirm my job class," Jake replied casually.
"…as an assassin."
"Woah, really?" Her eyes lit up. "That's crazy—we just got our task too. We're aiming to be assassins as well!"
"Oh," Jake said simply.
She turned and walked toward the reception desk.
Frostward was currently being half-strangled by Baldy, his feet barely touching the floor.
"Hey," she called out.
Instantly—
Frostward slipped free, slammed onto the floor, and knelt so fast it looked rehearsed.
"M–Miss Bloodir!!!"
"…Miss Bloodir?" Baldy echoed, turning—
His face drained of color.
He dropped to his knees immediately.
"Huh?" Jake blinked. "What's going on?"
The black-and-blonde-haired boy finally recovered and stood upright.
"…Don't tell me you really don't know who she is."
Jake stared blankly.
"She's the daughter of one of the leaders," the boy said.
"Dravers Bloodir."
"…She's a leader's daughter?" Jake repeated.
Dravers looked back at Frostward, her expression calm—but sharp.
"You wouldn't let him take the assassin task," she said.
"Is that correct?"
"Well— I mean— he's weak, so I thought—"
"Underestimate and belittle people like that again," she interrupted softly,
"and you'll be on the streets."
"Yes ma'am!!!"
Frostward launched himself behind the desk and physically hid, peeking out like a frightened rodent.
Dravers turned back to Jake and the other boy.
"Well," she said, smiling, "if you don't mind, you can join us to finish our tasks."
"…Really?" Jake asked.
"Of course not!!!"
The black-and-blonde-haired boy exploded.
"Dravers, you can't be serious! Letting this weak guy join us?!!!"
"Shut it," she snapped.
Jake thought for a moment.
"…I'll think about it."
"…You'll think about it?!!!"
The boy looked like he was about to pop a vein.
"Such arrogance from a weakling!!! This is an opportunity of a lifetime! You should be on your knees thanking us!!!"
Jake sighed.
"Do you always yell?" he asked, visibly annoyed.
"You're such a pain."
"Whaaaaaat?!!!! I oughta kill you!!!"
He lunged forward—
And was immediately restrained by Dravers.
She ignored his flailing and handed Jake a small card.
"Well," she said innocently, "here's my contact. Let me know if you'd like to, okay?"
"…What?!!!"
The boy's soul left his body.
"You're giving him your contact?!! Even I don't have your contact!!! I'll kill you, boy!!!"
He was dragged away, screaming.
Jake waved at him lazily.
"Yeah, yeah."
He smiled.
Later
Jake pushed the door open.
"—I'm telling you, if you burn the food again, I'm divorcing you," Miranda said, pointing a spatula like a weapon.
Dean gasped dramatically. "You wouldn't dare." Dean moved closer and grabbed Mirandas waist, " you wouldn't leave this guy who's madly in love would you?"
"you know I love you "
"You say that every time," she replied, rolling her eyes—but smiling.
Jake stopped.
"…Am I interrupting something?"
Miranda yelped and stepped back. "You're home already?!"
Dean cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "Tch. Kids these days. No respect for privacy."
"You were literally trying to steal a kiss," Jake deadpanned.
"achem" Dean clears his throat loudly
Miranda laughed. "So?" she asked. "How'd it go?"
Dean leaned in immediately. "Yeah, how was it? You get a job? "
Jake slipped off his shoes. "I met someone."
Dean froze.
"…Define someone."
"Dravers Bloodir."
Silence.
Then—
"WHAT?!!!"
Dean practically teleported in front of Jake, gripping his shoulders.
"THE Dravers?! Leader's daughter Dravers?! Are you kidding me?! Do you have any idea how much money— I mean— opportunity that name carries?!"
Miranda sighed. "Dean…"
"She's walking currency!" he shouted. "Jake, you better not have messed this up!"
"She offered to let me join her team," Jake said calmly.
Dean screamed into a pillow.
"You have to accept!!! Dravers equals connections, influence, sponsors—heck, even breathing the same air as her costs money!"
Jake walked past him. "I'll think about it."
Dean collapsed. "This kid is going to kill me one day…"
Later that night.
Jake lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
There's something strange about her.
Not her status.
Not her name.
Her presence.
It felt… wrong.
Dangerous.
For a split second earlier, standing near her had reminded him of something he wished he could forget.
That dark archangel.
The pressure.
The stillness before death.
She smiled the same way.
Jake exhaled slowly.
This is risky… but I can't ignore it.
He raised his hand and tapped the contact.
Ring.
One ring.
Two.
"Jake?" Dravers' voice came through—light, almost cheerful. "Did you decide?"
"I'll join," he said. "I accept."
There was a pause.
Then—
"Oh!" she said, barely containing her excitement. "That's wonderful. I was hoping you would."
"Send me the details," Jake replied.
"Of course. See you soon."
Click.
The call ended.
Jake stared at the screen for a moment before setting the phone down.
Elsewhere—
Dravers lowered her phone slowly.
Her smile lingered.
But it wasn't innocent.
It was sharp.
This is going to be fun, she thought.